Let me preface by saying that 1). I am well aware that I have mental problems and 2). My grandmother was a Holocaust survivor.
Massive losses of life, whether from natural or human causes, are rightly seen as tragedies because life is considered sacred. But have you ever thought that in these events, lots of assholes, douchebags, and even downright evil people are also killed, and that their deaths probably make lots of people happy and the world marginally better?
Does that justify genocide or acts of terrorism? Of course not, because the negative impact of the “good” (however you define it) people who die is probably much more than the positive impact of the “bad” people who die. But what do I do with this thought?
I wish I could be more like you: a doctoral student and young. You see flaws in yourself, yet I see in you what I sould have been. You have the discipline to succeed in such a fine and difficult goal. How do I get it, that ability to achieve a great undertaking?
The way I am right now I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not, but assuming you’re being genuine, I’m probably the last person to ask for advice. The main reason I entered the program is just to prove something to myself, because I have had a feeling of inferiority as long as I can remember. Basically, my main motivation for almost everything I do that is productive (which isn’t much these days) is that I don’t like who I am. That’s why I exercise, for example.
But I can say, unequivocally, that age has no bearing on what you’re able to do. I have evidence in my own department. One good friend just finished the PhD program, and celebrated his 62nd birthday on May 5. He was an engineer before he went back to get his MBA and then PhD within a few years of one another. The other is in his late 50s and was an air traffic controller for 20 years before going back. So don’t let age detract you.
(4) and (6) probably wouldn’t work, because normal people don’t think this way. Or do they? I don’t actually know. I don’t have any close friends that I can get into this type of shit with.
Normal people don’t write books and songs. I say this as someone who is pretty damn abnormal, and who likes to write stories and songs, so not only is no offense meant but encouragement is meant instead.
Nothing you ever accomplish is going to change your feelings of inferiority. That is the nature of life. You think once you have that degree in your hot little hand, you will finally love yourself… but you won’t. You’ll just set up another hoop to jump through. As long as you seek external validation for your self-worth you are pretty much destined to remain anxious and miserable.
You don’t have to like what you do all the time, but there is no such thing as ‘‘who you are.’’ There is no ultimate goodness and badness to yourself, no true ‘‘you’’ that can be objectively defined. There is no particular way the universe dictates that you should be, no explicit or implicit Holy Script that mandates you always behave rationally or perfectly or even interestingly. There is no reason you can’t accept the fact that you are sometimes lazy, insecure, neurotic, melodramatic, hypocritical or self-centered (or whatever things about you are so horrible in your eyes–I consider these my own greatest deficiencies.) This thing you call ‘‘you’’ is not much more than a random collection of neurons and emotions and experiences, constantly changing, subject to the same flaws and idiocies as any other person on the planet. There is no special Law that exempts you from being human.
The sooner you accept this, the sooner you will really find contentment.
That doesn’t seem like such a strange thing to think about actually. I mean I’ve thought about how many people, who died in the Holocaust, would have gone on to do amazing things. So what you’re thinking about just seems like the other side of the coin.
What about serial killers rapists? No goodness or badness to them? They should feel good about themselves because they have accepted who they are, that they like killing and raping people?
Very extreme example, I know. But living completely inside oneself can’t work.
Meh, you sound like my college roommate. He was perfectly normal to me, just came off as cold and a bit too rational for other people because of these sorts of thoughts.
It’s not really that big of a deal unless these thoughts bother or disturb you in some way- if you’re just simply worried about “oh noes! What if other people don’t have thoughts like this! What if there’s something horribly wrong with me!” Then again, if it bothers you- go and talk to someone professional about it, otherwise it’s no biggie. Or just find some friends who are down with you for who you are, and wouldn’t mind talking to you about these sorts of things. Easier said than done, though if you are in college/gradschool it should be a wee bit easier.
But yeah- I saw your thought read it, was amused, and then moved on. No biggie. Just water in the stream of consciousness that is our minds. Though why you’re so worried about the thought is another matter- you should just let it go.
OR you could realize that alot of those people who are happier because now the assholes who bothered them are dead… well those people probably died in the tragedy as well. Unless the tragedy occurred in a singular locus of Major Assholerly, the odds are that it’s equally likely for assholes and good people to have died in that incident, and the people who benefited from the dead assholes… were probably in close proximity to those assholes and dead too.
Now you have that thought. You read it, you think about it, and then you move on. S’all there is to it.
There is a Buddhist parable related to that, I can’t remember all of it but part was a buddhist teacher and student were walking along a river when they saw a child drowning in the water. The student wanted to save the kid, but the teacher just ignored him. After the kid died and the student was upset the teacher said the kid was going to grow up to be a tyrant, and shouldn’t have been saved.
Of course you can’t really tell who will grow up to be a tyrant. But there are tons of people who humanity would’ve been better off had they been aborted or died of diseases in childhood.
But you can’t tell who is who. Besides, I think the truly bad people in society are only about 5-10% of the public. The other 90-95% range from somewhat tolerable to downright pleasant.
I’ve never considered that before. The thought doesn’t particularly bother me, though; I’m sure there are indeed bad people killed as well as good. I don’t think you need to do anything with that thought; it’s just a thought. You can pretty much think anything; it doesn’t mean anything.
“Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends.”
Oh, absolutely there’s a ripple effect, if that’s what you’re getting at. And it’s impossible to predict what would have happened if Asshole A had lived through some terrible disaster.
I suppose what I was thinking about is all of the times we hear about how angelic the people who died in some tragedy apparently are. No one wants to speak ill of the dead, of course. No one will ever, ever, talk about Mr. S, the wife beating drunk, or Ms. J the unrepentant “black widow”, or Dr. L, who has a hefty collection of child porn.
I guess it all comes down to our society’s collective fear of saying, "Gosh, I’m so glad that S.O.B. is dead. "
When I was about eight or so, I asked my mom “Why is it always beautiful children who die?” Because it seemed that every time I heard about a kid my age or younger who died in an accident or of a disease or whatever random, improbably scary thing can befall a child, they were always described as “beautiful” and generally perfect.
She didn’t quite know what I meant, but after I clarified, she said “They were probably like all kids. Some good, some bad. But after they’re dead, people only remember the good.”
(Actually, I had a cousin who died of leukemia. I forget what my mom said about him then, but later, she said he was kind of a brat, not that it could really be helped. I’unno. I was four when he died, and my very few memories of him were all positive. Perspective is all.)
I say this as someone who is pretty damn abnormal, and who likes to write stories and songs, so not only is no offense meant but encouragement is meant instead.