The Elie Wiesel Prize in Ethics

Third Prize - 2000

To Make Boundaries Converge

Minh Doan

Berea College

Berea, KY

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 To Make Boundaries Converge

On Thursday afternoon, November 4th 1999, in the flock of students rushing out of the

auditorium, I walked silently, deep in thoughts and emotions. The college-wide symposium, “the

Changing Face of War,” had featured Ed Miles, an associate director of Vietnam Veterans of America

Foundation. Ed Miles, who was a captain in the US army, shared his torments over the destruction

that he executed and witnessed in Vietnam. Miles also shared his powerful experience of being back in

the place where he was wounded in 1989, where his pent-up anger was met with compassion by a

Vietnamese grandmother. Miles’ acrimonious words yet trusting look at us college students, whom

he charged to be the changing faces of war, strongly moved me. It was not simply because I am a

Vietnamese, whose family lived through this ghastly war. My education, experience, and aspirations

for the coming millennium converged to make me realize that the maelstrom of wars and ubiquitous

human cruelty against each other and against the earth, has its root in one ethical issue: the abuse of

self-interest. The healing process lies in elevating our minds towards eliminating boundaries, as Miles

and the Vietnamese grandmother overcame the boundaries of two different nationalities, two different

agonies, to drink from the same pot of Vietnamese tea in a friendly talk.

Miles’ tracing some tormenting and fulfilling moments in his life inspired me to look back on

some of the most resonant encounters in my education and life experiences. One of these encounters

was my reading of Oration on the Dignity of Man, a manifesto of being human, delivered by Pico

Mirandola in 1486 in Rome. This oration embodies the primary meaning of the Renaissance: the

rebirth of humans with strongly affirmed awareness of individual power and aspirations to ascend

through exercising free will. However, this exaltation of human dignity sows the seed of overweening

self-interest, threatening the fertility of the earth. These threats have become increasingly pronounced

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in the 20th century as humans exhausted natural resources, amassed profits through child labor and

exploitation, and built bombs, nuclear weapons, and holocaust centers. We might derive useful

lessons and better connect to the events of our time, such as Miles’ war experiences, by reviving the

Renaissance celebration of the individual and its potentials for abuse.

In opposition to the Middle Ages’ characterization of humans as fallen and sinful, Pico

elaborates an astoundingly fresh view of humankind. As in the Bible, Pico presents humans as

progenies of God’s own image. A salient difference, however, concerns humans’ autonomy and

importance. In Genesis, God imposes on humans certain restrictions and clearly indicates the

sanctions to chasten humans’ pervasive free will. God says to Adam, “Of the tree of the knowledge of

good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it, for in the day that thou shalt eatest thereof thou shalt surely

die” (Genesis 2: 17). In contrast, in defining human dignity, Pico describes God’s command as

humans are impeded by no restrictions: “You may, as the free and proud shaper of your own being,

fashion yourself in the form you may prefer” (Pico 7). Humans are vouchsafed a special place, “the

very center of the world” (7), where humans have the “unsurpassable felicity” to have what they choose

and be what they will to be (8). This vision compels Pico to perceive humans as “a great miracle, ...

the most fortunate of all living things, ...deserving of all admiration, ... the envy of not the brutes

alone but of the astral beings”(4).

Like the majority of Renaissance literature, Pico celebrates humans’ unrestricted power and

drive for glory. However, there is a somber side of the human plight that Renaissance literature and

Pico unveil. The realms of human domination are beset by puzzling doubts; the sense of void

becomes strong enough to paralyze aspirations to power. Pico affirms that humans can “rise to the

superior orders”; at the same time, he warns that humans can “descend to the lower, brutish forms of

life,” through their “own decisions” (8). Pico compares the decisions that we make in our lives to

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“seeds pregnant with all possibilities,” advising that whichever of these seeds we shall cultivate, the

same will mature and bear fruit in us (8). Through this statement, Pico perceives that human dignity

is achieved when humans bring their potentials into performance beneficial for self-growth and society.

Despite Pico’s emphasis on the fulfillment of human potentials, many people in the

Renaissance as well as in the twentieth century have taken his message as permission to gratify

unrestrained self-interest, lust for profits and power. Human dignity falls into an abyss when human

power is at its zenith in such atrocities as the dehumanization of concentration camps, the obliteration

of Hiroshima, and harassment of Albanian refugees. In 1922, before the tumult of the twentieth

century takes place, the German poet Rilke predicts in his poignant Duino Elegies the plight of being

alienated in our world: “Who can we turn to then? Neither angels nor man, and the animals already

know by instinct we are not comfortably at home in our translated world” (5). Human dignity is no

longer considered “a great miracle” or “the most fortunate of all living things.” The process of human

degradation that threatens to persist into the third millennium was not unknown to the people of the

Renaissance. They struggled as much as we do at this transition time to overcome the decay of

individual ethics. Machiavelli’s The Prince (1513) displays the tension between the glorious and the

downgrading sides of human dignity, whereas Montaigne’s Essays (1578-1588) offer correctives to the

abuse of individual interest.

