Stories by Susan Sontag

Author:Susan Sontag
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9780241982723
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2017-10-12T04:00:00+00:00

A summing up. “I accuse the organization of depriving me of my innocence. Of complicating my will.

(I don’t deny that it has improved my mind, taught me to see the world in a truer, less falsely expectant way. But what use is truth if it makes you despise other people? In despising others, you only despise yourself.)

I accuse the organization of depriving me of my commonness. Of instilling me with false pride.

(I don’t deny there is altruism in all this. I’m ambitious not for myself but for the glory of the organization—to be a credit to them. But what use is altruism if it makes one more vain?)

I accuse the organization of depriving me of my strength. Of teaching me to fear those who are not members. I accuse the organization of depriving me of my stupidity. Of making me solemn, heavy, judging …”

Are you with me? Have I surprised you? A gasp of admiration, anyone? One short round of applause?

I’d deserve it, had I actually said these things at one of our weekly meetings. But I’ve done nothing—except to adopt a certain evasiveness in my gaze when I listen to my fellow members. I am silent more often at meetings, although when I do speak it’s with an unaccustomed fervor. I used to be quite a capable orator. Largely because of that talent, I attained my present modest rank in the organization’s hierarchy. But when I get up to speak now, I feel my face flush and even my eyeballs seem hot. I stammer, I gesticulate at inappropriate moments, I go on too long and have to be gently reprimanded by the old man.

All this inner tumult, while I am voicing sentiments of the most irreproachable orthodoxy. But it’s shame that makes me ardent, for all the while I know I’m deceiving my credulous fellow members, betraying their trust. Instead of expounding with my old certitude the Eight Lessons and the other doctrines, I ought to have the courage to make a clean breast of my doubts. “Look at me!” I ache to say. “I’m no good to you any more. Truths in my mouth are lies. Don’t listen to me. I don’t believe what I’m saying. I’ll infect you, you’ll begin to doubt, too. Teach me. Demote me. Expel me.” Of course, I haven’t said anything of the kind. I fear the laughter that might greet me, or the resentful smiles, or the patronizing gestures of sympathy as for someone temporarily deranged.

Or maybe I’m afraid that the membership would take me at my word, and expel me, after which I should suffer all the pangs of exile. Habituated to the battles, the sectarian controversies, I would find the world empty. I’d be struck from the organization’s mailing list. I would no longer receive monthly publications and private memos. There would be no calls during the night for emergency meetings. No meetings at all. Alone.

I don’t want this decision forced on me by an impetuous, irrevocable act that I should undoubtedly regret.

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