Innocence and experience

I made this recently, but I'm still not quite sure what to make of it.

Playing off of Jesus' charge to his disciples to "be wise as serpents and innocent as doves" we can construct the following grid of wisdom and innocence, charting four possible outcomes when you encounter someone purporting to be in need of your help:

As you can see, one of these outcomes is a Very Good Thing, one is a Very Bad Thing, and the other two are more or less indifferent. That lower right square is, of course, the inbreaking of the kingdom of God. The lower left square, on the other hand, is a little slice of Hell on earth.

So our little model here would seem to suggest that it might be wisest to avoid the wisdom of serpents altogether and stick to a dovish innocence. Assume that everyone you encounter is genuinely in need and you'll never find yourself participating in the hellish neglect of that lower left square. The worst that could happen would be that you'd get taken advantage of, which is sub-optimal but, morally speaking, no big whoop. Such deliberate naivete would also seem in line with some of the other things Jesus told his disciples, such as telling them to give freely to anyone who asks and to lend without the expectation of repayment.

But there are at least three problems with the holy foolishness of that approach.

The first problem, obviously, is that it contradicts the original statement. Jesus didn't say, "Forget about being wise as serpents, just get out there and be as innocent as doves." He seemed to think there was some merit or necessity to serpentine wisdom, so it's probably worth exploring what that might be.

The second problem is that a strict adherence to an unqualified dovish innocence offers no way of knowing or ensuring that our actions are effective — that we're making the best use of our finite time and resources. When the question is "Should I help this person?" then an undiluted innocence may provide an answer. But when the question is more complicated — "Should I help this person or that person?" — it seems a measure of wisdom is called for.

The third problem with the dovishness suggested by the grid above is that this abstract model doesn't account very well for the actual facts of the actual people we're likely to meet here in the actual world.

Take for example the routine ethical dilemma posed by panhandlers. "Ignore him — he just wants money for drugs," is one form of the usual dismissal given to any obligation we have when confronted by this purported need. That dismissal is sometimes despicably self-serving, but it's also usually accurate. The vast majority of people in need do not panhandle, and the vast majority of panhandlers are not in need — or, rather, they have real and desperate needs, but not of the sort that a fleeting exchange or a few small bills can hope to address. Nine times out of 10, giving money to a panhandler is enabling, not empowering.

Given this data set, then, in which most panhandlers are addicts or scammers or both, we might conclude the opposite of what the model above suggests — that we should completely avoid dovish innocence and treat all panhandlers with a suspicious, reptilian wisdom.

That approach seems troubling, in that it leaves open the likelihood of the hellish scenario in the lower left square while shutting off the possibility for the kind of blessed community described in the lower right square. Plus, again, it contradicts what Jesus actually said. His charge to his disciples indicates that he also saw something worthy and necessary in maintaining the innocence of doves. He wanted his followers to have both wisdom and innocence, so that they wouldn't lose their shirts or their souls.

Anyway, that chart above was originally part of a weird attempt to spoof the use of PowerPoint in church services, which I eventually abandoned because it seemed too much work for something silly. The chart itself is also silly, but I thought it was silly in a somewhat interesting way — a silly way of approaching some interesting and maybe important things.

But I'm still not entirely sure what to make of it. Hence this rather feeble conclusion.