Subject: Re: apology To: Nikola Chubrich From: Ernst Meyer Date: Sun, 2 Feb 2020 12:44:25 -0500 Dear Nikola, no apology is necessary, because a) your criticism of the medical profession echoes a holy tradition (Matthew 7:22-23) b) I do not take your criticism personally. I do not identify with my "licensed" colleagues; so far as I am concerned, my being a physician expresses not a social function, but reflects an epistemic and ethical reality. c) your relation to David Gonzales is the manifestation of an existential crisis the nature and seriousness of which I cannot judge; a crisis in which I would like to be of help to you to the extent that I am able. d) please feel free to come back to talk to me at any time. Give me 30 minutes notice. e) The Gospel for this Sunday is Matthew 7. EJM On 02/02/2020 01:06 AM, Nikola Chubrich wrote: Dear Dr. Meyer: I really cannot let another daynight or even a moment pass before I apologize to you, and via you, if you wish, to the younger Dr. Meyer. My behavior yesterday was appalling, my language intemperate and even Trumpian, my hatred for all the kind work of so many medical men, palpable. I do not believe I should be permitted to let rage and heartache speak, especially when admixed with mockery. And it is unacceptable for me not to consider the feelings of others, even in what I think to be the most desperate circumstances (and who am I, without your hard-earned training, to know?) There is a reason that we are asked to give an additional portion of respect to physicians; there is a reason why you are granted a title no other profession is granted, and why it would be a sacrilege for me ever to omit that title. (I am not sure what I am to do about your son, who did once ask me to call him by his first name. I find my duties of respect in conflict: I do not wish to be stiff, and I do not wish to be insouciant. Perhaps, in your presence, I may and must refer to him by his proper title; elsewhere, as he wishes.) We must respect you because you dedicate yourselves to preserving human life and health, which is a sacred duty that distincts man from beast; and also because you sacrifice far more than any other profession, to learn your difficult trade. I kid myself if I were to think I was at all capable of becoming a physician. No other profession is worthy of the title 'Doctor'. I am not even sure that 'Professor' should by any means be accorded equal respect (and of course you and your son are also professors, and therefore also I have disrespected learning itself). Even were we to accept the judgment of total corruption I attempted in great arrogance to pronounce upon all medical men (thereby including also yourselves), this does not entitle me or anyone else to disrespect the profession itself, for its sacrifices and sanctity are rendered not one whit the lesser by the nature of the circumstances it currently finds itself in; for the title 'Doctor' refers to an entity stretching across time and across the world; and the duties of respect, it seems to me, are not constrained by the particular circumstances that exist in a given time or place. You have welcomed me into your presence, and your son has welcomed me into your family, and your grandson had brought me back to life when I moved here. And I have served your grandson----I believe that is the right word, though it is not put here with any imputation of cravenness, but of admiration, freely given----because he is the greatest conductor I have met and played under, and among the best there are in the world today. He stands apart from all the strutters and beat-pressers by possessing the soul of music, by serving humanity, and by being sincere in what he does. I am well aware that the honor I owe him is owed also to the family that brought forth four remarkable and kind children. I will do anything within my power to assist him in the duties his talents impose on him, should I remain welcome to do so. And all this was ill-repayed by me in a moment of rage attempting to guilt your son into the duty of curing a man he had never met; that you were by no means out of place to suggest I might have befriended unthinkingly; and whom he cannot have been expected to be able to help, all this in the midst of his own hard work. (I have never worked in my life.) And I also once proposed without thinking to impose this unknown man into your domain and your home. And I have not given adequate consideration to the possibility that I am being manipulated by one skilled in the art (even though I love my friend not one whit the less, nor do I entertain /possibilities /as /actualities/), and therefore might have risked exposing both you and your son to great difficulties. I have accepted your reprimand, given to me, it seems, in the kindest way possible, and I understand that to violate your family again would be a sin and a breach against those who have tolerated my idiosyncracies and the skeletons in my closet in a way that I had never believed possible until I met the Meyers, and sensed, with great hope, a world unfolding. May I be granted to remain in that unfolding world in spite of my stupidity. I wish to apologize also for my continuing to press on your time last night after you had gotten up and thereby signaled for me to leave. And I must apologize also for my failing to consider your own circumstances, for failing to grant an old man and an elder his sleep once he has signaled his wishes for it. That afternoon, there was a moment, when,,, after I had, in desperation, thinking the need for kindness overruled by my mere supposition of a man's life hanging in the balance,, spoken into the squeecircuits, thinking somehow that by not sharing addresses I could evade the consequences of overspeaking to those not asking to receive what I had to say----,,, when the grace of Gött, el amor also de Dios, descended upon the place where I was----in the place I had come to think of that day as an inadvertent death camp. And this was in the midst of the hospital. For I had spoken to everyone, done everything I could, and realized that /nobody /was at fault, and /nobody /seemed to be in control. It was just as you had said to me, kindly thanking me even for a vile screed. At once the hospital came alive, my sense of desperation and oppression lifted, and I found myself once again in some sort of Eden. It was as if a new life form had emerged around me, a new verdancy had been found in antiseptic corridors; as if all the knowledge and power mankind had accumulated: the power, even, to fling protons at rebellious cells----had returned us, as if by some Hindu epoch, to a state of nature. And in this state God's grace was instantaneous, and I fell down in the chapel and prayed, in whatever way I could think to do. And since that moment no kindness has been denied me; everything I needed for wisdom and for love and for sustenance has been provided for me. I have