in future’s perfect shadows
until what is lost returns.
Lay of wounded love, Fisher
It’s no simple thing,’ he said, frowning as he worked through his thoughts, ‘but in the world-among people, that is. Society, culture, nation-in the world, then, there are attackers and there are defenders. Most of us possess within ourselves elements of both, but in a general sense a person falls to one camp or the other, as befits their nature.’
The wind swept round the chiselled stone. What guano remained to stain the dark, pitted surfaces had been rubbed thin and patchy, like faded splashes of old paint. Around them was the smell of heat lifting from rock, caught up, spun and plucked away with each gust of the breeze. But the sun did not relent its battle, and for that, Ryadd Eleis was thankful.
Silchas Ruin’s eyes were fixed on something to the northwest, but an outcrop of shaped stone blocked Ryadd’s line of sight in that direction. He was curious, but not unduly so. Instead, he waited for Silchas to continue, knowing how the white-skinned Tiste Andii sometimes struggled to speak his mind. When it did come, it often arrived all at once and at length, a reasoned, detailed argument that Ryadd received mostly in silence. There was so much to learn.
‘This is not to say that aggression belongs only to those who are attackers,’ Silchas resumed. ‘Far from it, in fact. In my talent with the sword, for example, I am for the most part a defender. I rely upon timing and counter-attack-I take advantage of the attacker’s forward predilections, the singularity of their intent. Counterattack is, of course, aggression in its own way. Do you see the distinction?’
Ryadd nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘Aggression takes many forms. Active, passive, direct, indirect. Sudden as a blow, or sustained as a siege of will. Often, it refuses to stand still, but launches upon you from all possible sides. If one tactic fails, another is tried, and so on.’
Smiling, Ryadd said, ‘Yes. I played often enough among the Imass children. What you describe every child learns, at the hands of the bully and the rival.’
‘Excellent. Of course you are right. But bear in mind, none of this belongs solely within the realm of childhood. It persists and thrives in adult society. What must be understood is this: attackers attack as a form of defence. It is their instinctive response to threat, real or perceived. It may be desperate or it may be habit, or both, when desperation becomes a way of life. Behind the assault hides a fragile person.’
He was silent then, and Ryadd understood that Silchas sought to invite some contemplation of the things just said. Weighing of self-judgement, perhaps. Was he an attacker or a defender? He had done both, he knew, and there had been times when he had attacked when he should have defended, and so too the other way round. I do not know which of the two I am. Not yet. But, I think, I know this much: when I feel threatened, I attack.
‘Cultures tend to invite the dominance of one over the other, as a means by which an individual succeeds and advances or, conversely, fails and falls. A culture dominated by attackers-and one in which the qualities of attacking are admired, often overtly encouraged-tends to breed people with a thick skin, which nonetheless still serves to protect a most brittle self. Thus the wounds bleed but stay well hidden beneath the surface. Cultures favouring the defender promote thin skin and quickness to take offence-its own kind of aggression, I am sure you see. The culture of attackers seeks submission and demands evidence of that submission as proof of superiority over the subdued. The culture of defenders seeks compliance through conformity, punishing dissenters and so gaining the smug superiority of enforcing silence, and from silence, complicity.’
The pause that followed was a long one and Ryadd was pleased that it was so, for Silchas had given him much to consider. The Imass? Ah, defenders, I think. Yes. Always exceptions, of course, but he said there would be. Examples of both, but in general… yes, defenders. Think of Onrack’s fate, his love for Kilava, the crimes that love forced upon him. He defied conformity. He was punished.
It was more difficult to think of a culture dominated by attackers. The Letherii? He thought of his father, Udinaas. He defends when in himself. But attacks with derision, yet even then, he does not hide his vulnerability. ‘Is there no third way of being, Silchas?’
The warrior smiled. ‘In my long life, Ryadd, I have seen many variations-configurations-of behaviour and attitude, and I have seen a person change from one to the other-when experience has proved damaging enough, or when the inherent weaknesses of one are recognized, leading to a wholesale rejection of it. Though, in turn, weaknesses of different sorts exist in the other, and often these prove fatal pitfalls. We are complex creatures, to be sure. The key, I think, is to hold true to your own aesthetics, that which you value, and yield to no one the power to become the arbiter of your tastes. You must also learn to devise strategies for fending off both attackers and defenders. Exploit aggression, but only in self-defence, the kind of self-defence that announces to all the implacability of your armour, your self-assurance, and affirms the sanctity of your self-esteem. Attack when you must, but not in arrogance. Defend when your values are challenged, but never with the wild fire of anger. Against attackers, your surest defence is cold iron. Against defenders, often the best tactic is to sheathe your weapon and refuse the game. Reserve contempt for those who have truly earned it, but see the contempt you permit yourself to feel not as a weapon, but as armour against their assaults. Finally, be ready to disarm with a smile, even as you cut deep with words.’