One of the things Dr. Joe and I have in common is a love of the Arctic. Being in that vast expanse of land and sea above the tree line is like looking at the bones of the world. You know how small you are, how easily snuffed out—and also how important your life-support systems are, other people among them.
I'd traveled in the Arctic a number of times, though not nearly as many as Dr. Joe. I suspect that the roots of his Wisdom Keepers project lie there, with the Inuit—who happen to possess so many of the qualities Dr. Joe prizes among those who live and work at the extreme edges of human experience. He must have observed the respect they pay to Elders, and he may also have wondered why our society, with its emphasis on youth, has been losing its intergenerational connections.Wisdom Keepers may be his way of bringing into being an Elders tradition among non-Inuit.
While visiting in the Arctic, I had been told a number of things about Inuit Elders. First, you can't become an Elder just by getting old; it's a title bestowed by others. You never push your advice, but you offer it if asked. "You can tell who the Elders are," said my informant. "Just watch a group. The Elders are the ones to whom the others are always bringing cups of tea." When an Elder speaks, people listen. But Elders don't speak often.
An Elder knows what to do in times of difficulty. Elders acquired that knowledge by having endured hard times before. As one of our old sayings puts it, "Good judgment comes from experience. Experience comes from bad judgment."
In earlier societies, especially those living in harsh environments, at a time when the life expectancy was 35, the rare individual living to 60 would have seen many more times of crisis than the younger people. He or she would have had a better idea of how to face those dangers. In traditional Japan it was the custom to tear down and rebuild wooden temples at set intervals. So that the rebuilt temple would exactly resemble its predecessor, three generations of master craftsmen were always employed: the apprentices, who were learning; the master craftsmen of middle years, who had already lived through one temple rebuilding; and the oldest generation, who'd been through the process twice before and could coach the other two. One of the reasons to keep wisdom, it seems, is so you can pass it on when required.
Many people feel we're living through a crisis now. The young, especially—those who have known only the affluent times of recent years—have been shocked by the global recession. They were fed a number of accepted truths that turned bottom side up overnight: that spending was always a good thing to do, that a house would always increase in value, that the rich and powerful always knew what they were doing. Not so, it seems, nor is the present situation unprecedented, but those under 35 have never lived through anything like it.
Perhaps it's time for our own Elders (our Wisdom Keepers) to share their experience with younger generations who want to know—and also need to know—how to deal with hard times:
"This is how you stretch a dollar, serve a leftover, turn a collar," they might say.
Or, "The important things in life aren't things."
Or, "Keep your nerve. Don't panic. The only way out is through."
Or, "Hanging your clothes to dry doesn't cost a cent."
Or, " 'We' is a more powerful word than 'I.' "
Or, "The human race has been through the bottleneck before."
Or even a simple, "We can do this."
You've got your own list? Time to share it—though, like a true Elder, only when asked.
Margaret Atwood's latest novel is The Year of the Flood (the second of a trilogy that began with Oryx and Crake) from Nan A. Talese/Doubleday Books.