The Machiavellian prince’s virtues are not necessarily goodness, clemency, and the like; they are

whatever skills and forces help him in the efficient management and preservation of princely powers.

Machiavelli intentionally reiterates such phrases of power gluttony as “to rule” (1708), “to conquer,”

and “to maintain position” (1712). Machiavelli advocates practicing the “vice of stinginess” (1708):

“you can be a free giver of what does not belong to you, ... it is only the spending of your own money

that hurts you” (1709). Machiavelli argues that “it is much more secure to be feared than to be loved,”

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since in the long term fear enables a prince to rule in his own power, without having to resort to

others’ support, as in the case of love (1709). In both situations, supreme self-interest ruins all traces

of compassion. Not only expounding on how bad conduct may benefit more than good conduct,

Machiavelli advises cultivating the appearance of good: “a prince should seem all compassion, all faith,

all honesty, all humanity and all religion” (1712). Righteous dignity is not intended as the inherent

property of a prince; it is adopted and rejected to the best benefits of selfish pursuits. Sadly enough,

the practice of these princely virtues is popular in our time; self-interests and ambitions drive humans

against one another to hostilities and calamities.

The Prince justifies self-centered pursuits as adaptability to a society where all humans are

“ungrateful, mutable, pretenders and dissemblers, prone to avoid danger, thirsty for gain” (Machiavelli

1709). However, a prince endeavoring to rise for his own sake only adds to the ills of the society.

Montaigne, writing sixty years after Machiavelli and recognizing the dangers that these endeavors

conduce, offers correctives to the abuse of individual interest. In his essay Of Experience, Montaigne

labels as “madness” these excessive individual quests that we cannot live up to: “instead of changing

into angels, [humans] change into beasts; instead of raising themselves, they lower themselves” (856).

Montaigne draws a golden rule that even though humans might be placed in the middle of the

universe, humans should not conduct their lives by the wide middle way that has no limitations. He

says, “it is much easier to go along the sides where the outer edge serves as a limit and a guide” (852).

Montaigne asserts that self-affirmation is not achieved by “supercelestial pursuits” because they are,

very often, in accord with “subterranean conduct” (856). Only when we accept our limitations

without disdain, cam we comprehend the privileges and dignity of being human. Perhaps the gist of

Montaigne’s philosophy of life lies in this message, “To compose our character is our duty, not to

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compose books, and to win battles and provinces, but [to achieve] order and tranquility in our

conduct. Our great and glorious masterpiece is to live appropriately” (850).

Montaigne’s philosophy, the culmination of painfully observed hostility and violence in the

16th century, holds true for our time. I perceive his advice to be the message of Ed Miles’ talk. Miles

recalled the bombing raids that annihilated entire villages. He said that the implication of this

wholesale destruction was not evident to him until he left Vietnam to be treated for his wounds. He

realized that the devastated villages may have existed for a hundred years and were home to families

whose lives were at peril. That is how the war was fought in a morass of human indignity: mobilize

power weapons, spread fear, manifest “princely virtues,” pay no tribute to the traditions of another

country, feel no compassion for another people. The day after Miles was wounded, an advisor came

to see him in the hospital to tell him that they had wiped out the village where he was wounded, as

though it were “a favor” to him. I felt that this favor seemed to injure Miles a second time. Pain also

cuts through my heart. Is it the venerated freedom from restraints and egoistic gratification that

propels humans to destroy and kill to their free will? This shameful display of power makes life

unlivable for others. I remember how my grandmother always reminded me to appreciate that I live

in peace, therefore have all the good conditions to study well and contribute to society. In her

lifetime, when she worked as primary school teacher, the desires to teach and learn, however strong,

were suffocated in the terror of bombs and harsh conditions of underground evacuation tunnels.

Miles came back to Vietnam twenty years later, in 1989. The village where he was wounded

had been rebuilt as it was twenty years ago. The Vietnamese had incorporated the pains of war into

the healing process by rebuilding lives on the land where they were ravaged. A Vietnamese

grandmother in this village remembered the day that Miles was wounded because the day after, the

other Americans came and destroyed her village. The grandmother invited Miles to her house for tea,

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saying “I am sorry you were wounded in my village.” Miles was too stunned to respond. Twenty

years after the war was over, he had remained “an angry person,” whereas the grandmother who was

also part of the war had left behind war agonies and resentment to live her life graciously.

