Revenge from Revival

Self-pity is something that almost every human being will experience. From being a child who doesn't get one more sweet after dinner; to being the growing boy who loses a game of chess to his father and refuses to throw down his king until he finds a solution; to the moment when your partner or spouse walks towards the door, head held high in wistful attempt to justify a set of reasons you stopped listening to because your efforts were invested into winning your loved one back at that very moment. During these moments, self-pity is growing within us. Something twisting inside, and it’s malignant as hell. It feeds off the sorrow. It stores this sorrow up and, when pockets of positivity shine through like crepuscular rays bleeding between the clouds at dusk, suddenly this malignancy within us releases a small residue of our sorrow, until our mood has gone from a struggling positivity, to a state that is subdued and sombre at best; at worst, we’re surrounded by knives and warm baths, contemplating. Wine stains on the floor and tears stinging the eyes.

    The human condition can be the checks and balances system of our morality. Our regulator. It can remind us that for all of our own worries and problems, we are a species that can feel for others. When hurting, we can be self-pitying; when struggling, we can be self-deprecating. Yet, we are never alone in our hurt, never isolated in this struggle. It is our struggle, and everybody’s struggle. There is no one person against the world. Think hard, how many people believe they’re the 'most' unique person they know? How many people claim it’s them against the world? We are all different, agreed. However, no matter how long our species survives and no matter how many different DNA patterns are formed, we will all be so very similar. We will always share the desire for attention when we are really feeling the pain. When the knife is twisting, and then lacerating open wounds, we will want people to cry on the shoulders of; we will need somebody sitting with us as we seek to explain our pain, and in their infinite generosity, they will blunder and grope blindly, like a lover in the darkness, for as long as it takes them to understand what we’re going through. They will, because they felt it too. A different lover, a longer or shorter period of time, a different set of motives, ambitions, past experiences. Culture clashes, religious schisms, moral divides. There could be a list as large as Emperor Mundane’s vocabulary (quite large, I've heard) that separates the relationship of the one in pain from the one offering those ears to listen, and the voice to sooth; however, it would be naïve and even selfish for the afflicted to feel cloistered or anomalous in this, the most experienced human emotion of all: heartbreak.           

    Equally, it would be jejune of the helping friend to use clichés. ‘I've been there’; ‘I know how you feel’. Sometimes these attempts at a joint effort against the struggle of pain are better invoked through actions. Silent nodding and the unwavering attention we give our tristful friend. Sometimes the pain, that twisted, malignant force, needs to be bled. It is a palpable acerbity that just needs to be cried away, and cried away, and cried away. Of course, hours of tears won’t cure the problem. Pain, be it bereavement, loss of a lover or the discovery of a betrayal — all of these are pain, and pain is not a guest easily dismissed. Uninvited, it overstays its welcome, and before long, it is corrupting other friends and uniting them to its cause. Pain pushes the happy memories aside and ushers the worst memories to the fore of this horrifying performance. The sufferer begins to hate his or herself. They question where it all went wrong, what could have been done — was instauration of this malnourished situation ever an option? And was there a missed opportunity to repent and be redeemed? Did you do something wrong that you never truly understood, and did the other half misinterpret this incorrigibly?

    Eventually, after the friend’s valiant efforts, the afflicted person must face the world again. They must step outside and feel the fresh air once felt while holding their lover’s hand; they must hear the sonorous melodies of the early-morning birds and feel the gentle heat of the rising sun. All of these things, last experienced with the lover. They are challenged now to face this facet of life, the everyday part, by themselves.

    Soon, the pain rises again. The person tries their hardest to regroup with life. Tries to become a part of social interaction, education, work, religion, politics. Investing time and demonstrating a willingness to blast as much effort as possible into pushing aside the hurt and the insidious bad memories. Distraction can bear fruit. Old friendships can be given maintenance, new ones might be kindled. The human being is renowned for its durability. For being able to segregate emotions somewhere deep within, fighting out their own tumultuous war while the human being strives to relight the beacons of their existence.

    Once the internal war subsides, once the memories and the hurts have been exhaustively contemplated until finally there is nothing to say that would not be mindless tautology, leading nowhere new — once all of this occurs, we sweep these feelings under the rug of day-to-day life. During this time, boy do those emotions grow taut.

    Inevitably, these ex-lovers bump into one another.

    Inevitably, chaos, in its malevolently ambitious state, pulls that rug back just a touch.

