I know a man who is a devout peacemaker - and he is very good at it. He runs from this one to that one. Here to pour oil over troubled waters, there, to soothe hurt feelings, and still another place to make people feel better. i know him from childhood, a sensitive young person who grew into a thinking man, a (naïve) admirer of Ghandi and Martin Luther King. There is only one problem: there is strife wherever he goes. At home, and at work too, there is discord.
He, his wife, his 2 daughters and one son and his mother-in-law all live in the same house together where he is forever putting out fires.
There are the standard arguments about what kind of vacations they should take, where they should go, and the size of the clothing budget, but there are even more detailed and petty ones like who gets the better bath towels.
My friend wears a weary, besieged look on his face at home as though violent, intense conflict may break out at any moment and often it does. On such occasions Doug will often say, looking heavenward "what's the matter with this family" or "can't we all just get along?"
At work too, he throws himself into the furious activity of calming the waves and restoring peace among the warring personalities in his law practice. He extols the virtues of cooperation, getting along, making compromises, teamwork, making peace. Sometimes even the difficult people manage to cooperate with each other -- for a time. Somehow though, nothing gets worked out. No sooner has he done that then other battles erupt over different trivialities. For all of his Herculean efforts, the atmosphere at work and at home is only a touch better than miserable.
I have often listened to his tales of woe. They seemed depressing, but manageable. Now though, as he has gotten older, I noticed that he has finally gotten fed up.
"What gives," he asks me. "Why does everyone fight all the time? I've spent many years being the guy who calms things down. For all this time, I thought that was my role-- to make peace, but now..."
What changed? I asked him, "Why do you feel differently now?"
I'm tired," he said simply. "And it's gotten only worse. Everything has become one big bitter soup."
I know this man a long time. I know his father died when he was eight. He was very attached to his mother, a talented and ambitious woman.
I can say almost anything to him and he'll make good use of it. "You know what your problem is?" I told him. "You've been a compulsive peace maker."
He stared at me.
"There's nothing wrong with making peace," I continued. "It's a high value. But you do it compulsively. The minute there is tension you drop what you're doing and jump as though you were Henry Kissinger dispatched to distant capitals to fix things.
He looked stupefied, stumped. He said nothing for a long while. And then he let out a sheepish sigh. "You're right. And lot of good it's done."
When you feel compelled to do something, it's a good bet that you are trying to avoid having a feeling. I challenged him: "What feeling are you covering up by running here and there with these seemingly futile peace-making efforts all the time?"
"I suppose if I got down to it, I'd have to say I'm pretty angry."
He laughed a laugh of self-recognition. "You know, when I was growing up. My mother was a widow. I was the oldest. We were two boys. My mother couldn't tolerate any fighting. People envied us, the lack of fighting. But there was a terrible strain."
In his case, if he'd fought growing up, everything would've fallen apart. It was a luxury he wouldn't allow himself then or now.
Ironically, my friend's compulsive peace-making aggravated things in his present day household and in the office. His furious shuttle diplomacy was a way of not letting people grow up and deciding for themselves what they want.
People should do their best to encourage harmony and reconciliation. But if you find you're always trying to make peace, going beyond what's reasonable, promising everything, you have to stop and ask yourself:
What are you really feeling? Is there a feeling you want to avoid by being "peaceful"?
Beneath every impulse for peace there are often very complicated feelings. The more you are willing to know about your deeper feelings, the less likely you'll be to act out of compulsion, and greater chance for a real, life-filled peace.