It was the first time that I had the opportunity to hear the perspective of an American captain

in the Vietnam War. Miles’ talk touched my heart deeply, for it once again reinforced the significance

of living along the philosophy that Montaigne put beautifully: “To compose our character is our duty,

not to compose books, and to win battles and provinces, but [to achieve] order and tranquility in our

conduct.” I see Miles as the spokesperson for the futility of such power pursuits and fulfillment of self-

interest as winning battles and provinces. These “supercelestial pursuits” are futile and inhuman, since

they lead to the “subterranean conduct” of complete ignorance of other precious lives. The executors

of these pseudo-glorious pursuits face an implicit boomerang from their ambitions. Peace was

restored in Vietnam in 1975; however, this did not guarantee that peace was restored in the hearts of

war participants. Miles said that twenty years after going to war, he remained “an angry person”; that

is why he was awe-struck to realize that the Vietnamese grandmother had accomplished “order and

tranquility.” My grandmother often told me that the Vietnamese people, who went through enduring

years of colonialism and wars, could easily lose themselves to anger at past injustices. Many of our

world’s troubles, from personal quarrels to global conflicts, result from our inability to put aside

resentment. Self-serving anger, my grandmother told me, needs to be transmuted into the life forces

that work towards bringing peace in our hearts.

One of the strongest forces is erasing boundaries between oneself and other people, between

one country and other countries, between oneself and the rest of life. Miles and the Vietnamese

grandmother, in their efforts to transmute war anger into forces of peace, made a convergence of their

boundaries. An American captain established connection and sought understanding with a Vietnamese

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mother whose village was devastated in the war. These two people have greatly contributed to

bringing America and Vietnam closer in the healing process. They provide inspiration that it is

possible to overcome the ethical problem of diverging self-interests.

To make boundaries converge is a very powerful force in preserving peace on earth and peace

in our hearts. This truth touches me profoundly because I have lived in its power. In July 1996, I was

selected as one of the first three Vietnamese students to participate in the second Cathay Pacific

Lapalala Experience. Cathay Pacific Airlines annually sponsors a group of forty-nine students from

different Asian countries on a five-day program in Lapalala Wilderness School in Transvaal Waterberg,

South Africa. Students, aged from 15 to 18, come from the Philippines, Indonesia, Malaysia, Hong

Kong, Thailand, South Korea, Taiwan, Vietnam, and South Africa. The aim of this program is to use

the medium of conservation, which is a global concern, to bridge the gap of cultural differences. For

many of us, it was the first time to step out of our small worlds, visit another land, and have open-

hearted conversations with people from other countries on a wilderness trail.

I can never forget the moment I first walked into the wilderness, overwhelmed by its

immensity and purity. Encountering antelopes in the wild, learning about animals from their dung

and footprints, inhaling the fresh, invigorating air, awakening all my senses to every sight, sound, and

smell of the bushveld, I felt embraced by Nature as part of an interconnected web of life. As I

cooperated with people from other countries to address some environmental problems and find

workable, affordable solutions, I realized that the African wilderness and other Asian environments are

no less mine to love and protect than my home environment. One of the most unforgettable stops on

our trail was to visit Bwana and Munyana, two orphaned rhinos being reared by Lapalala school. We

took turns feeding the rhinos, who were happy and enthusiastic to receive us. As I was going to feed

Munyana, a black South African friend held out his hand to help me. Before I went on this trip to

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South Africa, I had never met a black person. Now I was holding a black hand in friendship; our

different colors of skin merged in the color of love for an orphaned animal. Not only were the

boundaries between us and Nature blurring, but also the boundaries between continents, countries,

and backgrounds.

Our cultural activities also contributed to diminishing our separateness and self-interest. Every

evening, students from two countries got together to prepare their traditional dishes for dinner for the

rest of the group. Most of us had never shared culture with other people, rarely undertaken cooking in

the family, let alone cooking for such a large number. It was therefore the time for most of us to open

our hearts to responsibility and sharing, asking ourselves “How much can I give?” rather than “How

much can I be given?” It was the time to learn cooperation with people from the same country and

those from other countries. The Vietnamese spring rolls that we three Vietnamese students made were

well-liked. We were very happy to explain to other people how to make spring rolls and how to eat

with chopsticks. The South Africans had great difficulty eating with chopsticks, as we had the night

before using our hands to eat an African dish. The joy of living some aspects of another culture,

erasing the boundaries of different eating habits, transcended this difficulty.

