Unforgivable "Crimes," Personal Stories, and the Seeds of Philosophy

If you read my last post, you may remember me talking about this subject being particularly difficult to cover and I have been trying to decide whether or not publishing this is a good idea for a few hours now but I am a bit of a gambler and the stakes here are pretty low. When I began writing about this topic, I meant to discuss the overemphasis that is placed on forgiveness in western culture. That is an interesting topic and it is one that I still want to write about but something happened as I was composing my post. The thesis began to shift. I stopped writing about how we have been screwed over by being led into forgiving the unforgivable and how that serves the systems of authority (we have and it does but that is beside the point) and started rambling about certain unforgivable things that have been done to me, personally. However, those stories serve as very strong anecdotes that demonstrate the level of wrong doing that amounts to an unforgivable trespass, in my mind and, interestingly, describes the genesis of the views that constitute parts of my personal philosophy. That being the case, I decided to edit out the irrelevant portions of this post (and save them for when I return to my original topic) and present my unpleasant but also formative stories along with some commentary that describes explains how they have influenced my worldview.

I once got into a rather heated argument with a religious fundamentalist who was masquerading as a hippy. Shortly before the argument, I made the decision to cease having contact with my mom (for reasons that I will get into). That fact was mentioned, in passing, by one of the others in the group. The pseudo-hippy reacted as though he had been told that I torture stray cats for fun or something equally horrible. "How could you do that? That's your mom and she took care of you and loved you. And the bible says this about honoring parents and that about 'loving your enemy.' Plus ..." he said in a chastising tone as though he held some unassailable moral high ground. Of course, he had no idea what he was talking about and no knowledge of my past. I am not religious so those bible arguments were rather weak from my perspective. I live by a code, but you won't find it in any book. Digressions aside, I was made rather angry by his words because I felt as though he was making an attempt at shaming for holding what I continue to believe to be the correct position.

I was pretty young when I learned that some things are beyond forgiveness and that people will exploit our willingness to forgive for their own gain, often to our detriment. When I was eight or nine, my father was in the army and was stationed in Hawaii but the rest of the family stayed behind while my mom sold the house. She immediately started dating another man (whom she later married). I was aware of what was going on but I was not permitted to bring the subject to my father's attention on the few occasions that I was allowed to speak to him over the phone. She told me that she needed me to lie for her because if he found out what was going on, he would have me "taken away from her," and she is the one who "really loves me," and "who knows what might happen if we were separated." In reality, she knew that him learning of her infidelity would result in her receiving less favorable terms in the divorce that she was organizing. Since I could spill the beans and ruin her plans, she used emotional manipulation and fear mongering (much like the propagandists and corrupt authorities that I often speak against) to gain my compliance so that she could receive greater benefits from her unethical behavior. I was, of course, too young to understand that and, as a result, I was cohered, by one parent, into being an active participant in the betrayal of the other. That fucked with my head for years and, in my opinion, amounts to an unforgivable act of emotional abuse.

That is not all, however, because the man that she brought into the home was rather rough (psychically) and my mom stood by, uncaringly, while some severe acts of mistreatment took place. To clarify things before someone tries to defend her by claiming that she feared for her own safety, he harmed me but not her. She was far too narcissistic to allow anyone to do anything to her but she didn't seem to care when it happened to her children. I recall one incident (there were quite a few but this one will serve my purpose here), when I was eight or nine, in which I was slammed onto the tile, by him, and had my neck pinned under his knee. I couldn't breath and I couldn't move but I could see. I saw her stand there and watch; not in horror, or anger, or fear, or even mild disapproval but with detachment, as though it was happening to some stranger. I am pretty sure that one can justifiably shoot a person over such an act of violence against an individual in his or her home; in most states, anyway. Instead of doing that (she had a pistol in the other room so it was an available option), she told me that I owed him an apology for making him angry, took him to bed, and (presumably) fucked him. I think that describing those sorts of actions as unforgivable is putting it nicely, if i'm being honest.

Fortunately, I did not have to live with either of them for very long. My presence became inconvenient for them and I was sent to live with my dad. That was a good thing. I did not need to deal with two different styles of abuse (I hesitate to use that term because I know that a lot of people had it a lot worse than me but I can't think of a better one) any longer but there was a problem. She continued to collect the excessively large monthly payments that were awarded to her in the divorce. My father and I struggled for years because (in part) of the lies that she had pressured me into telling. The only thing that being loyal her and forgiving of her actions did for me was to make my own situation worse that it otherwise would have been. Again, that crosses a line that cannot be uncrossed, in my opinion.

As thoroughly as those stories might demonstrate how even one's own mother can be placed into an unforgivable category, they did not sway the religious hippy because he had already judged me and nothing was going to change that. I talked a little shit to him, he continued to moralize at me, and that was the end of the discussion. I do believe that I am justified in my position, though. Every individual must decide what crosses his or her lines and I feel that what was done to me does, in fact, cross my line. Despite what the self-righteous types might say, some things are unforgivable, in my opinion, and there should be no shame in withholding forgiveness when those things are done to us. However, I can forgive that individual's "douchebagery" because I firmly believe that he drank the forgiveness "Kool-Aid" that is pushed on us in this culture (more on that in an upcoming post).

Interestingly, I see the beginnings of some of my world views (ones that are central to my writing), in those unpleasant memories. I am bothered by abuses of power and I try to call them out when I see them because I have been at the mercy of those with power over me and they did abuse it. I take pleasure in calling bullshit on people who try to use manipulative emotional appeals to mislead others into acting against their own interest because I fell for those same types of tactics and that did, in fact, cause me harm. I frequently warn people not to trust a person or thing, unless he, she, or it has demonstrated some level of trustworthiness. I thought trust should be given to an authority and the authority took advantage of me because of that misguided belief. As I said in my last post, I am starting to see that even when I do not write about myself, I am still kind of writing about myself.

Having those seeds of philosophy take root in my personal hardships, raise some issues that are difficult to come to terms with. That is to say, that while those incidents were terrible, they also helped to shape who I am and I, generally, like myself. Without having experienced that suffering, I would be different and I do not know if I would be better or worse for it. It is a strange situation, to say the least.

Why am I sharing this stuff? I can't exactly say but I don't think that it matters. I am, after all, just some guy on the internet and these words will be buried and forgotten soon enough. However, that only explains my willingness and not my drive to speak on this subject. At first, when I started to consider writing about these things, it was because they were relevant to the topic but, then, they became the topic (plus, it is super hard to recount mild psychical and mid-level emotional abuse and, then, transition into a "fuck the authorities" post without undercutting your "fuck the authorities" message) but there is more here than a wondering thesis. I have never really talked or written about those things. They aren't nice stories and I worry that people will think that I am seeking sympathy (which isn't the case because the incidents took place over twenty years ago, the wounds are healed, I am at peace with the memories, and I am aware that things could have been far worse). I suppose that covering this aspect of my life is vaguely therapeutic and it feels nice to not hide foundational parts of my worldview, given the personal motivation behind my mostly impersonal writing. However, I still can't quite put my finger on what my purpose is here. It was on my mind and maybe that is the only point that this needs to have.

Peace.

All the images in this post are sourced from the free image website, unsplash.com.