Not long ago I listened to an episode of This American Life in which the subject of one of the stories described personal independence as an intermediate stage of maturity. When we come into the world, so he says, our dependence on those around us is so obviously necessary that we welcome it readily. As we grow up, we fight for our independence in the world — the ability to stand on our own two feet, to be self-sufficient. For no other people in the world is this so culturally ingrained as for Americans. But, so he says, what so many fail to recognize is the stage beyond independence: interdependence. When we reach that stage of maturity, we recognize our place within our community, within our society, and we accept both our independent contribution to and our dependent need for that larger whole.
It’s a matter of humility, I think.
I think that guy’s perspective is debatable. “Maturity” is such a slippery word. For one person, maturity may imply a struggle to overcome his codependent tendencies; for another person, maturity may mean setting aside the need to stand alone in all things. Perhaps I see balance as the key to maturity: know when to hold them, know when to fold them.
Regardless, what prompted me to write this was my own moment of weakness. In that moment, a deep instinct to ask God for help surfaced. And in the same moment another instinct — not quite as deep — shushed the first instinct, insisting that asking for help meant I was shirking my own responsibility.
God, can you help me? Sure, he could, but then he’d be living my life for me, doing all the things I should be learning to do myself. I made this bed, now I have to lie in it.
And I thought of that radio man’s words, saying that interdependence is the next stage of maturity. I think I can agree fully with him when I distill his words into these: that recognizing our need in addition to our capability is the road to wisdom.
So I felt okay with asking God for help, because surely he’s proud of me for what I can do without asking, too.
