Virginia Schmidt

When I was about 12 years old, a well-meaning neighbor penned me a letter of heartfelt admonishment. He must have sensed I was going astray —  tripping precariously into the world of materialism, vanity, competitiveness, aggressiveness and selfishness rather than walking conscientiously toward spirituality, humility, inclusiveness, gentleness and service. Hoping to help inspire kinder choices in me, my neighbor relayed a story called “The Two Wolves,” often cited as a Cherokee fable. 

In it, a grandfather mentors his grandson, describing the timeless battle ever-raging within every human: A primal clash between the seductive temptation to hurt ourselves and others and the higher call to help ourselves and others. 

In a telling of the tale I found from San Diego State University’s School of Social Work, the grandfather speaks of the “two wolves inside” him, describing the wolf who hankers for goodness: 

“One wolf is good and does no harm. He lives in harmony with all around him and does not take offense when no offense was intended. He will only fight when it is right to do so, and in the right way.” 

The grandfather goes on to speak of the wolf who hungers for harm: 

“But the other wolf is full of anger. The littlest thing will set him into a fit of temper. He fights everyone, all the time, for no reason. He cannot think because his anger and hate are so great. It is helpless anger, because his anger will change nothing.” 

The tension between the one in us who seeks harmony and helpfulness and the one who roils with hatred and hopelessness can feel like we have to fight not to hurt a part of our own selves. As the grandfather says, “Sometimes it is hard to live with these two wolves inside me, because both of the wolves try to dominate my spirit.”

I consider these two impulses that live inside of me: How lost I became as the wolf of anger and resentment controlled me so that it felt like nothing was ever enough, and like I would never be enough. How this kept me from hearing the whisper of the loving inner impulse toward gratitude — recognizing how much I had and using it to help others. 

In myself, I see these two “wolves” as two characters from Margaret Mitchell’s 1937 Pulitzer Prize winning novel "Gone with the Wind" (which inspired the 1940 film that won Best Picture): Scarlett O’Hara and Melanie Hamilton.

While I wish to acknowledge "Gone with the Wind" represents some truly problematic ideas and depictions of slavery, I still find the archetypal representations and applications of the characters of Scarlett and Melanie to be helpful enough in my life to share here. 

Most of my life I have identified with the character of Scarlett: The angry wolf who is very strong, fiery, privileged and able — and uses most of her power to selfishly gain what she wants, do whatever she has to toward ensuring she comes out on top and generally be unthankful for all the abundance she has while seeking more, more, more. 

Meanwhile, resting backstage, peacefully awaiting my acknowledgement, is the lamb of Melanie (for I see her as a lamb, not a wolf). If I turn an ear even ever so slightly toward her, she calls softly to me: “Be gentle, be true, give everything you have (and you have a lot!) to help others who have less than you … for there will always be someone who has less than you, no matter how much nor how little you seem to have. Respect and esteem and protect the vulnerable always,” she murmurs, “no matter what walk of life they trod nor how lowly society might label them. Be faithful, trusting, content with what you have, and willing to see the best in everyone while never focusing much on the good in yourself because you’re too busy sharing it.”

Of course at the end of the grandfather’s teaching tale, the grandson asks which wolf wins. The grandfather smiles slowly and says, “The one I feed.” 

In the process of healing, I believe the true medicine is integration. It is not that I starve out or shame or exile any part of myself, but that I pray for a way to proffer peace between all the parts inside. 

Perhaps I can feed the wolf of Scarlett with love and understanding — for she never would have acted so arrogantly and insatiably without being starved for a deep, authentic and unshakable sense of self worth — so she can then lay herself down by the lamb of Melanie. 

Because just imagine what kind of character might emerge if the wolf of Scarlett chose to devote all her fierce tenacity and valiant vigor toward following the example of the lamb of Melanie: Humbly and gracefully serving all those around her. 

When the wolf chooses to feed the lamb, great power gives itself fully to become gentle protection. And a whole new animal is born.