…in which a theory of crime and punishment is discussed, but not necessarily absorbed.
“I’ve been accused of being a complainer. It’s MORTIFYING.”
“This cauliflower is disgusting.”
“Interesting! Have you tried repentance? I’ve been reading up on the Orthodox view of compunction and guilt.”
“Professor, I believe it’s your turn.”
“You want me to repent of cauliflower? Because I’ll gladly swear it off for good, if it’s all like this crap. EW.”
Holy non-sequiteurs, Batman. I’ve walked in on a game of gin rummy in the Library, and am greeted by this surreal slice of conversation. I had actually already tried to go to bed, but it’s one of those nights – brain going like a hamster wheel, not much rhyme or reason to it, so no point in trying to sleep. Heading downstairs, I saw a light on in the Library, and stopped in to see who else was up.
The Professor, Jane, Narcissus, and Zoe are gathered around an old circular wood table, deep in contemplation of their cards. I nod to them briefly and take a seat in a comfy, overstuffed wingback chair by the fireplace, close enough to hear them, and surreptitiously fish out my notebook. Their conversation is disjointed and punctuated by bouts of silent concentration, but I’m still looking for some clues to the Crime of the Extra Astrid, and any little thing might help at this point.
It was Narcissus who was talking about being a complainer, and she continues. “I mean, okay, granted, this friend it’s coming from – she has some tough medical issues lately, and she’s been fighting it for like more than 3 years. AND it’s her second bout with it, no less, after a full remission from the first time. Listening to other people yammer on about weight loss and school and work and whatever – I get it! Of course it’s all trivial nonsense to her. I should cut her some slack. But getting accused like that, kind of publically...especially from her! I just don’t know what to say. It’s so out of the blue. I feel like I’ve been struck in the face, I mean RIGHT in the face, but...well, I can’t really complain about it to her, now can I?”
Zoe yawns, and picks again at the cauliflower that lies listless and bone-colored among the assembled snack foods. “Seriously? This stuff tastes like ass, if ass were made of sawdust and bland. Are there no Doritos in this house? The food around here SUCKS!”
Jane tsks, reminding her, “Doritos, if you’ll recall, are on the trigger food list. There are some low-salt baked potato crisps in the green bowl. Also – GIN. Read ‘em and weep, people.” Zoe blows a raspberry, and pushes the cauliflower away with contempt.
“Ah, crap.” The Professor shakes her head and throws her cards down. “I don’t know why I even play with you, Jane – you’re always paying much closer attention than I am.” She laces her hands behind her head as Jane adds up the cards the others have left over, and addresses herself to Narcissus. “So Narci, has this caused you to feel a pricking of conscience, would you say? ”
Zoe snorts in disbelief. “Impossible! Narcissus has no conscience. She’s just mad that she got called out on being a superficial, self-absorbed, trivial little...”
“ENOUGH, Zoe,” Jane cuts her off, shuffling and dealing the cards out with precision. “You do plenty of complaining yourself. Case in point – Doritos, or lack thereof. You already know why we’re limiting what we buy - if we don’t have em in the house, we can’t regret eating em, later. So why bring it up all the time?”
“Well, sure, I complain, but just to you guys – not to other people. And not to cancer sufferers, for chrissakes. And I NEVER regret eating Doritos. Though I have had cause to regret Sour Cream and Onion potato chips - ” Zoe shudders as she contemplates that unfortunate memory - “..in fact, the smell of them STILL makes me heave.”
Narcissus has begun to assume her habitual glower, and crosses her arms on the table defensively. “Oh, lovely visual, thank you, Zoe. And I know everything YOU have to say is of VITAL IMPORTANCE, but if you could ever even MAKE a friend, you’d understand that friends SHARE things with each other, even things that aren’t earth-shattering. I thought she WANTED me to talk about things that weren’t that important, things that weren’t life-threatening – things to get her mind off her own problems.”
The Professor fans her cards carefully, slipping them methodically into a better order. Jane watches this with interest, as the Professor goes on: “And instead of her realizing how selflessly you were complaining at her, you just come off like an insensitive boor. Well, the best laid plans of mice and men, Narci. I’m really interested in this reaction you’re having, though – would you call this guilt?”
“GUILT? What do I have to feel guilty about? I’m just going about my life – “
“ – your superficial, self-absorbed, trivial life – “
“SHUT IT, ZOE – just going about my life and sharing with someone I thought would be entertained by just regular old daily stuff, like weight loss and work and classes, but clearly I was WRONG, and now I feel...I don’t know. How are you supposed to feel when someone tells you how she feels and you weren’t expecting it to be so NEGATIVE? Like the rug was ripped out from under me, is how I feel!!”
