The Ethos of Tenderness

Somehow, I inherently just knew that. But when I saw that concept in the essay by Fritz Guy in “Connection,” it was like a serendipitous discovery for the first time.

What a beautiful concept. What a rich set of images it brings into the mind. What a set of remembered sights, and sounds, and smells. What a sense of feeling. What a security of comfort. Of safety. What a cohesion of belonging.

Tenderness. The ethos of tenderness.

But what is it of mankind that emanates tenderness? How did we each come up with our set of images of tenderness within our mind? Our remembered sights, and sounds, and smells of tenderness. How did we recognize and confirm that sense of tender feeling? What assures us of a tender comfort and security with another? With our safety with another? What is it about another that tells us we belong to them?

What do we know of “tenderness?”

The vegetarians in the group likely have no clue about this. But a skilled chef will determine with remarkable precision the degree of “doneness” of a piece of cooking meat, simply by touching it. For the “tenderness” of the touch will determine its inner condition. The softer the meat, the rarer its degree of doneness. The harder the meat, the more well done.

And yes, the gift of touch. The gift to be touched. That gift will reveal the inner condition of tenderness.

And what a wonderful diagnostic indicator the privilege of intimate touch can be.

But when touch is not possible. Not appropriate. Impractical. Separated by space or time. Or any of another myriad of reasons. How does one ascertain tenderness?

The voice? Yes. But one must first know that voice to be able to ascertain the quality of tenderness. For a stranger though, that assessment will be imprecise.

But what of the face?

Is not the face a window to the soul?

The face that is beautiful, the face that is knurled, the face without blemish, the face with a life-time of weathering?

Is not the reflection of tenderness within any face discernable?

Does one not just inherently know the tenderness, the inner condition, by looking into another’s face?

I think of faces into which I have looked in this past week alone.

What I don’t know about tenderness, romance, love, intimacy, sex, marriage . . . would fill a decent sized encyclopedia. But there is something inside of me that responds to a look of tenderness. And I feel confident that I inherently recognize that look.

And there is something inside of me that inherently responds when tenderness is not there.

The faces of this past week.

Two ladies. Singing in antiphonal duet to each other in a church service. Singing into the face of their other.

Two young men. Parents. Telling of their child. Beaming at each other. Completing each other’s sentences.

A lonely young man telling his story. His eyes dropping. His face softening. Radiating.

Two young cowboys. Those heart-breaking furtive glances to each other. The unspoken conversation of unspeakable things. Their inherent tenderness as soft as the lamb’s wool of which they shepherding.

A man and a woman seated in an opulent awards festooned theater. Each gazing into the eyes of their other.

And so many more.

Faces radiating the expression of the “Ethos of Tenderness.” The subconscious facial telling . . . of love, of commitment, of endearment, of intimacy, of safety.

But there were other faces in this past week as well.

Faces I do not understand.

I try, but I simply can’t.

Are these faces even capable of expressing tenderness? Please, someone, tell me this is so. Tell me it can be so.

The faces are mean. Contorted. And frequently there is a rifle or some other menace close by. In other settings, the faces are shielded by hate-emanating placards.

There is heat of war. Violence. Death. Bigotry. Hate.

Some of the faces are partially hidden by veil, but the little parts that are revealed, reveal a look of fear.

Their faces are on the 24/7 news. Their faces are in the glossy pictures of news magazines. Their faces are pixilated on web sites. Their faces are instilled into the psych of this viewer.

The humanness of human sexuality.

Is it not to be nurtured in the ethos of tenderness?

Is not that what the morality of human sexuality is all about? The ethos of tenderness?

So I cannot understand. How do these faces of meanness, faces of fear, faces of hate share the intimacy of the ethos of tenderness?

Yet there are babies being born every day in the midst of this mayhem. And one would think that the ethos of tenderness would be the stork of babies.

But I sense. I don’t want to. But I can’t help it. I sense that the stork of these babies is not a tender stork.

And I get this sick feeling within me.

And the realization of the horrors of patriarchy and misogynic domination.

For I fear of the primal fear of the male. I am fearful of the male’s fear of the ethos of tenderness.

The Refectory Manager