It’s the pride, stupid.

The other day I wrote about resentment in melancholics.

One of the problems with the melancholic temperament is that it can be hard to know exactly what you’re feeling. Resentment might appear as a kind of miserable heaviness hanging over everything all the time. It won’t necessarily come with little tags telling you the type, origin, and nature of the mood.

This is especially the case when the resentment becomes habitual – so deeply ingrained that it feels normal. I’m not talking about small resentments (though small ones are part of it). I’m talking about big, life-shaping and character-forming resentments. Resentments so formative that they don’t even feel like resentments anymore, just a part of your own story.

Stories like: being bad at everything, always having to move away from friends, having no sense of purpose, being unpopular, failing, poor, being clumsy or unathletic, or slow-witted or never getting the joke.

These common themes can translate into self-pity, bitterness, and resentment.

So what now?  Assuming you don’t actually want to live mired in a bitter and angry reaction to all the things that didn’t go your way, how do you find another way?

Resentment doesn’t hang in thin air. It has a very particular source.

I said last time that it comes from a perceived injustice – motivating anger, fear and disappointment. Anger is defined as a desire for vengeance or vindication, the desire to set right a perceived injustice, to ensure we get what we deserve, whether it be material wealth, opportunity, or due respect from others.

We get angry when someone cuts us off in traffic because we believe deep down that we deserve special consideration from others. We deserve to have a clean run to our destination. We interpret obstacles and inconveniences as slights – signs of disrespect.

At the heart of this anger, and hence resentment, is an inflated sense of what we are owed, what we deserve. This inflated sense of self-worth is called pride, and is defined as a love of one’s own excellence, real or imagined.

People resent life, their families, God, the universe, society, reality itself because these things have failed to meet the standards they feel they deserve.

Resentful people are proud people.

But the good news is that pride is itself a choice. And when you finally arrive at the point where your many resentments are making life unbearable, you might then be able to choose against pride.

At the moment I’m viewing it as an addictive substance – pride as a state of mind we indulge in for escapist pleasure. You don’t have to learn humility per se; in fact in seeking to be humble there’s a risk of merely turning ‘humility’ into a new goal or power-play for your proud self to accomplish. Instead I think it’s easier just to notice the delusion of pride whenever it arises. Noticing it will detract from its strength. Noticing it is implicitly a refusal to fully endorse it; and in that careful approach lies, I think, a way to simply desist from embracing pride any further.

I think in the past I tried to deal with pride by lowering my expectations relative to the norm. I knew the definition of humility was to see oneself truly, but I thought that meant I simply had to beat my pride down to size. But if pride is a love of your own excellence, it doesn’t really matter how excellent that excellence is relative to others. “I just want a normal life” can still be tremendously proud when the subtext is “…and I think I deserve it.”

We need instead to take questions of desert off the table completely, and that can be done by recognising pride as a mental function and refusing to assent to it.

Blaming Charlie Hebdo

It surprised me how keen some people have been to point out that the staff of Charlie Hebdo contributed to their own deaths. Not that they are responsible, mind you. No, of course the murderers are responsible for their actions. Nor would we say they quite ‘brought it upon themselves’, I suppose, just that…well if they hadn’t published such gratuitously offensive cartoons they might be alive today.

The more I think about it, the more this observation seems so utterly trivial. Yes, the victims of the crime acted in a way that provided motive to their killers. It would have been astounding if they hadn’t.

What is going on here? Are we so accustomed to ‘random acts of terror’ that we jump at the chance to identify the non-random nature of this massacre? Are we so deeply impressed by the long-standing notion that ‘they hate us for who we are’, we cannot help but get excited when it seems, for once, that they might hate us for what we do? Better still, that they hate someone else for something they did that I don’t particularly like or agree with either?

This is called having sympathy for the perpetrators, and as shocking as that may sound, it is not entirely unnatural or unwarranted. The killers didn’t like their religion being mocked; well I don’t like my religion being mocked. The killers weren’t impressed by crude and offensive satire; well who is impressed by crude and offensive satire? Of course we do not share the terrorists’ murderous intent and we must decry their despicable actions; this is not a case of “the enemy of my enemy is my friend”, so the best I can do is just sit back and helpfully point out that perhaps if they hadn’t been so gratuitious and offensive and blasphemous, well perhaps they would still be alive today?

The commentary I’ve read seems to be divided into two camps: “I am Charlie Hebdo”, and “I most certainly am not”. The reality is that most of us are not Charlie Hebdo. Charlie Hebdo is an ideologically driven publication with extreme anti-religious and anti-establishment political views. Its staff were not merely satirists with a crude sense of humour, like an off-colour version of ‘The Onion’. They were left-wing radicals, of an ideological stripe once viewed with trepidation across Europe.

But to stand in solidarity with the victims of the massacre is to nonetheless recognise that some expressions of extreme ideology are more tolerable than others. We can tolerate nasty cartoons. We can’t tolerate massacres.

The distinction between tolerance and support may be lost on many who take up the “I am Charlie” theme and view recent events as a more generic conflict between terrorists and cartoonists. But the distinction is equally lost on those who feel compelled to point out instead that the massacre would never have happened if the magazine had not engaged in such puerile and offensive satire in the first place.

This is, I think, an instance of allowing disdain for Charlie Hebdo to override and distort the broader context. After all, though disdain for crude anti-religious satire brings us into sympathy with the perpetrators, this sympathy is incidental to their deeper ideological perspective. Some have charged that Charlie Hebdo were performing a role akin to agents provocateur, yet such a charge implies that provocation is the driving force behind these terrorist acts. It might be more accurate, given the nature of Salafi Jihadism, to view Charlie Hebdo as canaries in the coal mine – the first, most obvious target in a broader campaign to impose a Salafist ideology by force.

It has become something of a cliche in conservative circles to say to the more outrageous and offensive critics of Christianity “you would not dare to thus offend Islam”. Charlie Hebdo did not discriminate in its offensive anti-religious propaganda, yet now the response is “they brought it upon themselves”. One might be forgiven for thinking that some Christian critics of Charlie Hebdo perceive natural justice at work in the massacre.

Aside from pointing out cowardice and double-standards among certain critics of Christianity, there is something unworthy of Christian Charity in the subtext “You’re lucky we’re not the type to go around killing blasphemers!” Likewise, if our disdain for offensive satire causes us to turn a blind eye to the moral agency of the Salafi Jihadists, then we are letting our sympathies rule not only our reason but our better nature.

Like it or not, offensive satire is part of the French political and journalistic landscape, while terror and massacres have not been for quite some time. There are excellent ethical bases for not intentionally offending the religious beliefs of others; an appeal to consequences is perhaps the lowest of these. Taking the massacres first and foremost as an opportunity to vindicate a consequentialist position against blasphemy is a pretty dismal offering from conservative Christian quarters.