“Gosh, I don’t know HOW you should feel either!” Zoe gasps breathlessly, eyes wide. “Maybe you should feel SORRY for being such a TOOL? Maybe you should TRY not to be such a TOOL in the future?” Smirking, she stuffs a handful of potato crisps in her mouth while Narcissus scowls at her hand, and discards furiously. Jane smoothly retrieves Narcissus’ card, and dispatches an unwanted club with neat efficiency.
“Amazingly, Zoe, you’ve hit the nail on the head - this is exactly the distinction I was wondering about!” enthuses the Professor. “In the Eastern Orthodox church, repentance was seen as a vital link to God, but not in the self-flagellatory way that some Western canons viewed it. Rather, it was an active regret for being removed from the presence of grace, and an acknowledgment that the actions that removed one from that grace could and should be stopped by the actor. In this context, confession was less about punishment, and more a coming to grips with one’s own sins AND resolving to end them. A much more internal, active, and gratifying process, don’t you think?” She beams at the others.
After an awkward pause, Jane steps in. “Er...that’s very interesting, Professor. Did you need a card from the deck, or are you taking mine?”
“Also,” Zoe interjects politely, “What in the sam hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, sorry... And Zoe, you and I are talking about the same thing. You want Narcissus to understand she has acted inappropriately, and then to feel some sorrow about that, and then to not act that way again.” Narcissus, who is enjoying some ginger ale, sputters indignantly into her glass, spraying the table with a fine mist of Canada Dry. The Professor absently wipes off one of her cards with the edge of her shirt, while Jane sighs and finds some napkins to deal with the rest of it as the Professor goes on. “In the Greek, these are three different concepts, interrelated but distinct. First, katanyxis, or compunction – the prick or sting that excites pain, and urges us to move forward. Second, penthos, or mourning – the realization of sorrow for whatever we did that caused us to feel compunction – think of it as the lamentation, the regret. Third, metanoia, or repentance – this is probably better translated as “changing one’s mind,” though, because it’s meant to convey action; the resolve needed to pursue the corrected path. This is one way to read Dostoevsky’s “Crime and Punishment,” by the way, a work greatly influenced by Orthodoxy – the criminal’s guilt, and by implication his rehabilition, goes on almost entirely in his own mind!”
Zoe cackles. “Ooooh, this is so right on! So Narci should be SORRY she’s a tool – penthos, you said? – and she should TRY not to be a tool again. Metanoia. Perfect!” Spinning a card out of her hand onto the discard pile, she grins at Narcissus. “Hear that, chica? The Greeks had you figured out LOOONG ago. Hey, isn't Metanoia one of the Transformers?”
“Well this is ridiculous, of course. I haven’t DONE anything, so why do I need to repent?” Narcissus sniffs, gingerly picking up Zoe’s card by one corner, and daintily discarding an offending spade.
Jane has been keeping her cards close to the vest, but speaks up now. “Well, it does appear from what you told us that you’ve experienced a sting that excited pain; hearing that your friend thought you were a complainer. The question is: has it excited you to move forward, which I guess would mean – complain less? Apparently not.” She swoops down after Narcissus’ spade, and lays her cards down. “Gin.”
Zoe groans. “Are you effing kidding me? We only went around the table like twice on that hand. What are you, marking cards or something?” She tosses her hand down in disgust. “I am going to OWN you, this round.” She dives back in to the potato crisps, munching morosely, as Jane shuffles again. She offers the deck to the Professor to be cut, but the Professor taps the top and picks up the thread of their discussion. “I’d agree with that. Strictly speaking, though the sting could come from an internal or external source, the internal acknowledgment of wrong is intrinsic to the concept - I’d go so far as to say that Narci has been stung, but can’t or won’t acknowledge her “sin,” so to speak, and thus might not have experienced the “golden spur in the soul” that some Orthodox scholars speak of as fundamental to the process of reconciliation and, thereby redemption.”
“Um, HELLO, I’m sitting RIGHT HERE,” Narcissus waves her hand in an aggrieved manner.
“Sorry, Narci, I know you’re here – I’m just speaking abstractly and you are my example. No offense.”
“Now who’s being an insensitive boor?” Narcissus grumbles, irately stabbing a cauliflower into her mouth. She immediately coughs it out again. “Blech!! Whoa, this really IS nasty. Jane, have we let the vegetables go bad again?”