    Set free! Let loose! Those taut emotions are greyhounds on race day. They are gone already, chasing after the prey — the heart. Pangs hit. Not sadness but regret. What was, and what could have been. What is, and what will never be again.

    Does the ex who walked away care?

    The devil on our shoulder says NO!

    Regret becomes resentment.

    Resentment becomes anger.

    White-hot anger.

    Cue then, the rebound. Not something casual. The rebound is not necessarily inconsequential. If drunk and somebody is met at a bar and this before a night of hot and inchoate passion, leaving the two spent, only for them to never keep in touch…yes, I suppose that would be inconsequential in the long term. However, in the whorl of negativity, eventually somebody new pops their head around the door, and lo! suddenly there is a whole host of new emotions and feelings. Feelings that are slow burners at first, but damn if they are not the feelings felt at the start of the last relationship. Huh.

    Reawakened spirit, rejuvenated motivation, relieved friends!

    Sharing wine at the table. Cuddling on the sofa, a film on the television. That first night of new exploration and a shared excitement at what this means – the implications of taking a meaningful, emotional relationship into the atramentous realm of lovemaking. A realm where everybody is at a different stage. A realm where everybody has ticked different boxes and some people added new boxes that raised eyebrows and oh, these boxes, they stay hidden in the bedroom, don’t they just.

    Can a full-blown relationship be a rebound scenario? I don't know. If I were to offer any advice, it would be to consider the feelings you feel towards your new lover and search deep within yourself for any feelings directed at your old lover. Really feel these sets of feelings. It doesn't necessarily matter which feelings are stronger — if your past relationship lasted for ten years, you won’t get over it in a hurry, I wouldn't have thought.

    If you come away from that long and grueling self-diagnosis, and with the greatest honesty you admit that the feelings with more of a pull in the here and now are feelings for your new lover…well...what do I know? 

S.C.

Silence Kills Best

Breakups, makeups, romance. Not necessarily the correct order when examining one particular relationship, but look at those words again.

In that order.

Look.

Think.

During a seminar in my second year of studies, Chaucer’s ‘The Franklin’s Tale’ from The Canterbury Tales was the text of the day. For those of you yet to come across it, there’s a key theme of sacrificing status for love. There is a raw ache in the gut of these characters for the person they love to, in one case, be safe; in another case, love them back. Unrequited love. Our lecturer, I do believe, posed the question ‘has anybody here experienced unrequited love yet?’ Whether or not she was nosy, or innocently curious, or reaching out to the feelings within us to empathize with one of the characters in an attempt to explain the logistics of how Chaucer had this character behave — who knows. What’s more, me being me, I was too busy on my Dictionary App (researching the definition of the word extrapolate which the lecturer had used moments earlier) to notice if anybody actually raised their arms. I mean, sure, we all use the L word at some point, don’t we? The majority of people in that room were nineteen, perhaps twenty years of age. With social networking thrown into the mix, relationships have changed. Asking (in my case) a girl, ‘will you go out with me?’ or ‘do you fancy going for a drink sometime?’ eased up tenfold in one way. Staring a girl in the face, and seeing the lines of guilt harden as she searches for the gentlest words of rejection she knows, became less preterition and more an act of sheer bravery. Why was this — well, because you could send her a text, email or social networking missive. If she said no, the computer screen might transform into a great sneer of derision, but there was no worrying moment where you turn around and hope that, as you walk away, crestfallen, you don’t trip over the curb and make matters worse for yourself.

Unrequited love.

Fancying a person is one thing. Seeing their beauty through your eyes. Eyes nobody else sees that person through. You might be one of ten people to think a person’s hair, or neckline, or legs (or any other feature) is particularly outstanding; however, you might believe this feature to be outstanding for a wholly different reason. What does each of us seek in a person? A girl with bright eyes and a cute nose; a man with a sharp jawline and charismatic sense of humour? Do people find what they are looking for and, if so, are they satisfied?

I wonder, when a person’s quest for their perfect other half reaches its end, what then? Elope in solitude only to flee towards tranquillity with this prize, hiding everything you love about this person from the rest of the world? Is this a form of success? When does the phrase ‘beauty in the eye of the beholder’ transmute into adoration? When does adoration become so powerful that we express it to this person? They blush, smile, wave away compliments with a fugacious gesture. They see in you their own form of love. They are willing to do anything for you, unmindful of the jealousy you harbour towards yourself, about your own lover. When does love become possession?

