Why do we crucify ourselves? Every day. By Oliver Damian

Published Monday 26 November 2018 9:52 AM Sydney NSW Australia

Unless otherwise indicated, this work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

“Every finger in the room is pointing at me. I want to spit in their faces then I get afraid of what that could bring. I got a bowling ball in my stomach. I got a desert in my mouth. Figures that my courage would choose to sell out now”.1 Tori Amos nailed the feeling I get each time I look at my Facebook, Instagram and LinkedIn feeds and unconsciously measure the current state of my life against what I see. I have to muster enough awareness to pause and reflect: what I'm seeing in these feeds are nothing but self-curated simulacra of reality. I have to remember the countless number of times I met someone depressed as fuck IRL, yet if I confine myself to just looking at their online feeds I can't help but deceive myself that they're the epitome of joyful existence. It would be too easy for me to blame this on the algorithms unleashed by Silicon Valley. Yet I distinctly remember growing up in the smallest of villages in Ulingao, San Rafael, Philippines. This was all before the mainstreaming of the internet, the web, and social media. Even then I remember how there was a lot of status signalling going on. The young ones tried to out signal each other with the brands of shoes, shirts, and jeans we wore. The older ones did it by talking up how their children were working as professional accountants, managers in the city, engineers in Saudi Arabia, or nurses in the US or Germany. Could it be that social media simply amplify the primate instincts already there? Have we just shifted the status signals from meat space to cyberspace? Does it simply scale up the network of signalling from a handful of village neighbours to the level of 2,000 Facebook friends? Could it be that this behavioural trait of signalling our perceived status within our tribes is a trait passed on to us by our ancestors—a hereditary product from reproduction of the fittest in evolution by natural selection?2 Those who succeed in establishing their place within the tribal hierarchy and signal this to other members of the tribe survive. When humans were still at the mercy of the brutal forces nature (before we were able to tame nature with agriculture, cities and industry), being cast out of the tribe meant instant death. It therefore behooves the individual to pay attention to everyone's status within the tribe. Then there is the grooming of one individual primate by another: social grooming–said to be the glue of primate life.3 Since physically grooming each other has become somewhat socially unacceptable in contemporary societies, have we moved on to virtual grooming of our friends's online profiles with likes and comments? If we cannot physically groom another individual, have we diverted the primate instinct to groom into the simulacra of ourselves in our Instagram pics and stories?4 Could evolution by sexual selection also play a role? In the Zeitgeist (at least in the West): would a cis male who signals he is a feminist, says the right phrases, and espouses the ‘right’ beliefs have more chances of reproducing than a comparable cis male who fits squarely within the ‘Man Box’?5 Or is the reality really that a cis female would signal back that the ‘woke’ cis male is nice to have around her orbit but when it comes to actual sexual consumation, she'll most likely default to the cis male who fits snuggly within the Man Box? Have we become such complex creatures that those who can't grok this ‘I know that you know that I know’ social signalling are significantly hampered with a social cognition deficit?6

“I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets. Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets. I've been raising up my hands, drive another nail in. Just what God needs, one more victim.”7 ‘Nailed it!’ is a figure of speech many of us would like to hear when we've accomplished a task, argued our point, or did anything that was spot on, simply perfect, or just right. That is if we're the nailer. If we're the nailee then it can bring us to a liminal space8–a threshold, a space of transition or transformation. An uncomfortable space for sure. Someone has pierced thru our armour. Someone has seen thru our camouflage. Someone has decoded the games we play to obscure what it is that's really haunting us. When we've been nailed, the ball is dead square back in our court. We are forced into a tipping point. A critical point after which our system could shift ‘radically and potentially irreversibly into a different equilibrium state.’9 One of the insidious dramas we could get trapped in (and consequently be nailed by someone who cares about our personal growth) is the Victim Triangle.10 It's a limited and limiting version of reality. A dynamic that confines us to cycling thru the roles of persecutor, rescuer, and victim. Rescuers believe that their self-worth depends on what they can do for others, and their own needs are not that important. They end up with care-taking as their primary way of relating to others. Since they believe they are the ones with answer, they fail to see when they themselves fall into the victim role. Usually taking the form of bitter resentment with statements that begin with: ‘After everything I'ven done for you...’ It's the shadow of the devouring mother. Persecutors see themselves as victims who need to be protected from the evils of the world. They justify the pain they inflict, the harm they do as defensive moves against being victimized by others. They see what they do as pre-emptive attacks to justly defend themselves. As rescuers deny their own needs, persecutors deny their vulnerability. Domination becomes their primary way of interacting with others. Anger and indignation can become their fuel. It's the shadow of the tyrannical father. Victims see themselves as incapable of taking care of themselves. It's a deep seated-belief that one is not good enough. Believing they're not able to handle life on their own, they usually form unhealthy co-dependent relationships with rescuers. Ultimately a victim will resent their helplessness and sabotage the help being given by the rescuer. Or get even by switching to the role of the persecutor. Victims deny their agency. It's the shadow of the helpless child. Regardless of which role we start off with, and how often we switch between the roles, as long as we're in the victim triangle, we are not free. We're ulimately playing victim to a narrative that limits our reality. These roles need not be dynamics we have with other people, they could also be inside of us—unhealthy internal dialogues that keep us chained to a limited version of reality.

“Why do we crucify ourselves. Every day. I crucify myself. Nothing I do is good enough for you. Crucify myself. Every day. I crucify myself. And my heart is sick of being. I said my heart is sick of being in chains”11. Awareness of our predilection for measuring ourselves against others and awareness of the roles we unwittingly play in the psychological dramas of our minds can bring forth a stark realisation: existence is brutal. May be we are sick of being because being itself is sick. Yet time and again we encounter stories of those who were embroiled in the same mess that we are in (even in much worse situations) yet were able to transcend all the shit to create something meaningful. Like the lotus they were able to rise above the dirty, murky waters and blossom fully to realise out-of-this-world beauty. It may have even happen to us many times in our lives if we care to look back and reflect. I can remember times in my life when I took full responsibility for my thoughts, feelings, and actions. Those times when I was unhooked from the victim drama. Times when I did things simply for the sake of doing them. Not to signal anything to anyone. Not to compare myself or outdo anyone. Those times when I was fully in the joy of the moment. This, the true meaning of enjoyment. Alas, these moments pass. I have to continually renew my vow, commitment to set myself free. I have to remember to remember. May be, just may be, paradoxically the only way to break ourselves from the chains we rail against is to willingly bind ourselves to the mystery of existence. To willingly carry our cross, be crucified, and trust that we would be resurrected each time we commit and plunge ourselves into mystery. To follow the example of the mystery that played out in Golgotha. May be we crucify ourselves, every day because this is how we grow ‘by being defeated, decisively, by constantly greater beings’12.