The Hazards of Moral Superiority (Or How I Learned to Lose Myself)
About a month ago, I wrote about a difficult set of experiences I had gone through recently; I alluded to the fact that this had shattered my sense of self. Specifically, I wrote that "the cloak of self-deception I had wrapped myself in fell away". This is pretty cryptic; what exactly did I mean by this?
There's a common story told about the founder of the Buddhist movement. Before he became the Buddha, he was a wealthy prince named Siddhartha Gautama. When he was born, it was predicted by soothsayers that he would be a prophet who would live a meager lifestyle and bring enlightenment to many people. Siddhartha's father was alarmed by this, so he built a large, exquisite palace full of anything his son could possibly want and servants to cater to his every need. He wanted to shield him from the fate that the fortune tellers foresaw.
When he was about 30 years old, the gods decided to intervene, and sent an old man, a sick person, and a corpse into the palace where Siddhartha lived. Prior to this, he had been shielded by his extravagant lifestyle from the realities of age, disease, and death. Surprised by this exposure, Siddhartha left his palace to encounter the wide world for the first time. He was horrified by all of the suffering he saw. Resolved to learn more about the world and how to overcome all of its horrors, he left his wife and children and went out into the world to seek enlightenment.
Most of this story, if not all of it, is almost certainly apocryphal. It's a mythos cooked up by Buddhist thinkers to illustrate that a life of luxury is a gilded cage. So many of us see the inevitable steamroller approaching us to flatten us out, so we stick our heads in the sand like ostriches. (Tangent: that's a myth; ostriches don't actually do this.) You can hide from the world, but you cannot escape the suffering common to all of humanity, and you cannot escape death.
I entered my freshman year of college truly wanting to help people in need. I have no idea where this impulse came from; I grew up in an upper-middle class suburban city devoid of the suffering so pervasive in most of the world. When I first got to college, I bounced around campus looking for a just cause to back, and people I could join on a mission, with whom I felt a kinship. I met with environmentalists, those interested in fighting poverty around the world, and several others. I never had success. In the course of doing this, I was slowly drawn into the normal preoccupations of undergraduate life a large university, namely, I looked for a place to belong socially. This also proved difficult.
Towards the end of my freshman year, I made what could probably be called the biggest mistake of my life. There was blame to be had on both sides, but I betrayed the trust of some close friends I had; the friendships dissolved. This happened because I had been trying so hard to adapt to the people around me, to be something I was not, which will always bring a soul into conflict. At the time, it very much felt like I had done what Winston did at the end of the novel 1984, when confronted with the terrors of Room 101. In my own way, I had cried out "Do it to Julia!" and in doing so, lost my sense of moral superiority.
In the wake of this, I abandoned myself to the forces of the world around me. I could no longer see the point of helping others, of trying to do what I felt was right, in a world that seemed filled with people who always acted out of self-interest. It seemed that altruism would only put you at hazard with the world. Trying to help only sets you up to be taken advantage of.
My friends from college will remember that I spent hours adamantly debating that altruism doesn't exist in our world; I was trying so hard to convince myself, so I wouldn't feel bad about having left myself behind. Or I was looking for someone to prove me wrong, so I could feel justified in trying to recover myself. At the time, I felt that changing course and pursuing self-interest was bringing myself in line with my own true nature, and in doing so, I hoped this would help me avoid any further conflicts in my soul. The truth is, I was only compounding it. As Pink Floyd sang, it was all just bricks in the wall.
So for the past 15 years, I've made a very weak, disconcerted effort to act out of self-interest. I haven't been selfish, but I have tried so hard to act like it, to realize what I think I should be. Nor have I done much to help others either. I have basically behaved exactly as I am: like a confused man who is at odds with himself.
Following your conscience to do what you feel is right in this world is usually the correct thing to do. (Provided your conscience isn't telling you to hurt anyone else.) However, feeling the need to justify yourself for what you are doing to anyone else is dangerous. Any sense of moral superiority on your part over others around you is, in fact, a very real indicator of moral inferiority. It makes you susceptible. You must do what you feel is right from a sense of strength within yourself, with no basis of comparison to those around you. It's judgment that defeats us...and I know this because now I can recognize how quickly it defeated me.
My more recent set of experiences that happened a couple of months ago broke through all of my barriers. The destruction hurt, but it let the light in. All of it gave me what I have been actively searching for for the last few years: my own personal anagnorisis.
Most of my days as of late have been me striding out confidently into the world, much in the way Kevin McCallister did in the film Home Alone, yelling "I'm not afraid anymore!" Then Old Man Marley comes along, dragging his shovel and trash can of salt, and Kevin screams and runs back into the house. But increasingly, I'm having more days like the scene in the basement, where the demonic furnace Kevin fears whirs to live and taunts him; Kevin recognizes how silly it is to be afraid of such a thing, and exuding only tired boredom, simply says "Shut up."
