Remember
that foul words or blows in themselves are no outrage, but your judgment that
they are so. So when anyone makes you angry, know that it is your own thought
that has angered you.
Wherefore
make it your first endeavor not to let your impressions carry you away. For if
once you gain time and delay, you will find it easier to control yourself.
—Epictetus,
The Handbook, Chapter 20 (tr
Matheson)
I’ve
been on this Earth long enough to see a slow but steady increase in our modern
sensitivity. We are more and more easily shocked, offended, outraged, and
insulted. We speak of all the things that are unacceptable and inappropriate. We
become increasingly impermissive in all of our permissiveness, increasingly
intolerant in all of our tolerance.
I knew
this had hit critical mass in my early years of teaching, when a young man came
to my office full of anger. We had just been reading Nietzsche’s The Anti-Christ in class, and he
explained that he had been “elected” by a group of students to come and protest
what we had discussed.
His
concern? Nietzsche’s attitude toward women, and, if I understood him rightly,
that the text seemed to ignore the needs of gay men.
I
explained that I was no friend of Nietzsche myself, but that we were reading a
wide range of modern philosophers to hopefully understand a wide variety of
different arguments and conclusions. He would have none of it.
“I was
offended, other students were offended, and we demand a public apology in class
for you presenting an inappropriate text.”
It took
all of my self-control to not tell him where he could stick his indignation, to
not find offense at his being offended. I made it clear I would not apologize
for encouraging him to think in ways unfamiliar to him, and he could complain
all he wanted, but I would never compromise a commitment to an open mind or to academic
freedom.
“Not
everyone agrees in this world, you know,” I said. “I suggest the trick is
learning to understand, not to condemn and censure.”
“No. We
all need to fight intolerance,” was his reply.
I could
hardly keep from breaking into hysterical laughter, once again barely managing
my own frustration. Here was the pot calling the kettle black, though I’m sure
if I had used that phrase, he would have accused me of being a racist, as well
as being a sexist and a homophobe. The fellow was criticizing Nietzsche, yet
being a little Nietzsche himself, the Will to Power in the form of upper class
American entitlement.
Whenever
I am offended or outraged, I have taught myself to stop time for but a moment.
What is it all about? It usually has nothing to do with another person, or what
that person said, but it does have everything to do with me. People, things, ideas,
or words are not in themselves offensive. My estimation of them is the root of offense.
I recall
the politician who was fired a few years back for using the word
“niggardly” in a press conference. No matter that he used the word in an
entirely accurate way; it was all about the offense in public perception, an
offense born of ignorance.
No one
ever offends or outrages me. I choose to be offended or outraged. Another man
may be a bully, a boor, or a moral cesspool, but my own estimation is what
drives my response. Will I choose to angry, or will I choose to heal?
If
someone for whom I have great respect speaks ill of me, I am hurt. If someone
who is on a totally different moral compass speaks ill of me, I might even take
it as a compliment. The same thing may have been said, but it is only my own judgment
that makes the difference. I have been called a hateful fascist by liberals,
and I have been called a bleeding-heart socialist by conservatives. The context
of my understanding can allow me to navigate that storm.
There is
only one way to avoid being constantly offended and outraged. Take a deep
breath, and consider what all of it is about. There is no greater harm here
than responding on instinct and feeling alone. I invariably find that my own
thinking is the root of the blame.
Quite a
few people I know now seem to think I am becoming senile, because I will now
pause for a long period before answering a question. I may indeed be heading
toward senility, but my silence comes from the fact that I will take my sweet
time to think about what needs to be said.
And I’m
sorry if what I think needs to be said outrages you. What I said is on me, but
what you think about it is on you.
Written in 12/2009
Image: The Rage of Achilles, Giovanni Battista Tiepolo (1757)
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