Me and Kayce at the “Y”
Enchiridion 42: "It Seemed So To Him"
"When any person does ill by you, or speaks ill of you, remember that he acts or speaks from an impression that it is right for him to do so. Now, it is not possible that he should follow what appears right to you, but only what appears so to himself. Therefore, if he judges from false appearances, he is the person hurt; since he too is the person deceived. For if any one takes a true proposition to be false, the proposition is not hurt, but only the man is deceived. Setting out, then, from these principles, you will meekly bear with a person who reviles you; for you will say upon every occasion, 'It seemed so to him.'" (Epictetus, Enchiridion 42)
Read that again, please. Slowly. You'll be glad you did then consider The Dude's response to hateful speech (left).
One's opinion is simply that: an opinion. But there are other ways this could unfold, so I give you . . .
A REAL LIFE STORY
Recently someone close did something blatantly wrong and had to be confronted. The person denied any wrongdoing despite the evidence, standing by the flagrant action. Instead of confessing, taking responsibility and showing the least bit of remorse, a response dropped like a bomb into the evening and exploded.
Armed with the words, "I hope you are happy" and "look what you made me do," the offender
aimed to hurt me deeply, an attempt to manipulate me toward guilt and shame. All I could see was how bad the person was actually hurting in the "got caught but not sorry." Add to this, how the offender now offered to add a slew of uncalled-for opinion while we were trying to help.
All because the person did something that seemed right to them at the time. Three times.
Because theft and deception was the heart of the incident, because of false presuppositions coupled with the intense desire to maintain deception, the hurt designed to be inflicted on me instead rolled back on the person and the experience became crushing. All we could do was watch the person grind under the weight of foolish self-imposed false impressions.
The person eventually "saw the light" and came to senses; but the incident began with what seemed right in one's own eyes and ultimately all I could do was think, "well, that happened."
All is well now, but it's amazing watching ancient words come to life before one's eyes.
CONCLUSION
It's easy to fall into the trap of "that's not me, that's the other guy."
Make sure you don't become "that guy" in saying so.
Hurtful thoughts are the same as hurtful actions, committing them in the heart. Should you think something hurtful (and you will), recognize it for what it is, confess it and throw it out.
Read that again, please. Slowly. You'll be glad you did then consider The Dude's response to hateful speech (left).One's opinion is simply that: an opinion. But there are other ways this could unfold, so I give you . . .
A REAL LIFE STORY
Recently someone close did something blatantly wrong and had to be confronted. The person denied any wrongdoing despite the evidence, standing by the flagrant action. Instead of confessing, taking responsibility and showing the least bit of remorse, a response dropped like a bomb into the evening and exploded.
Armed with the words, "I hope you are happy" and "look what you made me do," the offender
aimed to hurt me deeply, an attempt to manipulate me toward guilt and shame. All I could see was how bad the person was actually hurting in the "got caught but not sorry." Add to this, how the offender now offered to add a slew of uncalled-for opinion while we were trying to help.
All because the person did something that seemed right to them at the time. Three times.
Because theft and deception was the heart of the incident, because of false presuppositions coupled with the intense desire to maintain deception, the hurt designed to be inflicted on me instead rolled back on the person and the experience became crushing. All we could do was watch the person grind under the weight of foolish self-imposed false impressions.
The person eventually "saw the light" and came to senses; but the incident began with what seemed right in one's own eyes and ultimately all I could do was think, "well, that happened."
All is well now, but it's amazing watching ancient words come to life before one's eyes.
CONCLUSION
It's easy to fall into the trap of "that's not me, that's the other guy."
Make sure you don't become "that guy" in saying so.
Hurtful thoughts are the same as hurtful actions, committing them in the heart. Should you think something hurtful (and you will), recognize it for what it is, confess it and throw it out.
Popular posts from this blog
"On Keeping A Notebook" by Joan Didion
I'm nearly finished reading Joan Didion's collection of essays, Slouching Towards Bethlehem. The book was discovered through another book I was reading, Jon Krakauer's Eiger Dreams . If Jon felt this book was good enough to pack along on a mountain climbing expedition, then I'm interested. Took me three tries, but I finally found my copy on Amazon. One of the best book buys I've made. Joan selected the title of this book from William Butler Yeats' classic poem, Second Coming . The book title is shared with one of her larger essays, a record of encounters with people in the 1960's drug culture. Didion's book is divided into three distinct parts: "Life Styles In The Golden Land," a collection of articles capturing the California experience of the 1960's; "Personals," a few of essays of the first-hand nature; and "Seven Places Of The Mind", some thoughts about those parts of California that are now long gone. One essay...
I’ll Be Gnome For Christmas
“And so, about this tomb of mine . . . “
“VANITY, saith the preacher, vanity! Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back? Nephews—sons mine … ah God, I know not! Well— She, men would have to be your mother once, Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was! What’s done is done, and she is dead beside, Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since, And as she died so must we die ourselves, And thence ye may perceive the world’s a dream. Life, how and what is it? As here I lie In this state-chamber, dying by degrees, Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask “Do I live, am I dead?” Peace, peace seems all. Saint Praxed’s ever was the church for peace; And so, about this tomb of mine. I fought With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know: —Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care; Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner South He graced his carrion with, God curse the same! Yet still my niche is not so cramped...