What’s Mine is Ours
“Distrust all in whom the impulse to punish is powerful” - Friedrich Nietzsche
Maybe I’ve been deeply wronged in the past by someone I thought I could trust, or even a stranger, and for that, I’m filled with spite. Maybe I’ve made poor decisions, and for that, I relentlessly punish myself. Maybe I’ve been fed delusional, prejudicial, and hateful ideologies by some faction of people, so my bigotry is a sort of regurgitation– predestined, almost. Regardless of why, and regardless of its validity, this kind of indignation that seems to be so strongly rooted in human nature is nothing if not harmful to our well-being. Resentment is poisonous. It floods our nervous systems with the chemicals of distress, wearing away at our most essential internal resources. Our mood, sleep, focus, motivation, vitality, all of them slowly depleting, leaking out into nothing as we distract ourselves with anything that can– even if it’s only for a second– convince us that we no longer inhabit the increasingly uncomfortable space between our ears. But, of course, we do.
Now, I don’t want this to come across as another “Nowadays everything is so divided and polarized. Can we all just get along?” message. We shouldn’t be so proud to think that we’re historically exceptional in our struggle to coexist. I’d rather call attention to subtle shifts in self-perception that offer more helpful ways to socialize.
Socially maladaptive urges have been lurking in our psyches since we began walking on two feet; our brains are indeed imperfect. But, this one to resent, to punish, to spite, is and has always been a uniquely dangerous one. When it isn’t so internally damning, it poses an entirely different threat. Rather than flooding my nervous system, it attacks that of the group– of entire societies. It spreads by word of mouth like a virus and attaches itself to anyone who will listen, mainly targeting the already sick and weak– not physically, but those deficient in the less observable imperatives for human survival. Things like social support, community, and love. In other words, yes, it’s harmful when consumed, but when projected, or weaponized, resentment’s potential harm is amplified tremendously. When a group of people have a common antipathy– a common grudge, and a “justified” reason to hold it, we find ourselves only a few steps away from the destruction of civilizations, bloodlines, or even species. Dramatic? Absolutely. As dramatic as the witch trials, the Holocaust, the Crusades, the… wars… you get it. In this sense, resentment is venomous.
It can feel impossible, as a person in the world, to remove the reins that our judgments and resentments have so tightly wound around our necks; we’re lucky to notice them in the first place. But, it’s important to understand that my judgments and resentments are exactly that. Mine. If peace is something to be desired, I must do what it takes; past wrongdoers have placed the reins, and I must let them go.
It does, however, feel intuitively wrong to address our feelings of resentment as problematic rather than whatever negative situation led to those feelings in the first place. It would be insensitive to say that stress is my own response to an experience, therefore it’s mine to own. “Victim blaming” would be the popular term for it. So I must clarify that this isn’t to invalidate any negative feelings we may have toward people. Validity isn’t the point. If someone intentionally burns down my house, I get angry at that person. Naturally. Rightfully. But from that point on (barring any further attacks), any anger, frustration, hatred, or resentment I feel exists only in me as a response to an event I can’t change. Nobody should question my anger in this situation, but when time has passed, would we not be well-grounded in questioning whether being right in my resentment is worth it? Is the validity of my continued loathing of this person worth the ceaseless rumination that impedes my sleep? The destructive feelings of distrustfulness toward others? The centuries of unspeakable violence by my country’s hand?
Whatever feeling is sparked in me, regardless of who is at fault, is mine. It then becomes a matter of what I choose to do with it. My well-being is mine. Ours is ours.
