“Speak, so I can see you.”
A case on how everything we experience, or “the Human experience” for that matter, is primarily the result of the relationships we have with people.
Imagine your favorite song. Perhaps a song integral to explain how you feel when you’re sad. Or a song that you share with a loved one, beautifully capturing the moment you had with them, where all the notes somehow tell a tale of a life that is devoid of pain. When I listen to a song, I find that it always has to do with the relationships we have with others or emotions that come as a consequence of our interactions with them. I find it intriguing how artists of a song parse out specific words to make specific phrases, yet listeners like us can ubiquitously resonate with each and every word. Even more interesting is the motivations that underly the parsing of those words. What tragedy have you experienced to come up with that line?
But this isn’t about music. It’s about what causes us to write the music in the first place. In other words, this is an exploration on how our conversations, interactions, attractions, and divides take a toll on the way in which we interact with the world. How the actions we take in particular, in more ways than we can understand, are shaped through a longing for connection.
Understanding relationships and what they mean.
Despite our innate desire to find companionship with one another, I notice a couple of things. First, we’re terrible at forming relationships. It’s paradoxical that we have moments where we try our hardest to bolster our connection with a person yet fail so miserably to that end. Depending on personality, environmental context, and so on, we either move on triumphantly or become bitter, resentful and or depressed. And the line between that dichotomy is often a tight rope, where it’s easy to fall into either one of those categories. Second, forming relationships, companionships, and connections do not have to be restricted to just another person, but perhaps towards an ideology, an object, or even yourself.
However, I see that when we trace back those connections in context, we see a regression oriented to some sort of principle that is associated to a longing for human connection. To give an example, let’s say you’re a pianist— a concert pianist. Well, why do you play the piano? Perhaps because you enjoy it. Why do you enjoy it? Maybe it’s because you like performing. Why do you like performing? Because it moves you and it moves the people who are listening. Why would you want to move the people listening and why does music move people at all? Well, that’s already been answered: likely, it represents the complex emotions we experience through our interactions with people, or the self.
I chose music as an example because it’s something we all can understand. After all, it is just an abstract form of expression. I can tell you, however, that a relationship with any object or any ideology, if tracked back far enough, will demonstrate some association with human connection. Even the cup of water that you drink is not consumed merely because of thirst, but because you value your health, and you do that because you value life, and you do that because, well, why don’t you tell me?
The paradoxical Snake.
We implicitly know that relationships with others are powerful. At least, we act as though they are essential to live properly in a societal world. We are also aware of how people we have relationships with can hurt us. After all, everyone has a snake or two wrapped around them. Perhaps ten or twenty, or maybe even a hundred. Despite this, it is interesting to me how we tend to not acknowledge the existence of our snakes—our deficiencies if you will—when we first meet.
First impressions! Is it being cordial or is it an art of deception? I wonder why we usually prefer euphemistic exchanges with one another instead of raw authenticity? I think it’s because we’re scared of snakes. Not just metaphorically, but we literally jump at the slightest sight of a snake in our periphery.1 A snake means danger. An instinctive response to danger is avoidance. But the problem is: everyone is full of snakes. We sin. We lie. We aren’t perfect people. So inevitably, I see that we tend to let a couple out, even with those whom we love. Things go astray. A side of us we have kept hidden becomes exposed. We become vulnerable. We judge. We distance ourselves, and all the incredible cognitive resources and time we’ve expended on that initial pursuit of connection rapidly deteriorates.
I’ve observed this scenario happen too many times. The first couple of instances, I didn’t know what to make of it. I felt it was hypocritical to acknowledge human imperfection all the while outclassing flaws over the relationship as a whole. This isn’t an ironclad critique, however, as some mistakes (cheating, killing, stealing to name a few) can be grounds for dissolution. Even then, I’m reminded of a quote by the prolific psychoanalyst, Carl G. Jung:
“Man is, on the whole, less good than he imagines himself or wants to be. Everyone carries a shadow, and the less it is embodied in the individual's conscious life, the blacker and denser it is."
To me, the problem of confronting snakes, or the “shadow” as Jung puts it, is inescapable. Even if you think you have met the perfect, nicest person, it is inevitable that you will find embedded within them problems incomprehensible to the imagination. So if the rule is to avoid snakes at all costs, you then, by logical conclusion, avoid any chance of forming a lasting relationship at all. That is the central problem.
