The Definition of Insanity

My heart sinks a little each time I see *Richard walk through the chapel door at the jail. He’s unsettling and more than a little awkward in group contexts, and this is saying something in a place where there are very few people who don’t struggle at least in some way with mental health issues or all the unpleasant and difficult-to-manage effects of coming off hard drugs.

Richard has a propensity for interjecting bizarre, impenetrable comments into the conversation, or wandering around the chapel when we’re watching something on the screen, inspecting the donated books on the shelf we optimistically refer to as the “library.” Sometimes he’ll take his shoes off and inspect his feet. Sometimes he’ll empty his pockets on the floor. Richard is not liked or respected by his fellow inmates. He often sits alone, or as close to alone as you can get within the four chapel walls. He is, shall we say, a “challenge to manage” in a context that already comes with plenty of challenges.

The last time I saw Richard it was on a grainy monitor in the security bubble on the disciplinary unit. I had come down to deliver some bible curriculum he had requested. The guard wearily pointed at the screen. Richard was standing on top of his bunk gesturing wildly at the roof, talking to himself. There were items strewn about a chaotic cell. “He’s not getting anything today,” the guard said. I stared blankly at the screen before resignedly trudging back upstairs with my bible curriculum. I didn’t know what Richard had done to land himself in the hole. I didn’t want to.

Back to the chapel. We’ve had our intro, we’re watching our show, which will be followed (hopefully) by a discussion. Richard is pacing the cage. He’s beating a steady trail to the bookshelf and back to his seat beside me. I’m constantly shhh-ing him. He wants to ask questions, but the guys want to watch their show in peace. He has his candidates for books to bring back to his cell arrayed before him on the floor. There’s one on John Calvin’s theology, a Focus on the Family marriage book, one called Eros Redefined or some such thing. I can’t imagine Richard making it through a page of even one of these books. Perhaps I’m making assumptions.

In the discussion time afterwards we’re talking about how our pasts impact our present selves. Are we nothing more or less than the product of what’s been done to us or the choices we’ve made? Is the past a prison from which our present can never escape? Or, like Jesus’ disciples, can we chart a new course? Can we become something unexpected, something the world would never have predicted? Can we leave behind our nets and our tax booths, our demons and our definitions, and follow Jesus along better, freer roads.

Richard’s been pretty quiet throughout. Unusually quiet. Near the end, though, he looks up and says, “I like that one conversation in the show where Mary and Tamar realize they don’t understand each other, that they assumed they knew the other one, but they didn’t. I think we make assumptions about each other all the time. But none of us really know.”

The room is quiet. I didn’t even think Richard was paying attention, so busy was he with his books and his feet and his too-loud questions. Speaking of assumptions. But Richard’s right, of course. None of us really know. None of us can fully get inside the head of another, to know what the world looks, sounds, and feels like from their perspective, with their own unwieldy, often painful past exerting its unique pressure on the present.

Chapel’s over, we’re standing at the door, waiting for the guard to come open the door. I wander over to Richard. “So, am I going to see you here again next week?” He grins. “Depends if I’m still on the unit or if I’m back in the hole.” “Well,” I say with a smile, “just behave yourself.” He laughs.

I press on a bit, perhaps foolishly. “Richard, have you heard the quote about the definition of insanity?” He shakes his head. “What’s the definition of insanity?” I ask. He grins even wider. “Me?” “Nope,” I respond, “it’s doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.” The words feel hopelessly naïve even as they’re spilling out of my mouth. How much do I say, I wonder, simply because I don’t know what else to say? Do I actually believe that this guy has the capacity to freely choose to act differently? Maybe I’m the one who’s insane for clinging to this notion that real change is ever possible.

Richard walks balk to his cell clutching two items. The first is that book on John Calvin’s theology. I can’t help but grimly chuckle at the irony. Calvin, rightly or more likely wrongly, is the Protestant theologian associated with a rather severe form of theological determinism. We humans have no choice in anything. God, in his providential and inscrutable sovereignty, has determined everything that ever has been or shall be. I wondered what Richard would make of that idea if he managed to make it past the first page. Predestined to insanity. Christ have mercy.

The other thing Richard carries back to his cell is a copy of The Serenity Prayer. We leave copies on one of the bookshelves for the guys to take if they’re interested. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Yes, please, God. Serenity, courage, and wisdom to make our way through all the assumptions and insanity. If you’re in the granting mood.

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* Not his real name.

Image source. The image is a portrayal of Jesus’ healing two demoniacs in Matthew 8.