Simplicity

I used to see a therapist. I know, you’re shocked. And when I say, “see a therapist” I mean actual psychological therapy, by the way. It seemed like a good idea at the time. What I was trying to do was find someone to bounce my ideas on, to share my thoughts with someone who was supposed to be making a professional effort to understand me. At the time, I was not entirely sure that my thoughts were sane, for one thing. But, more importantly, what would such a person respond after their professional analysis? At least, I knew they would listen and give some sort of reply, which was not happening with my other acquaintances.

It turns out, that is a pretty expensive way to get someone to listen to you. And, they were not as helpful as I hoped. Actually, at one point, I was helping them out. My therapist heard something I said and noted a comparison with another client. The therapy was making little, if any, progress. Without breeching confidentiality, my therapist shared that this client was, essentially, a bigot. At least, that was why they were there. The expression of bigotry got them into trouble and part of the solution was to see a therapist. My therapist was fixed on the idea that bigotry was an expression of fear, at its core.

I had a different idea. But, then, I am not the professional.

Maybe it is a shade-of-gray manifestation of fear, but I think people are xenophobic and bigoted out of a need to oversimplify their lives. Let’s face facts: our world is complicated. Our universe is complicated. On one hand, we have impressive capacity to learn and understand and grow. On the other hand, we can never understand it all, and “it” grows much much faster than our capacity to learn it all. We have no choice but to choose what we will and will not seek to understand. How we do that, when we do that, and how it looks to other people when we do, is all very complicated, too. For some reason, I am very interested in this realm of psychology. (Although, to even call it psychology is a simplification of its own.)

Some people take the hermit approach. I would, for example, put the Amish in this category. Not because I claim to know that much about them. They are just well known. They are reported to have deliberately excluded so much of the world from their lives. At least that is the outsider’s perception. I understand that they live without electricity, their livelihood comes from farming and other “natural provision” (as in renewable, from-the-earth resources like woodwork and domesticated animals) and that they avoid outsiders and are remarkably pacifistic. In my opinion, the whole thing works only because of the pacifism. If they were like other people and were easily compelled to react and defend, on the offensive, then they would either have been annihilated or corrupted by now. It’s their willingness to live and let live (as long as there is enough room to do it separately) that allows them to simplify to their level of comfort and let the rest of the world go its own way and pace.

Some people take the label-maker approach. They carry in their minds categories and definitions. How many categories depends on the openness of the specific mind. Likewise, the breadth and scope of the definitions is restricted by their own mind. So, as they go through the day, they find comfort when what they see and hear fits into their pre-determined categories and understanding. Trouble arises when the categories and definitions are challenged. This forces the person to either create a new category or plane away the edges of the “square peg” so that it fits into one of their nice, neat “round holes.” Being reshaped offends the square peg, and stretching the mind offends the label-maker. The skirmish that results in the process is something seen all over the world every day.

Other people find resolution in faith. I understand, however, anyone that finds that ironic. The world is full of religions. The label-makers are in their finest form trying to sort out religions. Even Christianity, being one such religion, has seemingly innumerable factions. But, nevertheless, people find peace in accepting their specific place in the world of their deity, their growth and pace of it, and leaving the rest in the control of that higher power, outside of themselves. Again, the success of this is directly tied to the level of pacifism that a person can practice in resigning themselves to their position of faith. Christianity, specifically, relies on forgiveness to compliment the pacifism. We have all seen what happens when these practices fail—and how often they do.

Which brings us back to the therapist and the bigot. My sessions ended before the case was resolved, if that says anything about the technique. I was never convinced that my therapist agreed with my perspective. As far as I know, they were still working on fear mitigation. If that is such a fantastic answer, why was the progress so slow?

I still think I’m right. When I see people expressing their intolerance or their exasperation, I am not struck by any notion that says, “this person is afraid of…” What I see is either that this person is ignorant and a little too lazy to learn or they are mischaracterizing the person or people. Often, just a little more information helps the situation. The only times it has not, for me, is when they just don’t want to hear anything else at all. They’re grumpy or crabby, but they are not afraid. On the contrary, they are usually empowered and boisterous in their position.

Unless it’s true that all resistance to learning is, actually, fear. That seems like an unqualified stretch of the word fear. If I don’t want to put in the effort to open a dictionary or research something online, is that a fear of the effort? If I don’t want to exercise 30 minutes a day, is that a fear of exercise? If I don’t want to eat my fruits and vegetables, is that a fear of them? Or is it all a fear of change? If I wedge 30 minutes of exercise into my schedule, that changes my routine. But am afraid of that change? No, I don’t agree with that. That is giving fear too much power. Is it any more correct to say, then, that it is not a fear of change, but a fear of discomfort? Is my preference for comfort over discomfort really a fear of discomfort? Would my willingness to tolerate increasingly long periods of discomfort, by itself, be an improvement?

Of course, the therapist directive against fear is to “face it.” A person is to expose themselves to the fear in small ways, realize they can tolerate it, and grow that tolerance to a point that the person no longer seems “afraid.” So, I still end up having to exercise a little more each day, or research, or eat brussel sprouts.

I just don’t accept that my objection to these things is equal to a fear of them. I make far more progress in my exercise, or in any change of habit, by embracing the positive results much more than developing a numbness to the objection. I am not encouraged by numbness. I am encouraged by results. Is that the same thing?

At the end of the day, people are still required to simplify. The world—the universe—is still too complicated to comprehend all of it, even if we can make a little progress every day on some portion of it. The only difference is what we simplify, how we simplify, and whether we are “better” for it.

To a Nazi, the world was “better” by simply eradicating their world of Jews. Hitler wrote a whole manifesto about it. Others agreed, for some reason. Great effort and resources were committed to the idea. I don’t think that is better at all.

I don’t think “better” ever includes intolerance or un-acceptance—or hate. I don’t think we all need to be Amish, but I do think we need to be more pacifistic—and forgiving, which are concepts the Amish are practicing to their benefit. Non-Amish Christians that practice these concepts also experience their benefits.

Why not, then, embrace the benefits, rather than confront the fear?

I have often wondered how I would react to a prison cell. I don’t know why. For the sake of discussion, I’m not talking about the prison “culture,” which is a genuine fear of mine—I am afraid of prolonged, sporadic pain. Think solitary confinement, not community showers. I have no doubt that it would be uncomfortable. It would, however, be definitively simplified. I would have no choice whether I would practice incremental tolerance for this new reality. The only other option is to go insane. What role would fear play? I fear it as I consider it, and that impacts my daily actions, so that I might avoid it. But, if I had no choice but to live it, fear is irrelevant. Tolerating it, or thriving in it, would come from a different place.

For one, I would have to be grateful for what little I had. I could not cling to any hope that I had the power to be better off by acquiring new luxuries. Whatever I had would have to be good enough. Those who have lived through it profess that this is entirely possible—even liberating, abounding!

For another, I would have to find peace with my own mind and thoughts. I could no longer rely on distractions or chemicals to subdue them. This, too, is possible. I suspect that I would do what I am doing now (writing), except not in any tangible form. I could speak out-loud, but whether those words ever remained for posterity would be entirely up to other people recording them.
Likely, my words would remain forever on my own ears, in my own head, or in the hearing of some entity that could be there with me. This would have to be an entity that could not be separated from me, could not be restrained from doing so, would be willing to listen, and had the power to preserve these thoughts or words.

So, I guess I would be praying, then… and happier than I can ever imagine… or insane… Who would know the difference?