Understanding what it means to love somebody while allowing he or she to A. love you back, and B. make you a welcome addition to their life, rather than feel the need to centre everything around this newfound romance, I believe is wholly another. We all throw the word out there. We can, as one relationship diminishes, fades and makes us feel more useless than we’ve ever been (even than after the last relationship), often forget that another one is around the metaphorical (or literal) corner, waiting to bump heads with us in the supermarket and elicit pretend feelings of guilt and humour mixed together (let’s face it, until eye contact, both people just want the other person to go away and take their heavy, hollow skull as far away as possible). The relationships might start slowly. Both sides unsure of the opposition’s battle plans. Then deployment lines are slowly drawn, opening moves made. The first invite to a see a film or go for dinner; the first time you receive a late night text, shocked and oh-so exhilarated by this symbolic promulgation of he or she thinking about you, yes you, at such a later hour (do we really need Freud to step in at this point? I think not…). Suddenly, the battle is fully-fledged. Skirmishes of lust. Exchanges of harsh breath. Skin and bone at the edge of the knife blade. Blood pumping. The world outside means nothing. Engagements (…) thicken. Flanks are pressed. Seething masses of emotion heaving against one another until you become a single entity, driven by passion, regulated by understanding.

That entity is love. Isn’t it?

A new relationship brings new challenges. A new person to understand the desires of, and to desire their understanding in return. This, I suppose, would be requited love, after a fashion. Fickle creatures that we are, human beings have a tendency to allow negativity to fill us up, head to toe. When we experience pain, loss, despair, we are the epitome of self-pity. This is natural. As a race, humans have survived with an inherent theory that Charles Darwin made a point of dressing rather indelicately (that said, I suppose survival of the fittest sounds better than if you’re shit you die). When the pain is our own, it burns, sears, and brands us. Our heart is scarred after each relationship. Expectations that are disappointed; considerations never realized; feelings — on both sides — that limp away, stunned, licking their wounds, feeling nought for the other. If this were any different, it would be unnatural. What is our purpose — to survive as long as it takes to reproduce? How do we reproduce? With another human being. This is all speculation, conjecture on my part.

Yet sometimes, these feelings are never reciprocated. Unrequited love. Loving somebody who never loves you back. A dinner rejection from a man or woman you fancy is painful. In fact, it sucks. However, to know somebody for a period of time where, increment by increment, your feelings grow and grow, burgeoning until the only cap sealing those feelings in place is your big mouth; what then? This is all so wonderful (and at times, horrifying) an experience. Yet, when that mouth of yours is freed, and the words pour out, bouncing against ears deaf to the compassion of the thought, of the gesture, of the sheer vulnerability a human risks by declaring their love of somebody, to that somebody; then what? What are these feelings? Fear at the words flooding out. Excitement at the possibility of hearing those same words directed back at you. Apprehension at the awkward silence growing around the edges — shadows of doubt and uncertainty. Panic. Panic at the realization that we have just surrendered all leverage. Feelings that might now be toyed with, manipulated, destroyed by the person we wanted to be happy alongside. Is there a worse way to be mentally broken? To be defeated by an enemy is something almost inevitable at some point. To be defeated by a loved one…we never see it coming. 

Sometimes we have already lost too much to even feel that killing blow. We were finished moments earlier. Defeated by bravery.

Such is unrequited love.

S.C.

The Iron Law and the Malleable Will

When I wake up (sometimes in the afternoons at the moment…) I find myself swamped by emails. Today I had a look over at the Philosophy Community on Google+ for the first time in a couple of weeks, and after only a moment’s scrolling, discovered this:

“Elite oligarchy is the unbendable law of human nature, due largely to the apathy and division of the masses. Democratic institutions do no more than shift the exercise of power from oppression to manipulation.”

I thought to myself, hmm. And I continue to think, hmm.

            One of my first questions (to myself, mainly) was: imagine a political system whereby parties did not use elected officials, but their entire membership or affiliation; in a situation with mass gatherings and convergences of views, opinions, beliefs, that will all have different tints, how would the exercise of power be managed? Would progress be seen, conclusions made, actions performed?

