I have immersed myself in David Brooks books. I’d recommend his books. Both “The Second Mountain: The Quest for a Moral Life” and “How to Know a Person: The Art of Seeing Others Deeply and Being Deeply Seen” which this writing is inspired from.
Brooks offers a radical invitation: slow down, pay attention, and learn to really get to know the people around you. Not as categories, diagnoses or content. But as perfectly imperfect human beings
We are currently living in a world that rewards being right over valuing relationships, self-promotion over self-awareness, and judgment over curiosity. Brooks invites us to resist all of that. He teaches the lost art of presence — how to bring forward the kindness and compassion already within us, and how to make others feel safe, heard, and accepted just as they are.
The work of truly knowing and seeing others may appear gentle or feel subtle on the surface, but it’s demanding, courageous, and quietly powerful. It’s the invisible labor of creating connection… the emotional architecture of intimacy. And in many ways, it’s much harder than debating ideas.
In an age of increasing isolation, polarization, and emotional starvation, seeing someone as a whole human — especially when we’re tempted to focus on their flaws — is no small thing. It’s an act of resistance. And it’s how we begin to stitch a broken world back together.
And yet… we fall short of it all the time.
The Crisis of Connection
I’ve experienced communities and bureaucracies whose mission states they are in service to the greater good … and yet, within those environments there is often deep division and a breakdown fueled by political animosities.
I’ve also experienced real belonging … friendships held together by webs of trust inside genuine community. And I’ve come to realize we don’t live in such a society that truly cultivates that kind of trust and belonging between people.
We have lost the ability to see and understand one another… and its produced a culture that is polarized, brutal and isolating. This kind of disconnection breeds loneliness. And that loneliness makes us suspicious, shut down and quick to take offence where none is intended. We become afraid of the very thing we crave the most: connection and love.
Loneliness hardens into meanness – towards ourselves and each other. As the saying goes… pain that is not transformed gets transmitted. And this kind of pain, this emotional breakdown is showing up as a crisis of distrust.
If we can’t count on anyone else, we are told to count only can on ourselves. Because others are just out to get us. Leaving us continually disappointed in others. They are going to cause us pain.
As within, so without…
This isolation and division we feel inside ourselves has manifested outwardly. Into the wider social and political fractures we now live with every day. We recognize people for their beauty, wealth, success, education levels … while the rest of us are left feeling unrecognized, invisible and left out.
This crisis in our personal lives has also bled into the heart of politics. Today almost everything has become politicized… religion, education, sports, food selection, and even late night comedy, But that’s not what politics was meant to be. Historically, politics was about the distribution of resources, how we all can peacefully live together, share space, care for each other and shape our collective lives together as a productive society.
Now, we are seeing politics being shaped by resentment. Where one side is emotionally validated, while the other side is shamed.
The work of governing has been replaced by messaging battles — who can appear most righteous, most aggrieved, or most morally superior. Politics today is less about solving problems and more about validating identities to gain status, power, and self-admiration.
Taking care of each other has fallen even further down the list of importance.
This is the social and relational crisis of connection we are living through now.
Moral Development: How Did We Fail?
We haven’t done a good job teaching our children how to be kind, generous, and respectful—or even helping them want to be. Instead, we’ve encouraged selfishness and competition, rather than teaching self-restraint and guiding hearts to care about how their actions affect others.
The education system has become more focused on retention and graduation rates than on helping people discover a sense of purpose—something that brings stability, direction, and meaning to their lives.
Most important of all, we’ve failed to teach the basic social and emotional skills needed to be kind and considerate to those around us.
There are countries, like Thailand, where schools still focus on moral formation. There used to be more of that in America too … a desire to raise people who would be honest, gentle and respectful. But over time, that focus fell away. THe priority shifted to test scores and giving our children the best chances to get into the elite colleges.
Career and economic success became the goal. And we stopped worrying about how to teach our children to be considerate human beings. We gave them resumes, but we forgot to give them moral compasses.
I wasn’t taught the skills needed to truly see, understand and respect other people in all their depth and dignity. Not by my family, nor through the educational system. Instead, I learned that cruelty wasn’t just tolerated … it was often permitted.
The failure to treat one another well in the small, everyday moments has contributed to the larger societal breakdown we’re witnessing all around us.
