I just read this story for my psychology class. I thought it was fascinating. Alongside the fact that the old man was able to relate to and help the drunk man, we too are unable to see the problems in each person’s life. There’s always something about others that we don’t know about. It’s not for us to judge, but to do our best to help all those around us!
If the test of social skill is the ability to calm distressing emotions in others, then handling someone at the peak of rage is perhaps the ultimate measure of mastery. The data on self-regulation of anger and emotional contagion suggest that one effective strategy might be to distract the angry person, empathize with his feelings and perspective, and then draw him into an alternative focus, one that attunes him with a more positive range of feeling, a kind of “emotional judo.”
Such refined skill in the fine art of emotional influence is perhaps best exemplified by the late Terry Dobson, who in the 1950s was one of the first Americans ever to study the martial art Aikido in Japan:
One afternoon he was riding home on a suburban Tokyo train when a huge, bellicose, very drunk and begrimed laborer got on. The man, staggering, began terrorizing the passengers, screaming curses, he took a swing at a woman holding a baby, sending her sprawling in the laps of an elderly couple, who then jumped up and joined a stampede to the other end of the car.
The drunk, taking a few other swings (and, in his rage, missing), grabbed the metal pole in the middle of the car with a roar and tried to tear it out of its socket. At that point Terry, who was in peak physical condition from daily eight hour Aikido workouts, felt called upon to intervene, lest someone get seriously hurt.
But he recalled the words of his teacher: “Aikido is the art of reconciliation. Whoever has the mind to fight has broken his connection with the universe. If you try to dominate people you are already defeated. We study how to resolve conflict, not how to start it.” Indeed, Terry had agreed upon beginning lessons with his teacher never to pick a fight, and to use his martial-arts skills only in defense. Now, at last, he saw his chance to test his Aikido abilities in real life, in what was clearly a legitimate opportunity.
So, as all the other passengers sat frozen in their seats, Terry stood up, slowly and with deliberation. Seeing him, the drunk roared, “Aha! A foreigner! You need a lesson in Japanese manners!” and began gathering himself to take on Terry. But just as the drunk was on the verge of making his move, someone gave an ear-splitting, oddly joyous shout: “Hey!” The shout had the cheery tone of someone who has suddenly come upon a fond friend.
The drunk, surprised, spun around to see a tiny Japanese man, probably in his seventies, sitting there in a kimono. The old man beamed with delight at the drunk, and beckoned him over with a light wave of his hand and a lilting “C’mere.” The drunk strode over with a belligerent, “Why the hell should I talk to you?”
Meanwhile, Terry was ready to fell the drunk in a moment if he made the least violent move. “What’cha been drinking?” the old man asked, his eyes beaming at the drunken laborer. “I been drinking sake, and it’s none of your business,” the drunk bellowed. “Oh, that’s wonderful, absolutely wonderful,” the old man replied in a warm tone. “You see, I love sake, too.
Every night, me and my wife (she’s seventy-six, you know), we warm up a little bottle of sake and take it out into the garden, and we sit on an old wooden bench …” He continued on about the persimmon tree in his backyard, the fortunes of his garden, enjoying sake in the evening.
The drunk’s face began to soften as he listened to the old man; his fists unclenched. “Yeah … I love persimmons, too .. . ,” he said, his voice trailing off. “Yes,” the old man replied in a sprightly voice, “and I’m sure you have a wonderful wife.” “No,” said the laborer. “My wife died….” Sobbing, he launched into a sad tale of losing his wife, his home, his job, of being ashamed of himself.
Just then the train came to Terry’s stop, and as he was getting off he turned to hear the old man invite the drunk to join him and tell him all about it, and to see the drunk sprawl along the seat, his head in the old man’s lap.
That is emotional brilliance.
(From Daniel Goleman’s “Emotional Intelligence: Why It Can Matter More Than IQ”)
-eechie.