            Having read quotes from Robert Michels and Darcy K. Leach, it seems futile to write something antithetical to the stance of the quote. Much of what is argued, particularly by Michels, has great weight. First, that when a democratic body initiates in a small number, it exists in a healthier state to reach conclusions in a form that could be described as democratic, that is to say, through the will of the people. Second, that when there is a growing democratic machine, party or vessel, it becomes increasingly difficult to organize. Organize what? Discussions, debates, voting ceremonies, speeches. Despite being in what might be termed the Technological Age, no country has the power to rally hundreds of thousands of people quickly into one place, and provide the necessary order, peace and understanding for topics or matters of debate and discussion to be addressed en masse. That is, imagine attempting to fit, oh, say, three million people into a public city square for five hours on a Saturday afternoon, in order to address a wholly-reaching, all important matter regarding human rights. It would require vast, punctual, efficient transport; not to mention large and powerful sound equipment, law enforcement, refreshments, a latrine or toilet system of some kind or other, and probably a prohibition, or at the very least, limitation, on the amount of alcohol people could not just purchase (think proxy, here), but consume. How would this be established? There would have to be some sort of stamp-card system for each drink bought, with, perhaps, three drinks being the maximum. Taking all of these considerations into account, the party or group would discover on Monday morning a rather large chit. How could this be managed — through the use of a “member” system? Whereby, to be a member of said democratic party, one must contribute, say, £3 a year? Fair enough, this amount is small and for many people it can be earned in half an hour of paid work. Less fortunate people, however, cannot piece together even half of this sum for a cup of coffee on a cold winter’s Tuesday. What this small membership also comes with, concomitantly, is the implication (perhaps even accusation) that a person is being charged, not to have a voice, but to have a voice which is legitimized. To be able to hold one’s hand up and know that their words are being absorbed, chewed on, spun around and considered with some level of meaning, and not merely cast aside as mere verbal dung. Where membership is concerned, money is both authenticity and (to a lesser degree) authority.

            There is both logic and merit, therefore, in having elected officials. A much smaller number would mean less of a stress on transport, law enforcement and alcohol; having a parliamentary establishment would fully enforce rules of etiquette and behaviour, enabling these representatives to get down to the business of representing.

These elected delegates would likely be people of intelligence, charisma and authority. MPs, for example. Hailing from constituencies spread across a country or region, each carrying the views of (in the case of Great Britain’s First Past the Post system) the highest accumulation of any party represented in a constituency (that is to say, if one party held support from 8% of a constituency, and twenty-three other parties could only muster 4% each, then the 8% would be the party elected as the “winner”). Thankfully, this probably won’t ever happen to the extremity of only 8% of a constituency being the so-called enfranchised by the time the voting is counted and finalized. Worryingly, this number, if the party with 8% were to storm their way to victory with much higher accumulations across the rest of the country, could easily be forgotten provided any form of hung parliament or absence of a clear majority are avoided. Nevertheless, it seems that there is an absence of democracy if 8% of constituents are represented, and 92% with varying views are left in a state of disarray.

            Robert Michels, who coined the phrase Iron Law of Oligarchy, claimed that ‘Who says organization, says Oligarchy’. In a so called democratic state, people elect officials as a manifestation of the representative voice of a country, region, constituency, to be a rational and logistical means (no doubt suggested by people that have, down the years, been elected, no less) of converging en masse. These elected are the mages of this world. The chosen ones, each with an aspect of views, desires and social, economic, racial, political hues that differ from opinion to opinion, from class to class, from psyche to psyche. However, considering this part of the statement I found, “due largely to the apathy and division of the masses,” it seems naïve to propose that, beyond being the sword of their constituency, the elected official has no other role where organization is concerned. Apathy and division. Aristotle argued that a large and stable middle class, bearing much smaller edges of wealth and poverty either side of it, would be the best possible social conglomeration through which to achieve democratic polity. According to university research, the Great Britain of 2013 has seven recognizable social classes, all the way from “precariat” (precarious proletariat) through to “elite”. These two diametrical groups include a total of between 21-22% of the population, meaning that 78% of Great Britain is somewhere between poor and rich. It is extremely easy to simply say these things and come up with ostensibly logical redistribution plans or to sit down, ponder and then contrive various vessels for investment. Easy in theory; in practice, far more difficult. The 6% which account for Britain’s social elite are likely the people with contacts all around the globe; with real investments and sure monetary strategies. Some of it might well be inherited; some if it could very possibly be hard-earned. A new, reworked tax system, however, is not where I’m looking.

