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The Fox So Cunning
Mar. 8th, 2008 11:19 pmWhen it comes down to it, I'm a dog person. By that, I do not mean that I am a person who wants a dog, but that I am made happy by doggy things. I am fond of biscuits; of going for walks; of snoozing in the afternoon. I like fetching things, and pointing at things. When I'm worried that something's dangerous, I make a lot of noise about it.
I am compelled by pack-animal signals of capitulation; somewhere, deeply, I feel that it is a horrible thing to attack someone who has made a show of voluntary weakness. That it is perhaps the worst thing, and is perhaps much worse than betrayal or backstabbing. It's not that I won't kick someone when they're down - I think that's when you kick someone, is when they're on the ground and in easy reach of one's feet. It's that when a person deliberately makes himself vulnerable, exploitation is out of the question. With authority comes inevitable moral responsibility to protect the weaker party - there's no way around it. Maybe this isn't a doggy thing, but basic feudal morality of the kind that makes government possible.
I always think about this responsibility when exposed to Sufi hospitality. Sufists are extremely generous to strangers (and to friends), and will greatly inconvenience themselves to make you comfortable and happy. They will never let you see the inconvenience, of course, nor will they ask anything in return for what they have given. They aren't condescending about it, and it's not an underhanded means of conversion. It's holy. Today I was with a film crew at a Sufi temple, making a movie that had nothing to do with Sufism, in the process of which I took over both a prayer room and the men's restroom for an entire day, and then brought in both tobacco and pork. They responded by bringing the crew bananas and baklava. We have never been so careful to make sure we were pleasant and quiet, or so vigorous in erasing all signs we had been there.
When I got home, I found out that Patrick has been making ostentatious overtures of friendship to Ciro, following a decision by Patrick that his months-ago demand to cut all ties and cease all communication was stupid. It was stupid, and I want to be clear: the silent treatment both inconvenienced me horribly and hurt my feelings. Aside from that, it hurt Ciro, and hurt all the friends that know the three of us. And it meant I was free to tell Ciro the other times Patrick had done him wrong or lied about him, going back to high school and perhaps middle school, so as to put it all in context. What do I say perhaps every third sentence? Information wants to be free. Let's be accountable. Let's be transparent.
In traditional Patrick style, Patrick is deliberately blind to the fact that this happened, and is trying to be la-di-da best friends with Ciro without any reckoning or signal of change. He can fly with this because as a friend group, we don't like drama; they're generally both forgiving and polite. (I say "they" because I am an exception - I can be very loyal to grudges.) And so this flip flop, like the last, puts everyone in an awkward position, and takes advantage of our kindness. Ciro could of course refuse to have anything to do with Patrick under the circumstances, as could I, but because of Patrick's highly public gestures, this would make Ciro appear to be the causer of problems. Effectively, we are being manipulated by Patrick's ability to make other people uncomfortable, and his willingness to exploit Ciro's ideas about duty and community.
I feel savage about the whole thing, which (I am now counting on my fingers) forces Ciro to have awkward conversations with a delusional person, misuses my good name and good work by making me seem to approve of someone whose behavior I find reprehensible, and fails to protect Patrick's future aquaintances because it allows him, yet again, to not learn from his mistakes so much as pretend they didn't happen. Over and over, he does cruel and manipulative things to uncommonly kind people, and when they forgive him, and when they hide their pain, he takes it as evidence not of their kindness, but of his bulletproof knack for avoiding blame.
It's a shame that he's such an ass, because I still miss playing board games; still remember and love the bedtime stories he made up for me; still think of his jokes and laugh. Yet at some point, somewhere, the kid has got to learn that burning bridges, while wonderfully dramatic, leaves you without a bridge. It's no good to send a ferry and fetch him back. Particularly when you're the sort of person who wears a fleur-de-lis tattoo.
--
"It is best to be both feared and loved; however, if one cannot be both it is better to be feared than loved... Endeavor only to avoid hatred." -Machiavelli, The Prince, chapter XVII, concerning cruelty and clemency
I am compelled by pack-animal signals of capitulation; somewhere, deeply, I feel that it is a horrible thing to attack someone who has made a show of voluntary weakness. That it is perhaps the worst thing, and is perhaps much worse than betrayal or backstabbing. It's not that I won't kick someone when they're down - I think that's when you kick someone, is when they're on the ground and in easy reach of one's feet. It's that when a person deliberately makes himself vulnerable, exploitation is out of the question. With authority comes inevitable moral responsibility to protect the weaker party - there's no way around it. Maybe this isn't a doggy thing, but basic feudal morality of the kind that makes government possible.
I always think about this responsibility when exposed to Sufi hospitality. Sufists are extremely generous to strangers (and to friends), and will greatly inconvenience themselves to make you comfortable and happy. They will never let you see the inconvenience, of course, nor will they ask anything in return for what they have given. They aren't condescending about it, and it's not an underhanded means of conversion. It's holy. Today I was with a film crew at a Sufi temple, making a movie that had nothing to do with Sufism, in the process of which I took over both a prayer room and the men's restroom for an entire day, and then brought in both tobacco and pork. They responded by bringing the crew bananas and baklava. We have never been so careful to make sure we were pleasant and quiet, or so vigorous in erasing all signs we had been there.
When I got home, I found out that Patrick has been making ostentatious overtures of friendship to Ciro, following a decision by Patrick that his months-ago demand to cut all ties and cease all communication was stupid. It was stupid, and I want to be clear: the silent treatment both inconvenienced me horribly and hurt my feelings. Aside from that, it hurt Ciro, and hurt all the friends that know the three of us. And it meant I was free to tell Ciro the other times Patrick had done him wrong or lied about him, going back to high school and perhaps middle school, so as to put it all in context. What do I say perhaps every third sentence? Information wants to be free. Let's be accountable. Let's be transparent.
In traditional Patrick style, Patrick is deliberately blind to the fact that this happened, and is trying to be la-di-da best friends with Ciro without any reckoning or signal of change. He can fly with this because as a friend group, we don't like drama; they're generally both forgiving and polite. (I say "they" because I am an exception - I can be very loyal to grudges.) And so this flip flop, like the last, puts everyone in an awkward position, and takes advantage of our kindness. Ciro could of course refuse to have anything to do with Patrick under the circumstances, as could I, but because of Patrick's highly public gestures, this would make Ciro appear to be the causer of problems. Effectively, we are being manipulated by Patrick's ability to make other people uncomfortable, and his willingness to exploit Ciro's ideas about duty and community.
I feel savage about the whole thing, which (I am now counting on my fingers) forces Ciro to have awkward conversations with a delusional person, misuses my good name and good work by making me seem to approve of someone whose behavior I find reprehensible, and fails to protect Patrick's future aquaintances because it allows him, yet again, to not learn from his mistakes so much as pretend they didn't happen. Over and over, he does cruel and manipulative things to uncommonly kind people, and when they forgive him, and when they hide their pain, he takes it as evidence not of their kindness, but of his bulletproof knack for avoiding blame.
It's a shame that he's such an ass, because I still miss playing board games; still remember and love the bedtime stories he made up for me; still think of his jokes and laugh. Yet at some point, somewhere, the kid has got to learn that burning bridges, while wonderfully dramatic, leaves you without a bridge. It's no good to send a ferry and fetch him back. Particularly when you're the sort of person who wears a fleur-de-lis tattoo.
--
"It is best to be both feared and loved; however, if one cannot be both it is better to be feared than loved... Endeavor only to avoid hatred." -Machiavelli, The Prince, chapter XVII, concerning cruelty and clemency
