I really do. It’s always been important to me. Indeed, it may have been far too important to me for many years. As a younger person, I often had an overwhelming need for approval. I was kind of a perfectionist throughout my time as a student. I’d get an A on a test, but I’d focus on the two questions I’d missed. Not to ensure that I learned the material better, but to beat myself up for being such a fucking moron who’d missed such easy questions. No, I did not have a healthy self-image as a young Ted Perrin.
Hopefully, I’ve come a long way since then. I don’t focus on my shortcomings and mistakes like I used to unless, of course, I can learn and grow from them. I certainly no longer seek perfection, consciously or otherwise, but I do want to be a good person. It’s my goal in life.
How the good lord Jesus helped me find my way
When I was about 30 my ex-wife and the kids and I started looking for churches because the kids were asking questions about the afterlife and God—or god or whatever—and she didn’t want me telling them in my best demonic voice that there is no god. Much to my initial chagrin, we settled on the conservative United Baptist Church that was on our block.
United Baptist was, how do I say this, super “Jesusy,” but the kids liked the children’s programs. They each got a Bible (and after we got home with them, we had to explain to Adam that hitting his sisters with it was not what they meant by “Bible beating”). My ex soon felt the transformative power of Jesus’ sacrifice for our sins while I held out for a while. I had—and still have—this pesky understanding that the world is several billion years-old and not 6,000. I had a difficult time accepting that this God of theirs would pull some Loki-esque trickster bullshit and put a bunch of dinosaur and caveman bones in the earth’s crust as a way of testing faith.
Ultimately, well, penultimately, I built a personal faith based on a house of cards made of rationalizations, and I accepted Jesus into my heart, if not into this big ol’ brain of mine. I mostly tried to avoid conversations about things like evolution, gay people, abortions, and so forth. Ultimately—actually ultimately this time—that house of cards collapsed, and my faith in Jesus disintegrated.
I was born anew as an atheist. (If only in the context of the hundreds and thousands of deities people have created over the millennia. Philosophically, I’m agnostic.)
However, I didn’t come to believe that the Bible is all bullshit. I mean, there is a significant amount of bullshit. I used to like to bait people into saying that every word of the Bible is true. Then I have them look at Jesus’ genealogies in Matthew and Luke, and I ask them which one is bullshit. (Someone once called me the Devil over this. It was hilarious.) Also, shellfish is delicious, and there probably wouldn’t be an Old Testament proscription against eating pork if pulled pork nachos had been around 5,000 years ago.
Oh, and gay and trans people were born that way. If you believe in God, then your God created them.
My most important takeaway from the Bible is that that Jesus guy was on to something. Love is important. I like loving my fellow humans and giving and sharing love with them may be the most important thing I do with my life. I want to get a copy of the so-called Jefferson Bible. He took all the magic and such bullshit out of the New Testament and pared it down to just show how Jesus loved people. (This may not be a great—or even accurate—description of the Jefferson Bible. I haven’t read it yet.)
I know that the Jefferson Bible may be controversial. I don’t care if it’s controversial to Christians. What matters to me, as a modern woke gentleman, is that Mr. Jefferson has been cancelled. Seriously, though, he has a rather dubious legacy. I respect the Declaration of Independence and his role in the American Revolution, but he was a slaveowner. He’s complicated. But since I’m preternaturally lazy, there’s no way I’m going to edit the damn New Testament myself. So, Jefferson’s will do. I’ll try to find a used copy to ensure that he doesn’t get any of the royalties from my purchase.
Channeling my inner Socrates, my SocraTed, if you will
Along with some of Jesus’ teaching, I’ve been reading a little about another noteworthy ancient dirty hippie, Socrates. In the past couple of years, I started a personal survey of Western philosophy. (I’ll get to some Eastern thought, too.) It began when I started listening to the Philosophize This! podcast by Stephen West. I started at the beginning and enjoyed it during long drives and while doing yardwork. West has covered the ancient Greeks through several writers and thinkers from the last century, with a brief detour through ancient Eastern thought early in the series.
Philosophize This! was a great way for me to finally get to that copy of Bertrand Russell’s History of Western Philosophy that had been collecting dust on my shelf of yet to be read books for far too long. I like Russell, so far. He has some moments of hilariously dry commentary that are right in my wheelhouse. I’ll introduce myself to a philosopher with Russell and then read their work or about them. I’m in Xenophon’s writings on Socrates now, and I’ll get to Plato’s next and so forth until I get through Russell’s History and read from all those old dudes—and some women, like Mary Wollstonecraft—or until I die, which I currently don’t want to do for quite some decades.
Anyway, what I like about Socrates is his simplicity, his focus on living an ethical life. It’s become particularly important to me to learn from the lessons life has given me. I try to say “lessons” instead of “mistakes” because although I do fuck up on a relatively regular basis, I don’t need to be so judgmental with myself. Indeed, when I think about Socrates saying, “The unexamined life is not worth living,” I tend to focus on the importance of self-examination rather than how life may not be worth living without it.