The most difficult thing in this world is to harmonize one's actions with oneself, not least of all because knowing oneself is the first prerequisite.
There's a common story told about the founder of the Buddhist movement. Before he became the Buddha, he was a wealthy prince named Siddhartha Gautama. When he was born, it was predicted by soothsayers that he would be a prophet who would live a meager lifestyle and bring enlightenment to many people. Siddhartha's father was alarmed by this, so he built a large, exquisite palace full of anything his son could possibly want and servants to cater to his every need. He wanted to shield him from the fate that the fortune tellers foresaw.
When he was about 30 years old, the gods decided to intervene, and sent an old man, a sick person, and a corpse into the palace where Siddhartha lived. Prior to this, he had been shielded by his extravagant lifestyle from the realities of age, disease, and death. Surprised by this exposure, Siddhartha left his palace to encounter the wide world for the first time. He was horrified by all of the suffering he saw. Resolved to learn more about the world and how to overcome all of its horrors, he left his wife and children and went out into the world to seek enlightenment.
Most of this story, if not all of it, is almost certainly apocryphal. It's a mythos cooked up by Buddhist thinkers to illustrate that a life of luxury is a gilded cage. So many of us see the inevitable steamroller approaching us to flatten us out, so we stick our heads in the sand like ostriches. (Tangent: that's a myth; ostriches don't actually do this.) You can hide from the world, but you cannot escape the suffering common to all of humanity, and you cannot escape death.
I entered my freshman year of college truly wanting to help people in need. I have no idea where this impulse came from; I grew up in an upper-middle class suburban city devoid of the suffering so pervasive in most of the world. When I first got to college, I bounced around campus looking for a just cause to back, and people I could join on a mission, with whom I felt a kinship. I met with environmentalists, those interested in fighting poverty around the world, and several others. I never had success. In the course of doing this, I was slowly drawn into the normal preoccupations of undergraduate life a large university, namely, I looked for a place to belong socially. This also proved difficult.
Towards the end of my freshman year, I made what could probably be called the biggest mistake of my life. There was blame to be had on both sides, but I betrayed the trust of some close friends I had; the friendships dissolved. This happened because I had been trying so hard to adapt to the people around me, to be something I was not, which will always bring a soul into conflict. At the time, it very much felt like I had done what Winston did at the end of the novel 1984, when confronted with the terrors of Room 101. In my own way, I had cried out "Do it to Julia!" and in doing so, lost my sense of moral superiority.
In the wake of this, I abandoned myself to the forces of the world around me. I could no longer see the point of helping others, of trying to do what I felt was right, in a world that seemed filled with people who always acted out of self-interest. It seemed that altruism would only put you at hazard with the world. Trying to help only sets you up to be taken advantage of.
My friends from college will remember that I spent hours adamantly debating that altruism doesn't exist in our world; I was trying so hard to convince myself, so I wouldn't feel bad about having left myself behind. Or I was looking for someone to prove me wrong, so I could feel justified in trying to recover myself. At the time, I felt that changing course and pursuing self-interest was bringing myself in line with my own true nature, and in doing so, I hoped this would help me avoid any further conflicts in my soul. The truth is, I was only compounding it. As Pink Floyd sang, it was all just bricks in the wall.
So for the past 15 years, I've made a very weak, disconcerted effort to act out of self-interest. I haven't been selfish, but I have tried so hard to act like it, to realize what I think I should be. Nor have I done much to help others either. I have basically behaved exactly as I am: like a confused man who is at odds with himself.
Following your conscience to do what you feel is right in this world is usually the correct thing to do. (Provided your conscience isn't telling you to hurt anyone else.) However, feeling the need to justify yourself for what you are doing to anyone else is dangerous. Any sense of moral superiority on your part over others around you is, in fact, a very real indicator of moral inferiority. It makes you susceptible. You must do what you feel is right from a sense of strength within yourself, with no basis of comparison to those around you. It's judgment that defeats us...and I know this because now I can recognize how quickly it defeated me.
My more recent set of experiences that happened a couple of months ago broke through all of my barriers. The destruction hurt, but it let the light in. All of it gave me what I have been actively searching for for the last few years: my own personal anagnorisis.
Most of my days as of late have been me striding out confidently into the world, much in the way Kevin McCallister did in the film Home Alone, yelling "I'm not afraid anymore!" Then Old Man Marley comes along, dragging his shovel and trash can of salt, and Kevin screams and runs back into the house. But increasingly, I'm having more days like the scene in the basement, where the demonic furnace Kevin fears whirs to live and taunts him; Kevin recognizes how silly it is to be afraid of such a thing, and exuding only tired boredom, simply says "Shut up."
The most difficult thing in this world is to harmonize one's actions with oneself, not least of all because knowing oneself is the first prerequisite.