After dinner, we got together around the fire to present traditional songs and dances. My

grandmother had suggested to me that the Vietnamese students should sing a kindergarten song, “The

Duck.” To my surprise, we received warm applause for this song, and were asked to sing the song

again and again. Not until recently did I realize the communicative power of this song that my

grandmother had understood. Children tend to see the world as a seamless whole, whereas adults “are

wrong to make distinctions that are too absolute” (Rilke 10). In a natural imitation of the duck, in

the enchanting African music, in other Asian rhythms, all of us ceased to live as separate fragments on

one side of the boundaries concerned only with individual interests.

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 As our boundaries eroded, we became united by love and cooperation. The night before the

last in Lapalala, we slept in the wilderness underneath the stars. We divided ourselves into small

groups; people in each group took turns sitting at the fire, responsible for the safety of other friends

who were asleep. In the stillness of the African night, as we guarded the sleep of others, we felt peace

and warmth in caring for others’ well-being as much as for our kinship. I slept next to a friend from

Hong Kong; as we exchanged our experiences on the trail, she told me, “You have changed my

prejudices against Vietnam.” It was one of the most powerful and inspirational moments in my life.

Both of us, recognizing the power of individuals in effecting changes, became motivated to live fuller

and richer lives by erasing boundaries through love and compassion.

The next morning, we hiked up to Baboon Rock for a time of solitude and contemplation.

My mind was tranquil, my heart was at peace as I beheld the immense natural beauty and drew

together all the lessons I had learnt in Lapalala. Tomorrow, when I came back home to see a sky black

with smoke, or a topsoil blow away in the wind, I would not feel removed from nature’s destruction.

When I watched a television program about poverty in some African countries, or conflicts in some

Asian countries, I would not feel alienated from other people’s sufferings. I had come to realize that

calamities in any part of the world affect me and that an individual can participate in the healing

process by eliminating boundaries that separate people from each other. To love as much as to be

loved in my family, among my friends, at school, and in the community, will contribute to

weakening my self-interest and encouraging me to reach out to others. To share my culture with

people from other countries wherever I am in the future will help replace crossed hammers with

crossed arms. My Lapalala friends would also go back to their countries and strengthen the unity of all

life by living compassionate everyday lives.

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 The day we said goodbye at Johannesburg airport we all shed a lot of tears. The Vietnamese

students were asked to sing the song “The Duck” again as everyone else made a circle of friendship

around us. The past five days had brought the different nationalities together as well as uniting people

from the same country. The South Africans, blacks, whites, and Indians, no longer estranged from

each other, moved even closer in their pain of parting with Asian friends. Forty-nine of us were going

in different directions to share with other people how our experience of feeling boundaries vanish

intensified our lives. Even a small group of such people has the power to bring about far-reaching

changes in our society and restore true meaning to the essence of human dignity that Pico asserted.

My Lapalala experience helps me appreciate the significance of Ed Miles’ speech: the “changing

face of war” starts with transforming ourselves as individuals, making unity, not boundaries. The

process of sublimating our self-interests as energies to establish peace on earth and peace in our hearts

requires sacrifice, patience, courage, and faith. This process is also my personal struggle. My

grandfather was a French soldier in the French-Indochina war who left Vietnam in 1952, leaving my

grandmother single all her life to raise my father alone in oppressing prejudices of the post-war

Vietnamese society. My grandmother, despite enduring hardship and alienation, was a beautiful spirit

of love and peace who taught me to be human. Although my grandfather married in France and when

alive, never sent us even a letter, she did not bear any anger towards him, towards the French, or

towards the Vietnamese society. She spoke French fluently and passionately, had an admirable

knowledge about France, cherished the dream of visiting Paris, and always told me that her dreams

would be realized through me.

When I was in Paris this past summer, I did all the visiting I could for both me and my

grandmother. I came to see my grandfather’s French wife, who had been corresponding with us

throughout the years, and every member of my French family. My grandma would be very happy to

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know that I have the opportunities to travel, expand my horizons, grow out of my anger and make

peace. She would also be happy that in sharing my experiences with my classmates and friends, I am

inviting others to join the course of dissolving boundaries. I will strive along this path that brings me

much joy when I share with other people my traditional food, eliminate prejudices against my

country, and take a reunion picture with my French family

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 WORKS CITED

Holy Bible. King James Version. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1982.

Machiavelli, Niccolo. “The Prince.” The Norton Anthology of World Masterpieces. Ed. Maynard
Mack. New York: Norton, 1992. 1706-1717.

Montaigne, Michel de. The Complete Essays of Montaigne. Trans. Donald M. Frame. Stanford:
Stanford UP, 1976.

Pico Della Mirandola, Giovanni. Oration on the Dignity of Man. Trans. A. Robert Coponigri.
Washington D.C.: Regnery Publishing, 1956.

Rilke, Rainer Maria. Duino Elegies and the Sonnets to Orpheus. Trans. A. Poulin. Boston: Houghton
Mifflin, 1977.

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