Editor's Report

… for here there is no place that does not see you.

Certain places call us out of ourselves while connecting us with our deepest parts. When I go to the seashore, and the raw power of the sea commands my attention, I imagine how I might respond if someone, a child perhaps, were carried away in high surf — would I try to save them, and, if not, how would that change my life? Imagining my physical capacities and beliefs against the unfathomable power of the ocean is the place where no part of me does not see myself. Calculating my obligation to others divided by my wish to survive is one way I take measure of myself.

Martin Luther King, Jr. (1963) said, “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” Taking measure can be a way to inventory moral qualities such as truthfulness, courage when immersed in fear, or acts of heroism. We consider acts heroic when they involve some degree of self-sacrifice. The fantasy of a heroic act, on the other hand, offers a snapshot of who we believe we are to others and the meaning they hold for us. It is a story about how we want to live with others that expresses empathy. The distance from one person to another is a deeply personal measure. The importance we give to others' needs is a moral issue, not because there is a right or wrong way, but because it helps us understand the complexities of how to live in a group — especially with those who are different.

An Old Testament story about taking measure has Abraham preparing to murder his son Isaac in order to prove his faith. God is taking measure of Abraham. The threat of filicide so commands our attention (as it should!) that a finer point of the parable may get lost: you needn't take a life to impose yourself in ways that are destructive to others. Very few, if any, decisions have no consequences in terms of helping or harming ourselves