found teachers everywhere, though none may or can eclipse the mentorship you have given me. And at the moment I find myself desperate, another teacher comes my way. Today was another complex day. I went to Harvard Square to have lunch with my friend Christian Lin. Chris is infinitely tolerant and patient, and a teacher of mine himself, even though only a senior at Harvard. I was hoping to introduce him to David at some point. Chris's Harvard recommendation was written by a janitor, and he is from an immigrant and working-class background himself: his father runs a small Chinese restaurant, and he had to cut hedges in order to earn lessons in the double bass. He used to stay until late at night talking to the janitors in his school. I have found that the wisest men in any place are often the janitors. Thus it is hardly surprising he is so wise; certainly much wiser than I am, and therefore a mentor to me. I met many of his friends this summer; he seems to have a gift for finding the most wonderful friends. I would not have been worthy to be his friend when I was at Yale. He gave me much love and kindness, and steered me towards a more thoughtful demeanor. He pointed out that my ascent and descent into intellectual realms, and my keeping company with a salt of the earth of the sea, might have blasted apart my sense of propriety. This was instantly apparent to me as true, and I had never thought of it until that moment. I assured him that I would do my best to reconstruct these proprieties as best I could. And later in the evening he reminded me to take time and take a breath. He observed also that my cognition and personality were completely changed. He was kind enough not to say that he no longer recognized me, even though I was in a sense unrecognizable, and spoke in a complex and almost inhuman way, until I broke down in tears. His friendship for me suffered no discontinuity, even though I had. I do not have to hide myself or pretend to be my old self to Chris. And this is a precious privilege, and I am not sure if there is another person in the world I can say that for, other than you, if you will grant it. I realize this is not meant to be a thank-you note to Chris, but I want to say this so you might believe I am not a hopeless case. And so by his teaching the hubris that had somehow remained in me even after the descent of grace, departed a little, though may I never presume it be not present still. As our interview was ending----he gave me nearly an hour of time even though he is terribly busy in his senior year----the phone rang from David again. He had once again gotten locked out of the hotel. I returned to the realization that David's phone had been hacked, that someone who hacked it now had my number, and I resolved to resolve the situation as best I could as we ate a quick dinner of Portuguese stuffed quahogs. I left in a state of something like fear, once again, kindly diminished by a well-timed text message from him. (After a break in Israel, Chris wants to keep the Sabbath, at least to the extent of keeping his phone off. Unfortunately my needfulness today blew apart /that /plan.) My Uber driver was a Spanish speaker, and I immediately switched into Spanish. I have become somehow fluent in Spanish over the last month, albeit with poor vocabulary. I was pleased to see that she was from Peru, home of one of my favorite writers, Ricardo Palma. I explained (as I always do) why I was stuck with a Castilian accent, and she assured me I did not sound stuck-up or precious. I have only read one of Palma's /Tradiciones Peruanas, /because to read them in English is sacrilege; and I do not have enough vocabulary to read them easily, though when Dios grants me time, I will read them again, I am sure, with much less trouble than before, since I am no longer obsessive about understanding things. I do not wish to spoil for you /El Alarcón de Fray Gomez/. It is the most beautiful story I have ever read. My driver and I were discussing the last line, and how Spanish expresses /amor /for God through the word /Dios/; how 'God' in English is /una palabra que tiene guerra en su mismo/; I did not manage to say how 'Gött' gave one a sense of grandeur. I spoke of how the diminutive expressed affection but not disrespect; /perrito /is /not /translatable into "little dog". I expressed gratitude for the /subjuntivo/, and wished America could find subjunctivizers for its hateful certitudes, of which I had yesterday been a partaker (though I did not say so). I said Spanish knew how to show respect, by means of /Tu /and /Usted /(and I used /Usted /with her, and did not /trata de Tu/; and our conversation was not one whit stiff or formal or less friendly thereby). And as for our lack of a plural /you/, it is grievous. I told her about the time I wandered around, mediodia, in the Albaicín of Granada, among the Carmenes, which enfold hidden gardens inside a bare exterior. This is the Islamic way: to show beauty on the inside of a bare exterior, so that it surprises and overwhelms one, as when one finds a fountain on a hot day. And indeed I did. On top of a hill----I must have been near heatstroke, for I had unwisely chosen to skip the siesta, and did not even have a hat----a little fountain burbled out of blue tiles into a basin, and I drank gratefully. I looked up gratefully at the inscription, which said: /Cuanto me gustaria ser el fuente de me barrio, pa cuando pases y bebas, sentir muy cerca tus labios/. I fell into a reverie in which the world seemed to dissolve. And a part of my damaged heart healed, though the better part remained rent. Palma wrote, in /El Alarcón de Fray Gomez/: / / /Animalito de diós, sigue por tu camino./ / / And this I say to you also. I cannot but dare hope that I may be privileged to spend the rest of that portion of my life that will overlap with yours, under the benefit of your guidance. Nevertheless I will no longer impose myself on you, and will wait to hear from you, as much as I may hope for the best. As I write these things, a homeless man in resonant voice is singing /The Star-Spangled Banner /and /The Battle Hymn of the Republic/. I am outside on a bench in the park bordering JFK street and Mt. Auburn. And now again he has switched to Handel's /Every Valley Shall be Exalted. /I wish to thank him for his beautiful music and beautiful voice; but I must note that he is not singing for my entertainment, but for his own joy. I will have to give some thought as to how to express my respect for him. Thus, having left the jungle, I find myself once again in the Garden of Prospects, which my beloved friend and teacher XUEQIN welcomed me to. And the Garden of Prospects on School Street is by no means less, and is in fact coequal; though I would no more barge into it unwelcomed than I would fail to praise the celestial merits of the Son of Heaven. (He is now singing my favorite hymn. His repertoire is inexhaustible.)