Because You Sold Me
At what point does scrutinizing the hardware of our great Social Machine yield diminishing returns? Even if one passes its standards in flying colors, a consciousness of what one is doing to secure and resecure its love and acceptance – in every passing moment hoping it renews its lease on you – perpetuates a state of hypervigilance.
This relationship of one to the Social Machine most closely resembles slavery. Like most slaves, there is an element of Stockholm Syndrome – to follow and mimic one’s captor, with a kind of zeal surpassing one’s own will to exist authentically. Your preferences and those of your captors become intertwined and indistinguishable. In the media, disillusionment with the Social Machine is interpreted in a very narrow way. ‘Disillusionment’ is usually discussed in the context of gender dynamics, economic systems, or politics. In truth, one's captor is arguably not the constituents of the Social Machine – man or woman – but its panoptic effect on our self perception. As Foucault argues, power isn’t just top-down; it’s dispersed. We self-discipline because we believe we’re being observed – by institutions, by norms, by each other.
In his astounding essay “I am who I am because you sold me,” Rabbi YY Jacobson interrogates the biblical story of Joseph. He draws two critical observations: Joseph states ‘I am Joseph’ but later repeats “I am Joseph – the one whom you sold into Egypt,” a pointless addendum – his brothers do not have multiple siblings named Joseph to differentiate among. Further, “I am Joseph your brother – it is I whom you sold into Egypt” may also be translated from Hebrew as “I am Joseph your brother – because you sold me into Egypt.” He was wrenched into a pit, away from his father’s unconditional love, sabotaging the beautiful life he might’ve had. And yet, as Rabbi YY argues, the depth of his soul is exposed only because of such immense suffering and adversity. Hence, Joseph is Joseph because of his brothers’ cruelty.
Perhaps one may simultaneously act as Joseph and his brothers. I am not suggesting an interpretation of the biblical story, but a metaphor for the fractured self. One is both the hands that pushed and the body that fell. In this light, I am Joseph your brother—the one whom you sold into Egypt is really a self-indictment. It is possible to sell oneself – to reduce yourself to a commodity or performance to be evaluated and compared, purchased or ignored – and this process is typically unconscious. Perhaps “I am Joseph your brother – because you sold me into Egypt” expresses how one has such depth of strength becauseof efforts to destroy their spirit – not by an external enemy, but by a destructive part of their own psyche. It is arguably easier to retain a sense of self when fending off an outside agitator; his assaults may worsen your circumstances, but you never once question whether or not you think he is justified. However, if abuse is internally generated, whether one should stop feels arbitrary. As long as a part of the psyche is adamant punishment is deserved – for what remains unclear – the legitimacy of an acquittal is always up for debate. Love is particularly fleeting in this condition, because self-loathing often has a quality of disillusionment to it, however misguided. When one thinks, “I am fine as I am,” it whispers back “and what if this is just a lie?” A desire to not be deluded as to how one really measures up, a conflation of G-d with the Social Machine and a fear his views are congruent with it, is a tortuous web.
To salvage a part of oneself that feels inexplicably like the real you, despite inclinations to reject him or her as a sham, is a nearly impossible task. Any attempt to ground the truth of one’s self-worth inevitably runs into epistemic regress – each justification begging for another beneath it, until one either invents a foundation or admits there is none. What right do we have to choose acceptance over self-contempt? What self-assessment is objectively more true? How might we measure truth? We default to our subconscious barometer, the Social Machine, and dismiss our effort to shake its gaze altogether delusional. The alternative is internalizing how a higher power might regard you, which is purely speculative, and the immediacy of the material world is too stifling and tangible to deny in favor of blind trust.
In his analysis, Rabbi YY expounds on the fact that Joseph recognized his brothers but they did not recognize him. He interprets this in a metaphorical sense; although they saw their brother, they did not know his true spirit. Upon revealing himself, his brothers retreated into horrified silence, remorseful over how aggressively they tried to break his soul. Likewise, sometimes only after pushing oneself to hellish extremes, can one recognize their behaviours as abusive – one must be undeniably in the wrong in order to have moral clarity. The risk of being too self-indulgent, extending sympathy to oneself too soon, inexplicably feels a worse crime than being overly harsh. Since unconditional love is out of the question, the most one can do is administer self-compassion in doses on a case-by-case basis, only when proven innocent by a unanimous jury. Until then, one presumes themselves guilty.
An individual's inability to in good conscience nurture themselves is irrespective of whether caretakers offered abundant love. The love of one’s parents is a biological imperative. Even love that exceeds this imperative is not without incredible bias, from the fact of being one’s child. The love of a spouse is modulated by hormones and neurotransmitters like oxytocin, sexual desire, and social expectations. In both cases, love awarded by others is hardly infallible.
Thus, perhaps others realizing their mistakes and repenting for harm done to you is besides the point. Perhaps the unpredictable nature of others’ approval and love is irrelevant. Joseph’s brothers are guilty about their past behavior, but their repentance or lack thereof has no influence upon the incredible individual Joseph became. He refused to be a passive recipient of circumstances – although this is truly the power of refusing to be the passive recipient of internal circumstances. Joseph’s numerous adversities might have easily melded him into an insecure, cold, and frightened man. He might have wondered all day, for decades, why G-d allowed him to be flung as flippantly as dirt into a pit, why he was innately inferior so as to deserve slavery. We can appreciate his struggle reflecting not only on what objectively happened to him, but the internal turmoil it inevitably threatened. Joseph was not unscathed; he weeps seven times over the course of the story. However, “I am Joseph - because you sold me into Egypt”suggests not only a triumph, but that the fabric of his light was unthinkable darkness and despair – a concept Rabbi YY emphasizes in his classes.
Maybe healing is possible when an individual recognizes their suffering is a result of a very innocent wish: to not accidentally live a lie. It may begin with understanding what happened at the pit – that one stripped themselves of their own robe, and shoved themselves hard into the earth. And where things keep going wrong: during their fated reunion in Egypt. In the Bible, Joseph’s brothers for once see past his body and into his soul – up to that point, only G-d knew it. In my rendition, Joseph’s brothers seize his shoulders and drape his body in large chains they hid in empty bags meant for grain. They must raze all presentiment of hope from his soul, such that physical restraint is no longer necessary; until his chains fall away, but his wrists remain criss-crossed behind his back. Prison guards will come and go, but all eventually quit, weary of watching a man who has overstayed his sentence. “You are free to leave!” they bellow in his ears – now in old age, maybe his hearing is not up to par – but Joseph is always convinced it is a trap, that the moment he leaves his cage a larger one is awaiting him beyond its exit, and so settles for what he mistakes as the best case.
Link to Rabbi YY Jacobson’s Essay: I am who I am because you sold me
