On regarding the pain of others
The title of this post is stolen from Susan Sontag’s book of the same name, which some might recognize as the “sequel” to the seminal On Photography. However, the topic is quite different.
The conventional wisdom is that when a person has become a source of pain in
another person’s life, that they ought to “cut themselves off,” go incommunicado, let the bereaved one mourn in private, since that is what is necessary to do.
This belief is almost axiomatic, there is hardly a person I know that doesn’t subscribe to this belief at least in part.
I want to argue the other side, if only to get things straight and perhaps resolve the debate, at least in my own mind.
Begin with the premise that there is the possibility that remaining in that person’s life can do them some good. When the bereaved feels that everything that has happened undercuts their very sense of self-worth and esteem, might there not be some wisdom in staying the course with that person? Surely, you don’t have to be involved. A Swiss emotional neutrality might be a viable option. Words of encouragement, or just acknowledgment are signs of empathy that might do that person some good. There are moments and periods where we flounder and flail, looking almost indiscriminately for something to anchor ourselves. Source of spiritual succor seem in short supply*, there is the kindly advice of others to do this or that, and that’s fine. That advice will be implemented, in its time. But first thing’s first–that sense of isolation and abandonment has to be whittled down to size first, because friendship, empathy, and concern give you the belief that you are not going it alone. It’s a crutch, if you like, but there are many people with broken legs that would imagine going without one.
As always, the devil is in the details. This is difficult balancing act, especially for the one locked outside the pain of the other–because we are told that making them quit cold turkey is the best for them in the long run, forcing them to more quickly accept the new reality–reality sans you. However, even a move as seemingly simple as this could come at the wrong time, and end up doing more damage than good. This is because the person under duress is going to conflate losing you with a general state of all-pervasive loss. The important thing, of course, is to find some way of hacking this erroneous way of thinking–that is, convince the person or restore them, rather, to some equilibrium where the acknowledgment of loss so inherent in human life can somehow be reconciled with everyday life.
Everyday life, of course, has its share of victories, but these are temporal victories. There is no victory over death. To borrow from Ernest Becker, culture is nothing but a succession of hero-systems, and we are all, insofar as we buy into these beliefs, somehow complicit in the “denial of death.” We strive, and we strive, and we strive in this life. To do things. Because things have to be done. A self-evident truth, or not? How many pathologies are covered up by this directive? How much happiness is compromised in this way. There is nothing wrong with doing things, nothing innately wrong with the vita activa–but it has become the heartbreaking default position for most us, and this, I fear, is to our detriment as both individuals and collectively.
I mention this because there is a constant war in the mind, a gulf between what we do everyday–our business deals, emotional transactions, the natural give and take between humans in even the most transitory of social interaction–there is a war between that and the fact of death. For most people, both facts are valid–we need to conduct our business deals, and we also must die–but there is no neurotic conflict between them, one accepts that business must be done so that there is money, so that there is food, so that there is enough of the material and spiritual sustenance we need for this engine to keep on keeping on until that one day where it starts puttering and eventually gives out.
In situations of duress, whatever fig leaf was covering these contradictions is dropped. You are naked, in the desert, wandering under the relentless sun. even as you go about your routine, outwardly normal, inside, at every moment, you are in this desert. There are mountains or the sea far off. So you have a rough compass, something to shoot for. But they are far and you don’t know if you can make it–at least not alone. You feel like an empty husk of a body carrying an
intestate soul that does very little other than occasionally cry out for this or that. And so, beholden to it, your lurch forward, in this direction or that. Your sense of time is distorted. Your clock is forever locked on the GST of this suffering of your own making.
Back to the topic.
There are ways, I think, for a person to somehow play this double role–as the person who both caused the pain and as a friend that can somehow alleviate it. Then the ball gets thrown back to the sufferer–because if you give them too much, they will start dreaming impossible things again. You have to perform some Orpheus like role of leading the person back from the underworld. Your hand is on theirs, leading them back. But you don’t want to look back. You don’t want to speak. I mean that figuratively, of course. However, it is important that you do this, and not others. Because you are intimately involved in the production of that pain. There is a certain responsibility in that that cannot and ought not be shirked.
Meaning must be reconfigured. Most of the work lies with the sufferer, who will learn, however circuitously, that this can be done. But they need reassurances with each step. There are things that you will say to them when this all blows over, things that you can feel safe saying after recovery. But sometimes its better to say some of it–”leak” it, if you will–before the recovery is complete. As a way of “jump starting” that recovery. As a way of letting the sufferer know that their suffering has not been ignored. That their suffering is as real as the sun and the shiver when you step outside in the late autumn without a jacket. Because the world cannot see it, and the world can therefore ignore it, and they must not allowed to think that the world is indifferent to it. The howl has to be heard. You–all of you–raise your head when it breaks the silence. If only, just only to acknowledge it. Let it course through your neurons. Afterwards it will be no more, but for that moment, at least, it is real, like the rain.



Lisa 12:06 am on November 30, 2008 Permalink |
If you have the power to cause someone pain, it means they care about you. And that means they probably don’t want you disappearing just because you cause them pain.
What’s a different equation is that there are people who are wallowers, the miserable who enjoy company, who view an extended hand not as help to pull themselves up but a person they can pull down into their bog, for company and comiseration.
Compassion is useless, though, for the people who have grown addicted to their pain, to the sense of importance they feel it gives them. You can’t help the people who don’t want to be helped. My mom is, and my brother was, like that.