The wise Serpent.
There may not be a panacea to all problems, but there fortunately is to this one. Instead of being scared of snakes, become a Serpent. A wise Serpent. Understand that everyone has monsters that live within them, including and especially yourself. Realize that even then, if you find your relationship valuable, you ought to prioritize the good in the individual over the faults they may have. Perhaps have faith that compassion and forgiveness will be rewarded. Yes, we are all monsters. But we have the capability to transcend our snakes and shadows and exist in a state of benevolent nature. And if we inspire those whom we interact, with that very state, maybe they will do the same. Maybe that would be good for you, good for them, good for the community, good for life itself.
And we know that being a benevolent individual in the presence of others is inspiring because we see this happen all the time! Why does Jesus Christ inspire the Christians? Why does the Buddha inspire the Buddhists? How about because these messianic figures present a life on Earth consisting of great virtue. They represent the highest personality. And people more often than not choose to imitate the ideals they embody for various reasons, not excluding the faith that being benevolent is something valued and rewarded in this world.
It was the actually psychoanalysts that correctly pointed out everyone has a hierarchy of values, and what you place at the top of your hierarchy serves as your God. Some place money at the pinnacle, others trump power, and what we choose to deify (if I may) will determine our perception of people and things.
Exploration of the shadow.
I recently read through the first few paragraphs of Eric Harris’s personal journal. He was one of the Columbine shooters that murdered twelve students and a school teacher. I came into it trying to figure out what such an appalling, modern, man placed at the pinnacle of his hierarchy:
“I feel like God and I wish I was, having everyone being OFFICIALLY lower than me. I already know that I am higher than most anyone in the fucking welt [German: world] in terms of universal Intel- ligence. And where we stand in the universe compared to the rest of the UNIVERSE.” - Eric Harris’s Journal (p. 26,005)2
He thought the existence of people on the planet was “Hell on Earth.” That we were nothing but stupid, slave-minded filth; nothing but a nuisance to the natural order. He also hated the idea of imitation. People imitating behavior or acting upon values, to him, meant that we could never be “original.” In other words, our propensity to live by successful patterns of behavior we see in the world represented all things antithetical to his ideal.
“I feel like God and I wish I was,” intrigued me in particular. The idea is if you were God, you are then higher than any other being. Snakes and people become subservient to you. You are the “origin,” the ultimate judge, the all knowing, the creator and the destroyer. For him to rationalize the murder of the innocent people in Columbine High School, he knew he had to think of himself as higher than them. Thus, “I feel like God and I wish I was…” — a terrorist that attempts to justify his terror. It’s as if he had to take the extra step and fight the Good that wails muffled screams in the corners of his soul. And even if those screams bothered him enough for him to write his journal, justifying his malevolence, he had already developed a complex, vile worldview and a repeating perception of the world that rationalized it.
What’s interesting to me is rationalization itself, as far as I can tell, assumes you are attempting to justify an action over a set of others through a value structure. Rationalization is somewhat of an internal dialogue that necessitates the recognition of moral values and a framework of justification. In other words, you are aware of both Good and Evil when rationalizing. You are weighing your options against a backdrop of moral, ethical, and practical standards. And everybody rationalizes— even Eric Harris. Thus, even the most evil of people still have remnants of Good left within their soul.
The issue, however, is your Goodness can be shrouded by other forces. Eric was the embodiment of a neurotic mind. Studies have shown neurotic people in particular (individuals that tend to experience negative thoughts and feelings) are also high in creativity (a measurable dimension of personality).3 Was Eric high in creativity? He surely was introspective. I wonder how much creativity it takes for one to convince themselves, then, that even the most lifeless and sadistic actions are the ones best for the world? What pushed Eric?
He was a regular kid when he was younger. The son of an Air Force pilot. He played little league baseball, but he moved a lot and never really got the chance to make long-term friends with others his age. In 1993, he and his family settled in Littleton, Colorado, where he enrolled in his local high school.4 People rejected him for being “weird” or because of his appearance in “baggy clothes,” resulting in him being ignored or mistreated. Things began to change. He felt like an outcast to society and carried along the pain that came with it. He later met Klebold, another social outcast (who inevitably became his partner in the Columbine shooting). He and Klebold became friends and bonded over their resentment of the school culture. They started breaking into cars, joining outsider groups like the “Trench Coat Mafia,” and wore Swastikas to school. Eventually, they concluded that humanity was something that shouldn’t flourish because all that would come of it was maltreatment and corruption.
