Struggling with Circumstances 9

. . . "'But I should like to sit where the Senators sit!' Do you see that you are putting yourself in straits, you are squeezing yourself?

" 'How then shall I see well in any other way in the amphitheater?' Man, do not be a spectator at all; and you will not be squeezed. Why do you give yourself trouble? Or wait a little, and when the spectacle is over, seat yourself in the place reserved for the Senators and sun yourself.

"For remember this general truth, that it is we who squeeze ourselves, who put ourselves in straits; that is, our opinions squeeze us and put us in straits. For what is it to be reviled? Stand by a stone and revile it; and what will you gain? If, then, a man listens like a stone, what profit is there to the reviler? But if the reviler has as a stepping-stone on the weakness of him who is reviled, then he accomplishes something.

'Strip him.' What do you mean by 'him'? 'Lay hold of his garment, strip it off. I have insulted you.' Much good may it do you." . . .

Epictetus, Discourses 1.25 (tr Long)

We seem to think that the more we increase our status and position, the more we increase our freedom from lesser things. In fact, we do quite the opposite, because we are squeezing ourselves with all the restrictions of playing the game.

I had just turned ten when Jimmy Carter was giving a speech right down the street from our house. My father decided to take me to see the man in action. We never actually saw anything of him at all, because of the huge crowds of people who became quite pushy and unruly. I recall seeing all the landscaping crushed flat, and hordes of people pushing and squeezing themselves along. It was rather frightening, and I had a quick image of how terrible it might feel to be trampled. We managed to pull ourselves out of the mess, and I recall the freedom and peace of being outside of the herd.

A few years later I saw Ronald Reagan in downtown Boston. He was a tiny little speck on a distant stage, and his words were barely discernible. But what was very discernible were the angry crowds of protestors, and the equally angry counter-protestors. There was yelling, spitting, pushing, grappling and a few swings of fists.

There was no greatness, virtue, or freedom here. Just a mob, and all because we had squeezed ourselves. No one had done this to us.

I have seen all too many fights, verbal and physical, where the participants simply enslave themselves to their passions. Pray tell, has yelling and screaming, pushing and shoving, ever convinced another man to change his thinking or his living? I am expressing only my hatred and anger, and I only then encourage it in return from others.

What happened to walking away? Do I not realize that by being angry, I give another power over me? By wishing to strut and pose in front of others, I have only constrained myself.

You won't particularly hurt me by taking my possessions or my reputation, if those are things I don't really care for. You won't really be insulting me if I don't care for your values. I need not allow anyone or anything to offend me.

We have all seen how the bullies will grab a victim's cap and play a malicious game of keep away. We of course play into the game by jumping around after our things. They won't give them back because we dart around and grab, yelling "give it back!"

In middle school, some older kids surrounded me while I was walking home. They first told me how ugly my jacket was. I had to resists the immediate instinct to say "not as ugly as your mother." I smiled and continued walking. At this point they grabbed my schoolbag.

Now I can have a very mean temper, and it was bubbling. I was tempted to do a full body tackle, even though I was half the size. But I somehow managed to walk on, hopefully not showing my fear. They yelled after me, "hey fag, want your bag back?"

"You can have it if you like it." I somehow managed.

Now that could have gotten me a beating, but what was funny was they they just dropped it and walked away. And even if I'd gotten the beating, I would still have been the better man-child, however weak, awkward, or pathetic I was in their eyes.

What I love determines what helps me or hurts me. If I love the draw of the crowd, I enslave myself to the crowd. The crowd gives, and the crowd takes away. If, on the other hand, I depend on my own judgment and character, I am the only one who can give or take away.

Written in 7/2005

Image: Dorothea Lange, Migrant Mother (1936)