This is a massive civilizational failure. We need to rediscover how to teach and embody basic moral and social skills.
Honoring Both the Illuminator & Diminisher
“The antidote to fear is affection”
I worked in a government college for 25 years, where the only affection the administration allowed toward employees came in the form of formal recognition. Based solely on years of service.Once a year, there was an official employee ceremony where people received keychains and coasters. That was it.
Any recognition or affection offered outside that formal structure could cause problems. If someone got acknowledged when others didn’t, it was seen as playing favorites. So rarely did anyone receive affection or recognition simply for doing a good job.
As a result, many people walked around in a quiet fear … starved for something as basic as acknowledgement.
Character development doesn’t happen in isolation, just like morality is a social practice. It depends on how we treat one another in real time.
It’s about affection. About being generous of heart. Especially towards the person who is expressing anger or being critical… even when it’s directed at us. Staying present with someone who is hurting or being defensive. Empathizing with their pain. Listening without collapsing inward. Not fighting back, or taking it personally. Not getting defensive.
It’s about staying with someone who is moving through their depression. Sitting with someone trying to untangle the pain of childhood. That’s where character is built. In the emotional mess of relationship. As we become more experienced at these kinds of communications, we grow.
We all carry the potential to be either a Diminisher or an Illuminator. These aren’t fixed identities — they’re postures. Habits of presence. Ways of being that show up in a thousand subtle interactions.
The Illuminator
Being an illuminator conveys messages to the other person,
- I want to get to know you—and let you know me.
- I see you as a whole and complete person.
- I care about you.
- You matter to me.
When I am talking to someone I can notice when they’re actually truly present. Not on their phone. Not listening to respond. Just quietly … with me.
When I share something challenging in my life, they don’t try to fix me becasue they know nothing needs to be fixed. I stumble through finding words in a thought — and they stay with me while I search my mind. They are patient with my silence, unafraid of my sadness
When I light up about something good in my life, they smile because they know it matters to me.
I walk away from the conversation feeling a little more safe.
A little more seen.
A little more myself.
These messages don’t just come through words, they show up in body language— in tone, eye contact, stillness and the willingness to stay.
Being an illuminator also means recognizing that everyone has their own unique self, and that the person across from you possesses different qualities that surpass your own.
When I can approach someone with this kind of respect, I don’t see them as broken or needing to be fixed. I do my best to suspend judgment—and let them simply be who they are.
The illuminator embodies a relational model of humility, tenderness and warmth. They aren’t just witnesses to your suffering … they see your strengths. Celebrating your joy and life’s successes. They notice your unique gifts and remind you of who you are.
That’s an Illuminator.
Illuminator: In Everyday Life
Illuminators offer their full presence because they understand it’s a gift. They’re not multitasking, checked out or hoping you will finish talking soon. They stay. Not rushing.
With full eye contact and a softened body. their body language says…
“You are the most important thing right now, I am not going anywhere”.
They practice of active listening and show a genuine curiosity. Not just with surface questions but, with one’s that draw more of you out. Sometimes they invite you to consider things you hadn’t before. They reminds you of what you may have forgotten about yourself.
The illuminator offers acceptance and lets the communication be what it is. You can be messy, ambivalent, awkward, emotional… and they stay present. They don’t flinch. They don’t try to smooth your rough edges or reshape you into something more socially acceptable.
"You can be who you are, I will stay."
They name strengths we tend to overlook, forget or avoid seeing in ourselves. Not to flatter or inflate our ego’s, but to speak truth … seen clearly. They give affection freely and generously. Because you are already enough. Never having to prove anything.
Illuminators also tend to the emotional space. They notice the long pauses, the shifts, the shaky laughter and the quiet retreat. And when something tender begins to surface, they don’t back away.
They lean further into the conversation, with a presence that says,
“You don’t have to explain, I’m with you.”
They create a climate where trust can live and breathe.
The Diminisher
I’m telling someone about a hard moment I struggle with in my life. A decision I feel ambivalent about making, a lingering emotion I have not been able to come to terms with. I’m not looking for advice, just space to be heard.
But before I even finished communicating my thoughts, the other person jumps right in:
- You know what you should have done?
- When I went through that, what I did was…
- Have you tried yoga / journaling / gratitude practice?
