Let's Bring Ostracism Back!
Have you ever wanted to remove someone from your social group? Be rid of someone so distasteful to your person that you cannot stand to be in their presence? Perhaps you are not alone in your assessment of this person, but talking shit about this person to others puts you at a lot of risk to your social standing: What if they’re well-liked? What if you’re just being a dick? What if you could make this gossip anonymous and vote this person out of the social group? If this sounds good to you, then look no further than the late fifth-century BC Athenian practice of ostracism!
The practice of ostracism involved Athenian citizens writing or carving the name of their target (almost always a politician) on an ostrakon (pl. ostraka) — a broken pottery shard. Each year in mid-January an assembly was called and the people asked to vote, by show of hands, whether they wanted to hold an ostrakophoria. If a majority voted in favour, the ostrakophoria was held around two months later. Then, citizens would enter the agora with an ostrakon in tow and cast it into the centre, creating a pile of ostraka. If 6000 ostraka were cast, then the citizen with the most votes was asked to leave the city for ten years, after which they were able to return while maintaining all rights to their property. The goal of ostracism was to “transform a dangerous or treacherous politician into a safe member of the Athenian community” by giving them a time-out.
This practice may sound absurd to modern readers, and in many respects it is. It was a political ritual whose aim was against tyranny and power-grabs, a way for Athenians to express their civic unity. “The violent gesture that broke up a ceramic vessel transformed a single, smooth-surfaced, and in some cases beautiful container into a multitude of sharp, jagged-edged sherds. The smashing was an audibly brittle and visibly immediate crash. It was irreversible.” Ostracism wasn’t just an archaic practice, but a ritual with real physical consequences. Friendships are like steel rebar: strong and flexible. But social groups are more like concrete: liable to cracks.
Given that a social circle is smaller than a city-state, we may need to adjust the rules for our purposes. Here’s how it could work: At the next PULP launch, older editions will be ripped up and attendees can print the name of the person they want to exile. Then, cast the paper-scraps into the centre of the event. At the end of the night, the votes are counted and the person with the most votes is banished from PULP launches for the rest of the semester. Wouldn’t this be nice? You wouldn’t even have to tell your friends who you’re voting for or tell the person directly that you don’t like them: problem solved. It could give the victim a chance to reflect on their behaviour and return to the next semester welcomed back into the fold!
As a philosophy student, coming across as arrogant is something I am deeply afraid of. We've all probably met that one guy who studies philosophy (or some other humanity) who makes you feel like you're just a wall for him to bounce what he already knows off of. Fooling you into thinking you've had an engaging conversation, or like he's just itching to tell you about how much he likes — and very easily understood — Hegel. Sometimes I worry that I'm him. But I’m not really. I’ve mastered authenticity. So have you. Well, maybe you don’t like this person because they’re kind of fake. This poser has fooled everyone into thinking they’re genuine. Isn’t that unfair? You’ve put a lot of effort into being you, your style, your twitter page, and people like you for you. Don’t they? Does their gloating grate against your eardrums like a cotton swab stuck in too far? You’re too humble to gloat like that, even though you could. Whatever your problem with them, democracy can solve it. Voting this person out of your circle would make for a nicer circle, and you wouldn’t have to dread the inevitable conversation where you remember exactly why you don’t like this person.
But why don’t you like them? Are they really that bad? Could it be that the reason you don’t like them is because they kind of remind you of yourself? Maybe they were bullied, and now seek attention. Maybe you were, and do the same thing. But you hate that you do that. Why don’t they? When you speak about your goals and achievements, it feels like you’re being arrogant and overstating your ability. Why don’t they feel arrogant? When they make a joke and it doesn’t land, they take it in their stride. Why don’t they feel embarrassed? They dance terribly, letting their arms flail around like wet spaghetti. You know you can’t dance, so you save everyone else the eye-sore. Why don’t they? But if you’re perceptive enough to see how terrible they are, then maybe others are able to do the same for you.
Oh no…
Telling the difference between this feeling of self-reflecting dislike in others and genuine dislike is hard. People can be awful. They could actually just be a dick. But notwithstanding really bad people, it’s probably worthwhile reflecting on why we dislike people, rather than taking it on face that our dislike of them is just some immutable fact about the world. It can give us a chance both to understand our own insecurities better and to understand them better. I am not saying to accept bad people into your life — that’s obviously bad for you. But I am saying that we should be more reflective about why we dislike some people. It can give us clarity about ourselves. Chances for connection are everywhere, and being aware that we’re all more similar than different can help us realise that chance.