by Susan Szpakowski 

It is indeed my opinion now that evil is never “radical,” that it is only extreme, and that it possesses neither depth nor any demonic dimension. It can overgrow and lay waste the whole world precisely because it spreads like a fungus on the surface. It is “thought-defying,” because thought tries to reach some depth, to go to the roots, and the moment it concerns itself with evil, it is frustrated because there is nothing. That is its “banality.” Only the good has depth and can be radical. – Hannah Arendt

This was Jewish author and philosopher Hannah Arendt’s conclusion after contemplating the Holocaust and those who engineered its massive display of human destruction. In her search she could find no profound evil behind the curtain of genocide, only small men, false wizards of oz.

I have been watching the CNN commentaries of the Wall Street mess and seeing a similar search for answers. Most notable is the outpouring of public outrage at the robber barons that gambled and profited from other people’s money and at the government that sat back and even cleared their path. Nobody yet knows how far-reaching the financial damage will be. The characters in this drama loom large because of the real and potential scale of impact. Might they too be small men, caught up in a system of banal greed and ignorance?

On the other side of outrage is helplessness. This type of shallow evil, of systemic ignorance, is like a fire out of control. What can anyone do to stop it? What use are the high ideals and efforts of  “authentic leadership” in the face of such forces? After we’ve pointed fingers of blame, what else can we possibly do?

Over the past days I have been nearly paralyzed by this sense of helplessness and uncertainty about the future, personally and on behalf of the Shambhala Institute. How can we rise to new challenges, step out into a new phase, when there is no solid ground?

When chaos hits, phrases like “radical good” offer little solace. What does it feel like, the radical good, and where do we find it?

And then I remember…. It is like this, said my Buddhist teacher, lifting open one side of his jacket. It’s as if you could reach through your rib cage, he gestured, and hold your naked, beating heart. He said it so sweetly, peering down over his glasses to where I sat in one of the front rows. When he withdrew his hand, I half-imagined it red with blood.

Through meditation I learned that thought, or awareness, when given the room and freed from distraction, naturally returns to this place, to the root, which is a different kind of nothing. It is beating, longing, almost something, tenuous yet strong, like a newborn or a small bird. It is vulnerable but fierce, and it is nakedly good.

Real questions, real conversations, lift the jacket. Being present in the company of others. Being present in the company of oneself. You could call this being authentic. It is a deeper good than light versus dark or happy versus sad. It is a sweetness and depth of being that brings dignity and poignancy to whatever is happening, even loss or death.

Distraction and overlapping answers are the banal enemy. Without noticing it, we provide places for fungus to grow. Then we become mesmerized by large forces and movements that are beyond us, that are spun and amplified and fed to us, with commercials in between. In our living rooms and solitudes we can become fearful and small. In offices and boardrooms the conversations that should happen never do.

In these days of shock and awe, I believe the work of authentic leadership is to hold open those spaces of radical good, inside and out. Refusing easy escapes from the discomfort of uncertainty, from that tender nerve of being, keeps the root exposed. That is where life comes from, and chaos and humor. We can come together to open that space, to be human and kind and fierce. In these times our best protection is to let our own minds return home, to reach into the depths, and to taste the bittersweet beauty of our own beating hearts.

What I find is that outrage doesn’t diminish in this space of radical good, but blame loses its relevance. When I am less fearful, genuine compassion arises   for the families who have lost their homes and for those who may now lose their incomes and savings, for the stockbrokers and board members who felt entitled by the gods of capitalism, for the decision makers now trapped in a no-win vice, and for all of us now experiencing the backlash of dysfunctional systems of our own making.

Susan Szpakowski is executive director of the Shambhala Institute.