Last spring I was asked to allow a priest from Poland, who would be visiting New York in the fall, to study philosophy with me. Though I was not sure why the priest wanted to study with me, almost immediately upon hearing of the request my ego took over and my imagination went to work.
Thoughts like the following began to appear in my mind: “A priest from Poland wants to study philosophy with me. This must mean that I have an international reputation as a philosopher. My fame has spread to Poland! I wonder if this Polish priest has read any of the books I have written. I have written two books about Pope Francis. Perhaps I will be getting a phone call or a letter from Pope Francis!”
My fantasies were shattered when I learned that the Polish priest, who is writing a doctoral thesis in philosophy, wanted to discuss his ideas with some priest.
He wrote to the chairperson of the Philosophy Department at St. John’s University, and the chairperson suggested that I might be willing to offer help. I guess I can stop checking my mail, looking for a letter from the pope!
I did spend a few hours listening to the young priest’s ideas about what he wanted to do in writing his doctoral thesis. He wanted to write about what he referred to as a philosophy of disability.
His idea first struck me as strange, but after about 20 minutes of listening to him, I became fascinated with what he wanted to do in his thesis. He had obviously given a great deal of thought to his project and had already done a considerable amount of research.
Listening to him enthusiastically present his ideas, I wondered if he and I should switch roles. Perhaps I should study philosophy with him! His excitement, intelligence and insights moved me to think about what direction his study and writing should take.
After he had explained to me what interested him and what he hoped to accomplish with his thesis, I began to offer some suggestions.
As I offered some ideas, at least two processes began to take place. First, his topic, a philosophy of disability, became more and more attractive to me, and also trying to help him outline how he might approach his topic helped me to relate what I think are the most important philosophical truths about the human person to what might be a philosophy of disability. I suggested that in his thesis he should outline a vision of the human person that applies to all human persons, including persons who have either physical disabilities or emotional disabilities.
I believe that the most important truths about every person are that every person needs to be loved, that every person is called to be a lover and that every person is unconditionally loved by God. Though I don’t think of every person as having a disability, I do believe that all of us are finite, fragile and vulnerable.
We depend on one another to grow and develop as persons. Apparently babies who are washed, fed and clothed but not loved, die. But equally important as being loved is to be a lover.
There is a radical need in each of us to make a gift of ourselves to others. Perhaps much in our society works against that radical need, but the need is never totally erased. We are called by God and other persons to live our lives as gifts. I suggested to the young philosopher from Poland that these basic truths might form the basis and center of a philosophy of disability.
People with physical disabilities can live as lovers. In fact their very disability might help them and others to understand the meaning and mystery of being human more profoundly. But what about those who have emotional and psychological disabilities? For example, can a person who is bipolar freely love others, or does that person’s emotional status severely limit that person’s freedom?
What about a narcissist who has great difficulty relating to others? Is a narcissist’s freedom greatly limited? I confessed to my young friend that I did not know the answer to questions about how limited is the freedom of persons who have emotional disabilities. I suggested he might explore those questions in his thesis.
As I made that suggestion, the young priest’s eyes lit up, and my guess is that a new dimension of his study was opening up to him.
As we were parting, the young scholar thanked me and assured me that I had helped him to think in new ways about his thesis. I was delighted, but I thought that I should be at least equally grateful to him.
He came to me for help, and, in our encounter, I was helped by him. Become a teacher, and by your students you will be taught!
Father Lauder is a philosophy professor at St. John’s University, Jamaica. He presents two 15-minute talks from his lecture series on the Catholic Novel, 10:30 a.m. Monday through Friday on NET-TV.