- I think you need to see a therapist.
And just like that, the moment is gone.
The unsolicited advice – freely given, never asked for.
Inside I get angry.
Then I shrink … retreating into a smaller version of myself before my anger gets the best of me. I feel flattened. I wasn’t actually heard — my feelings weren’t honored. They were trying to be managed by someone else.
It took me a long time to recognize when someone was a Diminisher, including myself. Because it doesn’t always look cruel. It doesn’t always look obvious. Most of the time, diminishers are well-meaning.
But the result is the same: I walk away feeling less seen, less whole, less of a human being.
A Diminisher is someone whose presence leaves others feeling reduced — emotionally, psychologically, or energetically. Not because they’re bad people, but because they haven’t cultivated the skill or the willingness to truly see another person.
Diminisher: In Everyday Life
Diminishers don’t usually mean to harm. They’re just caught up in their own insecurity and smallness. Confidence feels threatening. Sadness feels overwhelming. Other people’s joy stirs their jealousy.
- Instead of curiosity, they offer critique.
- Instead of celebration, they stay silent or change the topic.
- Instead of listening to understand, they wait to speak.
- They are listening to respond – not to receive.
Or worse, they interrupt mid-thought. I begin to share something vulnerable, and suddenly the conversation shifts back to them. I vanish … right there in front of them.
Sometimes the diminishment doesn’t come from what’s being said, but from what’s not being said.
- Not making eye contact.
- Phone in hand.
- No follow up.
- No reflection or mirroring.
They are “there”, but not really with you. It’s like pouring your heart into an empty room when someone is physically present.
Over time, validation becomes conditional. You’re praised when you impress. Tolerated when you don’t.
Affection, attention, and praise become rewards for performance – not reflections of your inherent worth.
This is emotional gatekeeping.
And it teaches people to shrink, to shape-shift, or perform in order to stay in someone’s good graces.
It happens in families, in workplaces, even in intimate partnerships — places where love and safety should be unconditional.
Moving Toward Repair
We are living through a profound failure of moral development — not because we lack intelligence or access to information, but because we’ve neglected the one thing moral growth depends on: relationship.
To become ethical, compassionate, more emotionally mature humans, we need to be known. We need to be reflected back to ourselves with dignity. We need to be guided … not by fear or shame … but by people who see us fully and invite us to do the same for others.
And that’s where the Diminisher and the Illuminator return — not as labels, but as mirrors.
They remind us that the most powerful influence we have on others is how we make them feel in our presence.
We are all shaped by both.
We have been diminished — dismissed, ignored, corrected, reduced.
And we have also been illuminated — listened to, drawn out, affirmed, softened by someone’s tenderness.
If we’re honest, we’ve played both roles ourselves.
We’ve failed to listen. We’ve made someone feel small.
We’ve also stayed with someone in their pain. We’ve chosen presence over performance.
This is not about perfection — it’s about responsibility.
And remembering that moral development doesn’t happen in isolation.
It happens in relationship.
So where do we begin?
Not with grand gestures or flawless wisdom….
but with simple, repeated acts of relational care.
- Pause before you speak. Ask yourself: Am I trying to fix, correct, or connect?
- Practice curiosity over certainty. Ask questions that open, not close.
- Name what you appreciate.
- Reflect back what you notice in others — not just what they do, but who they are.
- Hold space for complexity. People don’t need to be tidy to be worthy of care.
- Let your presence be felt. Not through performance, but by simply staying. Looking up. Listening fully.
The crisis of moral development is real.
But so is the opportunity to heal it — one connection, one relationship at a time.
If we want a more connected, ethical, compassionate world, we won’t get there by argument or policy alone.
We’ll get there through practice — in kitchens and classrooms, on sidewalks and video call screens.
In the way we treat each other when no one else is watching.
We begin by seeing each other …
Not as categories, content, or flaws,
but as human beings.
Perfectly imperfect.
Worthy of care.
Capable of change.
To see someone deeply — and be deeply seen — may be the most human thing we do.
Carol Karpson Schoenleber
WOW! Beautifully written and explained. A lot reminds me of the Shalom Principles and Skills of Loving. I just returned from cooking there last weekend. I am listening to you, being illuminated by you, and loving you!