Self-pity is a form of self-victimisation. It can be easy to construct a narrative within our lives that leads us to focus on our own suffering. We’re ostracised or unappreciated by family.
We can’t seem to make friends even when we try, or don’t succeed at endeavours that we’ve put real work into. The pain can be incredibly acute, and is often completely justified, but considering oneself a victim always makes things worse.
We learn the concept of self-pity very early. On a very pleasant stroll through St Stephens Green recently, I stopped to sit and watch the arrogant waddle of the gulls as they nipped and squawked at impertinent pigeons, and to breathe in that soft winter scent of leafy detritus dulled into warmth by the chilly air.
As I sat there, a little girl, probably aged around two or three, rocketed toward the birds in front of me. She had all the ebullience and curiosity of a puppy in a butcher shop.
Unfortunately, her motor skills failed to match her exuberance; one cobby little leg became entangled in the other and down she went in a tumble of soft blonde curls and padded winter jacket.
A brief silence followed. You know it. The momentary silence of a toddler who has just fallen, assessing how best to react. They take their cue from their guardian.
The fall was standard, the little girl wasn’t hurt, but her mother was horrified. Running over in a panic, she scooped up the tiny girl shouting ‘Oh my baby! Are you okay?’.
The child, realising that this situation must be more serious than she thought, started to wail inconsolably at her own misfortune.
Minutes later, another such adventure-seeking girl, with equal joy for life and equally untrustworthy legs, fell in almost precisely the same spot. Another pause.
Her mother picked her up with a smile and said “That’s okay. You’re just fine” in a calm tone and without pity.
Reassured, the little girl got up and returned to the business of inspecting the ducks.
She pointed at them calmly as her mother brushed the leaves from the little girl’s panda festooned trousers, and sagely opined “duck”.
Nietszche was against pity, for ourselves or others. This wasn’t because he didn’t care about people’s suffering, but rather because pity is not constructive.
Too many of us consider the act of pitying someone to be sufficient action in response to a bad situation.
According to Nietszche, it also lessens our power to act, because it makes us feel powerless and dispirited. This same idea can be useful when we think of ourselves as being victimised.
Joseph Brodsky, winner of the Nobel Prize for literature, gave a famed Commencement Speech to graduates of the University of Michigan in 1988.
The speech is entirely worth looking up, and includes six useful pieces of advice for the young people embarking on independent adulthood.
However, I think his words on never considering oneself as a victim in particular are essential reading.
Brodsky was born in Leningrad in 1940. He was marginalised due to his Jewishness. He nearly starved to death along with his parents during the siege of Leningrad.
He was twice incarcerated in a mental institution by Soviet authorities for his dissenting poetry.
He served 18 months hard labour of a five-year sentence for “social parasitism”.
Despite being literally victimised again and again, he did not consider himself a victim.
The speech is a triumph – “Of all the parts of your body, be most vigilant over your index finger, for it is blame-thirsty. A pointed finger is a victim’s logo – the opposite of the V-sign and a synonym for surrender.
“No matter how abominable your condition may be, try not to blame anything or anybody: history, the state, superiors, race, parents, the phase of the moon, childhood, toilet training, etc.
“The menu is vast and tedious, and this vastness and tedium alone should be offensive enough to set one’s intelligence against choosing from it.
“The moment that you place blame somewhere, you undermine your resolve to change anything . . . However abundant and irrefutable is the evidence that you are on the losing side, negate it as long as you have your wits about you, as long as your lips can utter ‘No’.”