I really don’t need suggestions that life is not worth living, for in my dark moments, when I despair at the ways that I may not have achieved some form of traditional success—or maybe when I just hate myself for minor failures of character—I may just decide that life isn’t worth living. So, I choose to live an examined life, and when I consider the times when I failed to look closely and honestly at myself—some many years of my life—I can say that life is not worth living like that. I learn from it.
So, yeah, I don’t need Socrates’ self-judging bullshit in my life. I learn from him the important lesson, and that is how I grow. Certainly, that’s an important lesson to learn, separating the important lessons in life from the bullshit. It can apply to any teaching, to any philosophy, to any self-help book, to any sacred text, to any experience, to any conversation. Learn what you must to grow as a person. Then grow. Some lessons will be challenged, and some will be challenging. You may learn the wrong lesson and need to reframe that learning down the road. But always learn. Set aside what you must and move forward. That’s how I’m trying to live my life.
One thing that I must set aside from Socrates is that he was a fucking slob. Gross. I can’t live like that. I think of him running around Athens, barefoot, with the same old, filthy cloak all the time, and I shudder with disgust. He looked, I’m sure, as one of my basic training drill sergeants used to say, like Joe Shit The Rag Man. Dude, show some pride.
Deep down—and this is completely off topic, as well as off base—I don’t think they really cared about him corrupting the Athenian youth and introducing new gods. He was put on trial because they were tired of seeing him hanging out at the agora and dunking on sophists while looking like Pig Pen. It was just an excuse.
Now, I agree that they may have genuinely not appreciated him corrupting the youth. I, myself, wouldn’t go about corrupting the youth of Hallowell, maybe a younger adult here and there or a cat or two, but I haven’t knowingly or willingly corrupted any youth. There are limits to what I would do.
This one time I ended up learning something about myself
Okay, so why am I waxing philosophic about trying to be a good person who loves my neighbor and learns from my life? Well, recently, I had a conversation with someone who waxed moronic, and I’m not 100 percent sure I passed the test. I’m not going to reveal names, and I’ll use gender neutral pronouns (they/them/their) as I describe the situation. I’ll be as vague as possible, not to protect anyone’s feelings—you will see that that ship has sailed—but to protect their privacy, well, actually a couple other people’s privacy. No one needs know their business. Me, I’m only tangentially involved.
The situation began, my part anyway, when I received a text message from Stupid L. I have this person’s contact information stored in my phone as “Stupid [full name beginning with ‘L’]”. I feel that this is both accurate and appropriate (as stored contact information) because Stupid L is, indeed, quite stupid. And when I say that the situation began with a text message, I should note that there were around 70 messages before I saw any of them. I usually have my phone on silent unless I’m expecting a phone call. I find that all the notifications for headlines, various messages, emails, and updates are rather annoying, even when my phone is on vibrate. They don’t exactly ease my anxiety, and I don’t want to check my phone that often. So, I put it on silent and pay close enough attention to it.
There were close to 60 unread messages when I looked at my phone, and another dozen or so came in before I sat down to see what this was all about. It didn’t take very long to get up to speed because very few of these texts made any sense. I later found out that this person needs glasses but they’re too stupid to get them, even a pair of readers. They just use the talk-to-text function on their smart phone and hit send, a lot.
Stupid L did not give me much to work with.
I’m not entirely sure why Stupid L was texting me about the situation. Neither of us are directly involved, and I certainly have no control over it. They just started bitching about it using nonsensical text messages as a means to who knows what end.
At first I was nice, of course. Incredulous, but also nice. I told them that the people who are actually involved in the situation—let’s call them Numbnuts and Person B—are the people who need to communicate about it.
You know, I really hope that my purely random aliases aren’t, in some way, revealing any bias on my part. I’m hoping to remain above the fray.
But anyway, I told Stupid L several times in the first 150-odd text messages of our exchange—my seven or so to their approximately 145—that Numbnuts must communicate with Person B about the situation. I, quite literally, have no control over it. Still, Stupid L kept sending me texts that even the smartest of phones wouldn’t have been able to transcribe effectively, and I lost my patience.
I explained in the simplest of terms that Stupid L is, well, stupid. They and I don’t have a long history. In one of our longest conversations, when Stupid L found out my age, they said that they couldn’t believe that I’m younger than they are. I merely sat in unexpressed awe that they were only two years older than I. You see, I am a nice guy. I didn’t tell them how out of touch they were. I just said, “Yep,” and kept my harsh judgment to myself, like a gentleman. I saved that judgment until it could not be contained.