“If everyone ate them right away, instead of sneaking sandwiches from the falafel joint down the street, the vegetables would be FINE.” Jane observes tartly. “Here, hand those over to me.” Narcissus complies with a shrug, and Jane defiantly chews up a small branch, swallowing it with obvious difficulty. “Oh. Dear,” she manages, and hurriedly gulps some water. “What I’m SAYIN’,” Zoe sighs, pushing the bowl of potato crisps over to Jane with some ceremony.
“THE POINT IS,” the Professor tries again, “that being told you are wrong, and feeling guilty after the fact, isn’t sufficient; changes made that way are just avoidance of punishment, not comprehension your crime or sin or whatever. That’s the way a puppy is trained not to pee on the carpet. A thinking human should be able to experience all three stages of repentance as a “joyful agony,” a cleansing by tears: realize, regret, and react. React constructively, though, of course,” the Professor muses, gazing at the stubborn set of Narcissus’ jaw.
“Oh, it’s all Greek to her,” Zoe trills merrily.
Jane has discretely emptied the plate of cauliflower into the garbage, and now points a potato crisp at the Professor thoughtfully. “So not to be flip with other people’s religions, but this strikes me as kind of relevant to the whole weight loss thing, too. Seeing the scale go up, or the muffin top start flopping again, incites pain – of a sort – and sometimes some kind of self-loathing response like, say, manically undertaking unrealistic training regimens as a form of punishment. But that doesn’t always include acknowledgment of the real issue, or constructive remorse. So you’re saying just beating yourself up for eating cake for dinner is akin to whacking a puppy on the nose with a rolled up dog-training manual - no matter how much you use it, the puppy still can't read the manual. But coming to grips with the behavioral source of the problem is more like the rational path to rehabilitating yourself, or, uh, reinstating yourself into some kind of overall grace - or in this case, health?”
“Hmmm ... that seems a bit facile, but generally, yes, I’d agree with you. Insofar as any effort to find paradise lost, or reintegrate with divine grace, can be considered “rational.” Of course, that’s just the religious reading of metanoia...there’s also Carl Jung’s view of it as a process of self-healing, experienced by those for whom psychotic breaks uncover suppressed urges or memories. Now THAT would be an interesting study for comparison....!”
“Not tonight, it won’t be,” Narcissus yawns, and pushes away from the table. “I’ve been psychoanalyzed quite enough for one evening, thank you very much. And I have a few things to say by email to my friend – if we ARE friends still - yet tonight.” She stands majestically, turning to Jane to add, “And you can just add what I lost to my tab. You owe me a chance to win it back, you know.” She nods to me on her way out.
Zoe cocks a sardonic eyebrow at Jane. “Isn't that Narcisuss all over? She lost, and you owe her. No wonder her friend read her the riot act. What are the odds she’ll actually apologize?”
“Minimal,” the Professor calculates. “She’s the least self-aware person I know – hard to be constructively reflective when you reflexively avoid self-knowledge. But I suspect Jane may find a way to use this information to incite some change around here, or,” and she turns towards me, “maybe the Detective will find it useful. What do you think, Detective?”
I am surprised to be acknowledged after all this time, but I nod. I’ve been thinking there must be a way to incorporate this active repentance into the Astrid Plan, even if it still doesn’t lead me retroactively to my criminal. “The way I see it,” I say, referring to my notes, “guilt is the stick, and conscience – or your process of active remorse – is the carrot. And if we actively seek the carrot, we won’t have to use the stick. Is that about right?”
“Bordering on reductio ad absurdam, but in the ballpark,” the Professor sighs.
“As long as the carrots don’t taste like the cauliflower,” Zoe says with mock solemnity, and then gaily salutes us all in parting. “Jane, since you cleaned us out, we’ll leave you to clean up, then? Okay – good night!” And out she goes.
Jane gives a wry half smile. “You think Zoe realized any of that was aimed at her?”
The Professor nods as she helps Jane pile up plates and bowls. “Zoe’s smarter than she acts, Jane, as you well know. That oppositional defiant disorder she pretends to have won’t let her off the hook once her big, crabby brain gets to processing this info; and then, like Raskolnikov, she won’t be able to justify her behavior anymore. We’ll win her over yet.” We head out into the corridor.
The Professor heads off to the kitchen as I turn to start up the stairs, but Jane pauses before she follows the Professor. “And maybe you can play Zoe’s external stinging conscience, the clever Porfiry Petrovich, Detective. Since the gumshoe seems to fit, and all...” The Professor’s laugh echoes back towards us from down the empty, dark hallway, as I return to my bedroom, and a whirling hamster cage of thoughts.