Peter Paul Rubens:
Hl. Ambrosius und Kaiser Theodosius (1615/1616)

"This reaction makes the so-called superior appear inferior and the complier seem spineless."

Recent headlines reported that many, including a few of the wealthiest and most powerful people in this universe, have taken to tiptoeing around our incumbent to "avoid his Ire." I recognize the word "Ire" as one of those holiday serving spoons restricted from ordinary supper use, exclusively reserved for company. I remember the few times it's been trotted out, not for itself, but for what it was always associated with. Its presence seems rare enough in memory to almost be considered a sacrament, warmly remembered. I proudly recall the times when I managed to spark Ire, especially in someone I was supposed to automatically provide deference: a principal, police officer, or high official who felt as though I'd disrespected their position, if not them personally. The Ire itself always took the form of threats, promising retribution for the imagined infraction. The imagined portion was almost always a misunderstanding stemming from my failure to engage with what I might characterize as adequate gravitas. I might have engaged with a superior as if he were an equal or, worse, a lesser. Few angers rival those sparked by a sleight perceived by a superior, for they might seem to threaten the whole concept of "superior." Those relying upon their position to prevent being perceived as inferior seem to possess the thinnest skin and generate the bulk of the Ire in this universe.

I prefer to inhabit a world where we employ a more level playing field where nobody can be seriously considered to be anyone's better. I understand that the whole concept of hierarchy might feel threatened by such a notion, but I see no real advantage bestowed by any position or title. However lofty, no designation elevates any human above or beyond the standard frailties. Even popes, as this week's headlines reminded us, die. Between birth and death, each remained prey to all of the typical human frailties. The latest pope renounced his well-appointed papal apartment in favor of a Motel 6-like high-rise room stocked with the lowliest furnishings. He might have been required to wear red shoes at work, but he seemed to prefer carpet slippers at home. I admire anyone holding high office who can thumb their nose at the ridiculous pomp and circumstance accompanying their position. Further, I treasure those who can treat whoever might be characterized as their better or their lesser as a co-equal instead. In my estimation, familiarity should not breed anything resembling contempt from anybody, but gratitude instead. If I were Pope, I'd feel grateful whenever some so-called underling treated me like a fellow human being.

Not every king seems capable of projecting such nobility. Some seem to need to insist upon more deference than this, even though commanded respect produces the opposite of whatever's expected. Sure, any halfway decent monarch can command and receive certain behaviors, but the expected respect will remain in the formality. Internally, the kneeling so-called supplicant might well be cursing their commander. Anyone can comply. Demanded humiliating behavior does not often translate into authentic humility. It more often diminishes the nobility of the one commanding obeisance. Respect must be voluntary, or it becomes a parody of itself, a small tragedy compared to what might have been volunteered instead.

Real respect often looks like its opposite. Julia Louis-Dreyfus recently reported on an invitation she and several other prominent comedians received from the Bishop of Rome, aka The Pope. During their audience, he praised comedians for their contributions to religion. He insisted that humor is holy. He even suggested that it's sacred to make fun of God. If the Supreme Being can take a joke aimed at his frailties, how petty might it seem when any lesser being, like an incumbent, takes offense at any behavior, comment, or position? When anyone inhabiting any authentically superior position takes offence at anything anyone else might do or say, they undermine their own stature. They seem to insist upon appearing to be lesser than they otherwise might appear.

Real friends, for instance, feel comfortable shooting genuine shit at each other. Treasured colleagues revel in their fellows' most otherwise demeaning comments. Intimates don't take offense. Watch one of those ever-popular celebrity roasts and observe how those who feel adequate in their authority respond. They seem incapable of taking offense and appear never to feel the need to react with anything even distantly resembling Ire. Only those, like our present incumbent, who might have good reason to suffer from Impostor Syndrome, ever seem to take offense. Those feeling secure in their power rarely exhibit Ire, even when someone feeling less secure might quickly exhibit anger or frustration. Powerful people never seem to need to intimidate anybody. Likewise, those feeling secure in their own identity never seem to need to bow down in anticipation of inciting Ire from any superior. Bezos might have seemed like someone whose billions could insulate him from anyone's retribution. It's at least unseemly when he explains that he would never deliberately attempt anything that might publicly embarrass his incumbent. What has his success brought him if he still feels the need to publicly humiliate himself lest this adolescent incumbent attempt to take his Ire out on him or his operations? A real superior or a genuine co-equal should respond with a belligerent, "Bring it on!" It's no kindness to crumble before such humiliating commands. This reaction makes the so-called superior appear inferior and the complier seem spineless.

©2025 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

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