“I see where [redacted] gets [possessive pronoun’s] stupidity,” I said, finally. I don’t think Stupid L understood the insult the first few times I said it. With their stupid bad eyesight, they probably weren’t reading my messages, and I don’t think they send text messages as part of a give-and-take but as a form of verbal diarrhea.
For me, though, it was magic. Such a high! It was like having sex for the first time—emotionally, if not physically—such sweet release! I was hooked, and I repeated my insult several times.
Perhaps this wasn't my best effort.
When I joined the conversation, I had genuinely tried to be helpful to Stupid L and Numbnuts. The only way the situation could be resolved, barring a lawsuit that Numbnuts could not afford, was to communicate and coordinate with Person B, but Stupid L wasn’t comprehending this, at least as far as their incomprehensible text messages revealed. So, I kept saying that Stupid L was stupid. “You’re obviously too stupid to accept the only advice you need from the only person who’s giving it.”
Still, there was no expressed understanding of that only good advice that Stupid L and Numbnuts were going to get. (I believe that giving that advice was the right thing to do.) Although the messages were garbled because of their idiotic use of talk-to-text, there was one message that seemed to indicate that Stupid L did not like what I was stating about them. My reply was that the only thing I had been stating about them is that they’re very stupid, and that was based primarily on this conversation.
They went on and on, sending me probably well over 200 texts that afternoon, a full 60 messages after I said that they were too stupid to have a conversation with. I ask them to stop texting me because I’d never respond again. I never have, not to those further 60 messages, nor to the 70-ish texts they sent a few days later. They sent me around 300 rambling text messages, and I sent a dozen-or-so replies, about half of them with insults.
My self-examination post convo with Stupid L
As I said, apprising Stupid L of their profound stupidity was a rush. It was probably better than any chemical intoxication I’ve experienced because my mind was clear. There was nothing to cloud the elation, nor was there anything to interfere with the memory. You know, there wasn’t any hangover, at all. There was just unadulterated bliss at having levied such an appropriate—well, accurate—insult at someone.
It felt pretty damn good, but it’s not something I should make a habit of. That would make me quite the asshole, and, indeed, it would be downright counterproductive in my progress toward the goal of being a good person. I mean, I think I’m smarter than most people, so the net I might cast over those I think worthy of being called stupid—hypothetically, of course—would be pretty wide. I would be, if I’m not already, fucking insufferable. That simply would not do.
And I don’t fully subscribe to the “I tell it like it is” approach to life. While it may be important to call a spade a spade, what am I getting out of it, and why do I feel that it’s my place to label that spade a spade? Telling it like it is can be fraught with interpersonal peril. I could write volumes, if not just a much longer piece, on the weighty personal responsibility of telling it like it is.
When I was an aspiring Christian, I heard the phrase "speak the truth in love” quite a bit. In this situation with Stupid L, I was definitely not speaking the truth in love—and you do not need to literally love the person you’re speaking the truth to. I, as a matter of fact, cannot stand Stupid L, but that doesn’t release me from my personal obligation to be a good person. (Ridiculously stupid people may be the greatest challenge to my progress, by the way.) After I told Stupid L that Numbnuts needed to communicate with Person B to resolve the issue, and when I continued to receive nonsensical text messages, by the dozen, that’s when I should have said that I wouldn’t respond to any further messages. My slew of insults did not help the situation at all. No objective observer would have confused me for someone trying to share love like Jesus that day.
This is a spade.
But let’s not carry my desire to do some things like Jesus any further. I needed to say the one thing I could to help the situation and then move on with my nothing further to contribute. I just want to show love to my fellow human beings whenever and however I can. I don’t need to internalize the whole “What would Jesus do?” thing. I’d probably end up riding around Hallowell on a donkey—a donkey that I’m in no way prepared to care for, by the way—and overturning the tables at a church bake sale while shouting accusations of “Moneychangers!” I’d probably end up crucified, like Brian, though, not Jesus.
Obviously, I know that repeatedly slinging an insult at Stupid L was the wrong thing to do—no matter how stupid they actually are. This is a situation for me to examine and learn from. I must channel my inner Socrates—not my outer Socrates, that goddamn slob. Maybe I can just as what Socrates would have done?
He would have asked questions until his rhetorical opposition expressed an understanding of the issue in a new way, in Socrates’ way. They don’t call it the Socratic method for nuthin’. In general this is a great way to teach or to engage people you don’t agree with. I’ve done this when I was an instructor for the army and for the VA and when I’ve volunteered to canvas people to talk about political issues.
Indeed, asking questions is a great way to engage idiots without insulting them. Sometimes, merely asking questions about a stupid belief can help plant the seed of reason. Why do you believe that President George W. Bush and President Obama are lizard people? (I don’t mean to insult any of you who may believe that these men—or anyone else—are lizard people, but just ask yourself why you believe that.)
