The Wise Woman speaks of stoplights

The Wise Woman was speaking.

“You pretend to be the most patient man in the world,” she said. “But you are don’t have any patience at all.”

Stung, I did what men do best: I got defensive.

“You could spend a lot of money visiting a person who could do some diagnostic tests,” she said. “But our city has provided, as a public service, countless devices that will serve to test your spiritual health. They are called traffic lights.”

The Wise Woman has long contended that I am a bad driver. Part of her criticism involves my relationship with stoplights. She contends the relationship is obviously hostile.

And so I kept my mouth shut and drove along. I just noted the way — calm and reasonable — in which I encountered traffic lights.

Well, the first one wasn’t a fair test. I had to pass a driver who was obviously distracted by his cellphone and the light turned yellow just as I was accelerating. And then the second light was just bad luck. After 10 lights I was appalled.

The Wise Woman, as she has a way of being, was right.

I was driving as if I were rushed, as if I didn’t have any time. When did that idea get into my head?

Hurry is not just a minor character flaw. It’s a serious ethical disease. It’s deadly to an ethical life because it kills kindness.

In 1973, two behavioral scientists, John Darley and Daniel Batson, published a study involving students at Princeton Theological Seminary.

The students were told they had to go across campus and preach a sermon on “The Good Samaritan.” Some students were told they had plenty of time. Some were told they were already late. Some were told they had just enough time but had to be smart about it.

On the way, a research assistant posed as a man in distress, slumping against a doorway. 

Some of the students literally stepped over the man in distress in their rush to preach a sermon against the tendency of religious people to ignore those in distress.

Those who were in the greatest rush were most likely to pass by, to pass on an opportunity to be of help, to show someone some kindness.

My friend Melvyn, who is practicing medicine at 91, says that half of being a good doctor is the ability to sit with a fellow human being as if you had all the time in the world.

That ability to take time is the trait of a good doctor, a good friend, a good parent, a good person.

If you feel a little off your game in any of these roles, you could spend some money on diagnostic tests. But our city has thoughtfully provided devices that will give a free reading your spiritual health. There might be a few in your area.