Imitation and Inspiration.
Why I chose to explore the story of Eric Harris was because it is the prime example of how much influence relationships with people can have on your subsequent actions. I hate to use this word here, but it’s somewhat ironic that he hated the idea of imitation while simultaneously becoming a product of it. His world was rife with social alienation and it’s no wonder that led him to alienate the world. As he touched the trees and talked to people, he realized that one welcomed his touch while the other remained neglectful. And the only person who did welcome him was Klebold, who felt the same way.
What if the world treated Eric and Klebold with benevolence in every corner and turn of life? Would the tragedy have happened? What if everybody tried their best to treat everyone else with compassion and goodwill? Would even the most divided of countries go to war if their ideological shadows faded away in the presence of kindness and understanding?
Through my studies of evil, I’ve concluded that hate can blind and love can illuminate. I began this essay with the title: “Speak, so I can see you.” The meaning behind it is that you can’t see who somebody is when you look at their face or their body, but when you hear what they have to say. You get a glimpse of their heart. An idea of how they’re feeling, what they’re thinking about, where they place their values, and perhaps why they are who they say they are. And just maybe, when you listen with a smile, they’ll smile back. Perhaps when you reply with genuine interest to their story, that’ll inspire them to do the same with you and others.
The reason why I contend the “human experience” is primarily the consequence of the interactions we have with people is because learning how to even interact at all requires the imitation of others. We each have the liberty to become the bastions of either Good or Evil and our decision will inevitably be influenced by how we see others respond to the same, implicit choice. Thus, I stake my life on the proposition that if we learned to imitate the love and compassion we are imbued, or vice-versa, the world will become a better place.
Maybe we will never be saints. But wonder, what would it be like if we strived towards more of Heaven and less of Hell? If we learned to embrace the snakes we see in others, vulnerabilities and fears alike, because we recognize that they were integral in the creation of the Good we saw in the first place. That snakes are what makes us whole and they are the reason why our slivers of Goodness exist the way they do.
So be more kind today. Compliment your loved ones, put on an unwarranted smile, and call your best friends and tell a joke. Perhaps dance along to the music with someone like how you’d dance alone; nod when you pass a stranger; help the lady down the street— continue becoming a better person. I think it is time we stop staring into the abyss and aim somewhere else. Be mindful of what you say and how you say it.
And lastly, chase love (whatever that may be) like a shadow endlessly chasing its maker.5
“Study: Fear of Snakes May Be Genetic.” SMU, www.smu.edu/news/archives/2012/thomas-headland-mother-nature-network-23mar2012#:~:text=Studies%20of%20the%20amygdala%2C%20a,before%20we%20know%20it’s%20there. Accessed 26 May 2024.“Study: Fear of Snakes May Be Genetic.” SMU, www.smu.edu/news/archives/2012/thomas-headland-mother-nature-network-23mar2012#:~:text=Studies%20of%20the%20amygdala%2C%20a,before%20we%20know%20it’s%20there. Accessed 26 May 2024.
Harris, Eric. “Eric Harris’s Journal.” Eric Harris’s Journal, Peter Langman, Ph.D, 3 Oct. 2014, schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/harris_journal_1.3.pdf.
Perkins, Adam M., et al. “Thinking too much: Self-generated thought as the engine of neuroticism.” Trends in Cognitive Sciences, vol. 19, no. 9, Sept. 2015, pp. 492–498, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.tics.2015.07.003.
Biography.com Editors. “Eric Harris - Columbine School Shooting, Parents & Website.” The Biography.Com Website, A&E; Television Networks, 2 Apr. 2014, www.biography.com/crime/eric-harris.
A friend of mine mentioned to me that she enjoyed my simile here but it wasn’t so easy to understand, so, I’m explaining it briefly in this footnote. Everything we see casts a shadow as light hits objects at a particular angle. So if we see something, it will have a shadow endlessly chasing it. Thus, we ought to endlessly chase love like a shadow endlessly chasing its maker.
Congratulations on your first piece, consider this an accomplishment. Obviously, you have a knack for writing and you gave this piece on human experience a certain depth and nuance that makes it pleasant to read.
From reddit w love!