Asking such questions is perfect for bar conversations or, hell, any discussions with strangers. They help me learn whether a serious, intelligent conversation is worth it, or whether I should just lean-in to the absurdity and suggest that whatever conspiracy theory someone may be spouting is true. (I can’t let everything I do be influenced by my goal of good personhood. Every once in a while, I have to entertain myself.)
But one question that is actually pertinent remains. Could I have asked Stupid L questions to help them see that I could not help in the situation, that Numbnuts must communicate with Person B to resolve it? I certainly could have, but I don’t feel that any question I could have asked would have helped Stupid L see that I couldn’t do anything to help the situation. I don’t think asking questions about the gibberish they were sending me would have made a difference because not only could they not read the replies without the glasses they’re too stupid to get, but the messages they sent weren’t the messages they were speaking into their phone. I shouldn’t have engaged with the nonsense to begin with.
Sometimes, I don’t give a shit, a lot, you know, like a lot, a lot; a lot of not giving a shit
Along with my goal of being a good person, I’m often, ironically enough, consumed with apathy. I’m not trying to suggest that my apathy is necessarily related to the goal of good personhood, nor are they some sort of yin and yang of a bipolar personality. Actually, they are somewhat complimentary. I generally only really care about family, friends, being handsome, trying to make a positive difference in the world, being hilarious, emotionally abusing one of my cats, having a great ass, and a few social and political issues. That’s all really care about. I don’t have the emotional energy for much else.
In general, I try to mind my own business. Sometimes, I must let people learn their own lessons. I once gave a warning to a friend who had intended to immerse himself into an emotionally charged shitshow of interpersonal relationships in the unhealthiest interpersonal way. Vague? Yes. I told my friend, who was asking my thoughts on the situation, that the situation he was jumping into could only end badly for him. It did. It was going to end badly for the others involved, and the addition of one more person led to a shittier outcome for everyone. My friend learned his lesson and moved on. I didn’t take his disregard for my portentous advice personally. Everything is cool now. (It really wasn’t my shit to worry about, so I was pretty indifferent to the situation.)
Depending on the relationship, I may push harder with my advice to people in my life, but I often have to acknowledge that people are going to do what they’re going to do, regardless of how amazingly wise my input may be. I just have to love them and hope they aren’t hurt badly. I may have to steel myself because people—perhaps people I care deeply for—may be beyond reasoning due to illness or addiction or immaturity. I don’t want to come across incredibly coldly, but this is a cold, hard truth. (See, I’m trying to tell it like it is without being an asshole about it.)
Now, was I a bit too apathetic in my conversation with Stupid L? Without beating myself up, yes. I was far too “not-give-a-fucky” about the situation. I let my personal dislike for Stupid L override any wisdom that should have fueled my response. There my very well be some adverse personal consequences for me that I didn’t account for.
How I’m going to move forward
Still knowing the potential consequences of my own self-judgment (a possible downward spiral into suicidal ideation), I won’t—well, I can’t—be too hard on myself about this, but I will learn from it, even though a similar situation will likely never happen again. I can’t even begin to imagine having a conversation like this in person, and I have one heck of an imagination. I wouldn’t give someone the time to have a conversation like this.
I may respond like Christopher Hitchens did to this person and say that I don’t have time for whatever bullshit they’re trying to share. More likely, though, I would say something cutting and then say that I have no time for their bullshit. (Hey, I know myself.) I certainly wouldn’t give someone the time for 20 text messages-worth of nonsense, let alone a couple hundred. I really can’t give idiots that sort of time, and I know I should leave out my cutting remarks.
That being said, if someone were to follow me around haranguing me with similar nonsense, I’m sure that my patience would give way for me to sling a “You’re a fucking moron” or two at them before I found a space to free myself from the situation. Indeed, I was once arguing with a local idiot about his recollection of a situation over which we had, as they say, “beef.” He claimed to have an eidetic memory. I told him that he, apparently, had no idea what an eidetic memory was. He was upset by this. Profanities were exchanged. I said I had no further time for him, and I bid him good day before going on living my life.
Sorry, I didn’t really bid him good day, but I thought that would be a funny way to tie that little anecdote up.
Anyway, I will own that my response to Stupid L was not a good thing for me to do. It doesn’t mesh well with my personal goal. I’m not proud of it. However, I’m also incredibly proud of it, for it was hilarious, objectively so, I believe. My redaction of Stupid L’s identity and any real details probably didn’t communicate the hilarity of the situation to you, dear reader, but trust me, I was laughing my ass off.
I do care, deeply, about being hilarious, and along with psychologically being my own worst enemy, I am emotionally the most important audience member for my schtick. If I don’t laugh on a very regular basis, my mood will be affected, gravely. Laughter is a great antidepressant for me. I reveled in the joy of having been able to tell a stupid person what for. I will laugh at—and learn from—this situation for a long time to come.
I know I’d better learn from it.
No comments:
Post a Comment