Thought for the Week: Nobody’s fault
John Anderson reflects on our shared humanity
It is a truth universally acknowledged that, in the Latin, contingit stercore - which is most decorously translated as ‘bad things happen’.
Now, it is equally true that when some notable event occurs human nature, being what it is, seeks an explanation. When bad things happen we naturally look for something or, preferably, someone to blame; for we learn early, when we kick out in temper striking big toes on table legs, that getting angry with inanimate objects gives little satisfaction. We, therefore, blame our parents for placing the table in the path of self-expression or even rage at them for frustrating us into a temper in the first place.
So, when bad things happen to us as adults we certainly look for something tangible to blame and find that the weather, the economic situation or the respective marches of civilisation and barbarism are inadequate meat for our fury. Therefore, we turn on one or several of the usual suspects: our parents; the MP; the doctor; the illegal immigrant; the banker; oh yes, not forgetting the little old lady in the Fiesta stalled at the traffic lights holding everyone up and the young man on the corner with his attitude, parka and Staffie dog. Then, if all else fails, we can always fall back on blaming God or, most toxically, ourselves. But, really, it is nobody’s fault.
There is no biological circumstance that doesn’t benefit some biological system in some way: cancer (a familiar enough cause of grief and anger) occurs because our cells are capable of mutation – the very mechanism that drives evolution and allows us, against all the odds, to be here in the first place. The hunger for power and the instinct for submission both have their place in the scheme of things. Even old age, pain and death (commonly considered very bad things) are, in reality, straightforward necessities. And no one is to blame.
It is not that we should cease from opposing oppression and struggling for justice, peace and all the rest but that we refrain from demonising our opponents (after all their beliefs and behaviour, however negligent, misguided or cruel they appear to us, are also in the nature of things perfectly natural) and temper our opposition with a sense of shared humanity.
The kernel, nut and whole fruit of it is – forgiveness. And what we could aspire to (in an imperfect world and with our constantly distracted hearts) is an ‘upside-down kind of forgiveness’: one that is not contingent on a previously expressed repentance but is ‘fore given’ in anticipation of the very human failings of ourselves and others; a forgiveness that is not delivered from altitude but is more akin to a quiet acceptance of our shared and general fallibility and the largely accidental complexion of our existence.
Contingit stercore.
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