            78-79% of a so-called world power’s population is somewhere in the middle, a middle which itself is divided into five categories. Consider then, the three biggest political parties in Britain; the Conservatives and the Liberal Democrats (currently in a coalition government together) and the opposition party, Labour. Labour, as a political party, speaks out in its very title to its intended class. The very word labour is almost laborious in and of itself. Say it, labour, feel the -bour pull you onwards at the end. There’s almost a we’re in this together psychological message coming through. Or maybe I’m just good at contriving bullshit.

Could apathetic and divisive be states of being attached to the 78% of Britain’s middle spectrum? Age, wealth, living location, cultural and social capital, can all be considered to separate these groups in one fashion or another. There exist people with a social climbing ambition; equally, some people are happy in their situation, content with working 9-5 each day in an industry, with two or three children and an awareness of no real economic danger without ever being able to jump out of bed one day and buy a brand new sports car.

Why are people apathetic towards politics and the political philosophy? Life for many people is a twenty-four hour cycle. This cycle involves the early morning cries of the alarm, the steaming kettle and buzzing toaster at breakfast. The cold, frosty morning meets you on your commute to work, be it via train, bus, car or another method, and it is uncomfortable. Hustle and bustle, nobody with the time to stop and greet with a smile; suits only half-ironed revealing creases around the edges; people’s hair might not be fully arranged. Life is a rush. Come the end of the working day, the only eagerness driving most is to return home safely, have dinner and finally settle down with a book or a television programme and sip a warm drink or a glass of red in order to wind down. Then they sleep, and repeat. This is a never-ending cycle, which might also include driving children to and from school, helping them with homework, engaging with them, bathing them and reading their bedtime story; yes, oh yes, and in this cycle, where are people supposed to make the time to consider their political principals? When spare time is found, people are wont to steal away those precious moments in a state of languor, because they feel the rest of their time is spent working towards the next day and the next. This, then, is where we might see apathy. Less and less, I suspect, are elected officials chosen and supported through a passion that is white-hot. These political delegates are selected to make decisions on behalf of people with whom, yes, some ideology might be shared, but they are people who simply don’t believe they have the time to make these decisions themselves anyway.

Division.

Seven billion humans, give or take a few million, inhabit earth. Among those lucky enough to voice their opinions, it is indubitable that there will be conflict. Different interpretations leading to people standing on opposite sides of the chasm; be the debate political or religious, and whether or not there are fully-fledged differences in individual’s standpoints, or only minor distinctions, there always exist these oppositions. Debate is perceived as a useful tool; a tool with which people can define standpoints. Debate is a form of expression that shelters speakers in an agreed level of respect from peers and listeners. Division and debate together are a positive mixture; they illustrate that human beings are always thinking; making calculations to find a new and improved system to execute that will hopefully give a fairer future to more people than the current system does. However, the fact remains that these debates are voiced by the elected political manifestations of a constituency, and not the whole scope of its constituents. This in itself is a form of manipulation. When one person speaks on behalf of three million, there is bound to be at least one instance of division; it is the delegate, however, who ultimately has the voice, and because this oligarchical form of government, which will always supplant a messy and disorganized mass attempt at democracy, has succeeded over a monarchical form of rule (in Great Britain, anyway), it continues to stand, sometimes camouflaged under the term democracy. The larger the population, the more paperwork and minor quandaries, meaning, of course, the birth and utilization of bureaucracy to take care of these nuances.

Ultimately, as much as I wished to disagree with the statement that Oligarchy is the unbendable law of human nature, I see no evidence to form an argument. All around us people are delegating tasks. All around us there are people privileged enough to have an opinion they can voice, but still society is poisoned by an insecurity in the self, whereby people lack the courage of their convictions and this is why, when a leader bravely presents his or her self to their electorate, people already hope this potential prime being has the qualities a leader should have.

As an aside. I have begun a blog dedicated to book reviews, to be updated as and when I'm able to finish reading books. The first post is on Scott Lynch's The Republic of Thieves and the Gentleman Bastards Sequence. Take a look at http://unheroicinsights.wordpress.com/

Secondly, I have written an article on the Lotus drivers Kimi Raikkonen and Romain Grosjean over at http://fulltimesport.com/ - please feel free to give it a read. Credit for Gus Harris, too, the owner of the site, for some excellent sports reading. 

S.C.