What if History Has No Lessons?

On worrying, flossing and getting hit by a car anyway.

Photo by Diego PH on Unsplash

We’re all going to die, and nothing matters. Duh.

My sister told me of an episode of The Rest is History that I had to listen to because it would cheer me up. The title of the episode was “The Lessons of History” and the conversation was - spoiler - we don’t really learn anything because it’s not possible to. In fact, one of the historians, Tom Holland, said (to paraphrase) Good things happen, bad things happen, and things keep happening.

THANKS FOR NOTHING

Yes, of course, there are some patterns we can notice from human history, but they’re big, duh-level stuff like: arrogance never pays in the end, probably don’t cheat with your brother’s wife and definitely don’t move to another country without a solid escape plan, dummy.

The patterns we think we see—like the way authoritarians take power—are actually clustered in periods of time that share specific and unique conditions. Thus, the historians on the podcast argued that comparing a current U.S. president to the dictator in Germany in the 1930s and 40s is inaccurate. Because, as Mark Twain put it, history doesn’t repeat, but it rhymes.

AGAIN. THANKS.

So, my head exploded when I realized the adage “if we don’t learn from history, we are doomed to repeat it” is actually ridiculous because you can’t really “repeat” history anyway. Besides, it should be obvious by now that we are definitely doomed.

From there, I dove into all the stuff—and I mean all the stuff: the arrow of time vs. cyclical time, whether events are fated (determinism) or just random (indeterminism), whether dualism or non-dualism is right, plus Plato’s cave and the shadows and everything else.

I grew more and more confused, so I called my cousin in San Francisco. Jim played at Woodstock, tuned in, turned on, and dropped out. After years in ashrams in India, he made yoga and Hindu thought his life. Jim is nonplussed by absolutely nothing, which makes him a pretty bad phone buddy if you are freaking out. But I thought I’d give it a shot.

Funny story: a few months ago, on his usual afternoon walk through his foggy neighborhood, Jim decided—just this once—to cross at a marked intersection with four stop signs instead of his usual unmarked spot.

He got hit by a car.

Jim says this illustrates how little control we really have. You can floss, exercise, have the best insurance—and still get hit by a car. The thing is to make peace with that.

Suffice to say, this conversation gave me a week-long panic attack.

I’m trying hard to reframe the screaming chaos of life into more of a cotton candy, smooshy glow of martinis and ice cream.

I signed up for Headspace. I’m noticing the birds. I’m noticing gravity and crepey skin and other things I had heretofore stalwartly ignored.

So far, results are mixed. I’ve been cycling through “why bother” when it comes to swimming, stretching, or putting on moisturizer. I’ve been really DUALISM-ing out on stuff like right-wing freak job Ben Gvir—he of the sloppy appearance, crooked kipa, and maturity of a 12-year-old.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

But thank God, I live with someone I think of as My Little Buddha. You wouldn’t expect a kibbutznik dairy farmer with bright blue eyes—and a child survivor of the Holocaust—to have an especially cheerful view of life. But when I once asked Gidon why he wasn’t more worried about something, he said:

I prefer not to suffer more than is necessary.

The gall!

Gidon, in his inimitable way, gets that pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional.

BUT GIDON, I say - look at Israel! Look at Ukraine! Look at the United States! Gidon listens, nods, agrees these are deeply concerning things—and then suggests we barbecue for dinner. Later, he’ll watch soccer on TV, as is his habit, and I’ll read a book. And yes, when there are demonstrations all over Israel to end this @#$%! war—we’ll be there, out front, with our signs - which Gidon makes painstakingly at the dinner table, without comment.

Gidon understands there’s only so much one person can do. He’s a survivor—not because he avoided pain in his life (god knows) but because he didn’t add to it by endlessly thinking about it. When he could take action, he did. When he could sleep—even cold and hungry—he slept.

So okay—maybe life is just a random chaos of pain, suffering, and worry—but there’s also the randomness of having, by sheer chance, a little Buddha in your life to help you navigate it.