write-html-by-hand-online/content/on-entitlement-and-expectations.en.md

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date = '2025-08-05T20:36:46-04:00'
title = 'On Entitlement and Expectations'
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When delving into the topic of cowardice, it’s exceedingly difficult to avoid two things: descending into clichés and outright accusations. Nowadays, no matter what you think about, it feels like everything already has its label, its final word, and there’s no way to develop an idea, to say anything new—it’s all either banalities or nonsense, and, well, “my meme is funnier than yours, so I’m right.”

And yes, yes—I just mentioned accusations, and already, from the very first paragraph, I’m accusing! Of course, arguing on the internet is a waste of time; even the laziest person has opined on that. It’s obvious to everyone, both participants and critics, that it’s all just for some strange and utterly misplaced needs—for reaction, for anger, for the sake of joining in. But so what? Has the problem been solved? Can we walk away with a clear conscience after tossing this accusation at all of humanity like some kind of stone?

I’ve fallen into cliché and accused. There, the note is ready. But what will we take away from this? What will I take away after such declarations? Everyone’s guilty, but I understand, so I’m not guilty? Somewhere deep down, we know that if everyone were just a little better, everything would be better. So here I’ll stop and try to clear the waters.

Let me stage a scene from our very real everyday life: there’s a guy, the most ordinary guy, “neither fish nor fowl,” who hasn’t done anything particularly noteworthy in his 30 years of life, hasn’t suffered for any cause, worked wherever he could. He doesn’t have a girlfriend, but he’s convinced that every woman he meets is flirting with him or should be flirting—and if she isn’t, then she’s hysterical or something worse. And God forbid this woman is stuck in his circle, say, at work. It’s not hard to imagine how he’ll slowly drain her, day after day, with jabs, infantile manipulation, seemingly accidental public remarks—“she hates me for some reason”—or even provocations.

Now, rereading this, I realize I’ve written it clumsily, laughably, and stupidly. But I hope that in this illiterate description, with its pretensions to literariness, you’ve caught that very trait of modernity—without which this conversation cannot continue. Forgive my graphomania and listen further.

Before we all unanimously accuse the already obviously and directly guilty, let me ask: why is this happening? How does an ordinary person lose their sense of boundaries, their sense of “reality,” their sense of shame? We’re not talking about some specific individual here, but about a type—the most modern manifestation of modernity! “Shame” is a good word here—why shame? It’s not like shame exists for no reason. Imagine a society of upstanding people, something close to ideal, like in a utopia—and imagine a new person appearing in it, not bad in themselves, but… unhygienic. Just as an example! Let’s say this person is unshakably convinced that in hot weather, they can wear the same T-shirt for weeks without washing it, because getting used to your own smell isn’t hard, and it’s never coincided with going out in public before. Well, it’s a small thing, not a mortal sin, but people can’t and shouldn’t have to tolerate it. The simplest thing that can—and should—happen is a remark like, “You should wash your clothes more often; it’s unbearable,” or something along those lines. I’m sure the optimal way to deliver such reprimands has already been studied and described—I just don’t know it. But that’s not the point. The point is that this person has been, in a way, shamed—not with malice, but with the desire to integrate them into the culture of the environment, to give them a signal that, if correctly interpreted, will allow them to be accepted into the group. Is this shame? Yes. Is it bad? Not at all. How else could you make a person understand their place without hurting their feelings? And should you even try? A direct attack on their person is not the same thing.

It’s undeniably unpleasant to hear such things. If someone educated or more skilled in writing sees my notes, I’ll feel just as ashamed as the “unwashed” person. But what then—not write? Not listen to criticism, not improve my literacy, not shed the bookishness and forced literariness? But that’s hard; it requires effort—mental, yes, but even more so emotional. These days, it’s far more emotional than mental.

Because here’s what’s happening with such environments now. Take an unfortunate child who had bad luck with parents—for example—they didn’t get the right upbringing at home, end up among peers, can’t speak properly, stares at the floor, trembles, slouches, voice quiet and garbled. The peers aren’t even laughing at them yet, but they notice—through a joke or a nickname—that you can’t make out a single word—general laughter—so what will the child do? Note, I’m not talking about bullying, not about torment, though children in their naivety can be downright cruel. What will the child do now? Take offense, retreat into their phone, hide. I’m not defending the children here, but does that mean we should side with the offended child and justify their withdrawal when nothing even happened yet? They’ll grow up, enter the “general” internet, and all social networks will adjust to their needs, their reactions, whatever hurts and charges them most negatively. And since they’ve already rejected real society, the regulator becomes a substitute society—one that doesn’t exist in real life but still performs some functions, still exerts influence.

What will become of you—of you, dear and rare reader—if you go through life without ever facing your shame, if instead you seek and easily find (you don’t even have to look; it’s all right there in your face from the first seconds in your feed) consolation, blame-shifting, even the romanticization of misfortune—the most pleasant and, at first glance, harmless thing (oh, more on that another time). If you never learned to interact with people, if you’re so poor and unfortunate, well, then it’s society’s fault. Blame the environment, and the more it hurts, the harder you blame, until it hardens into bitterness. You’re no fool, no worthless creature—you know you’ve lied, that you’re already a scoundrel, but life isn’t set up to go through shame—it’s scarier, heavier. So if you’re a scoundrel, blame someone else, frame it so it’s revealed that the rest of society is even worse.

“So much text, and we’ve arrived at the same old thing! This is all well-known.” Well, so what? Should I not talk about it? It’s easy to accuse these unfortunate people—and yes, I say they are unfortunate—but are we ourselves clean? I’ve already said, and I hope you agree, that this type is entirely systemic, and the processes that led to it are now utterly fundamental, society-shaping.

“So you’re blaming the environment?” No! If the environment is solely to blame (or its absence in shaping and upbringing), then there can be no guilt. But guilt exists, and understanding doesn’t mean excusing.

> I only timidly dare to declare that evil should still be called evil, no matter the humanity, and not exalted almost to the level of heroism.

> _A Writer’s Diary, 1867. May. IV Mr. Defender and Kairova; Fyodor Dostoevsky_

And yet, they do exalt it! They justify murders, rejoice, even celebrate.

“What, is the author trying to convince me to become a monk and meekly accept and forgive everyone as they are, no matter how vile?” What is this—I can’t make a single concrete statement without endless misunderstandings and counter-accusations flashing before my eyes.

No! Please, dear reader, look into yourself, try to see this very false shame and baseness, and help yourself. Help whomever you can, help those dear to you.

Because in the end, all this baseness arises in a healthy person to compensate for the absence of universal human love. And if you don’t reach out to people yourself, if you don’t learn to love them despite obstacles and difficulties, if you don’t face your own shame, then you’ll never be able to love people. “And if you can’t love, then demand it”—that’s what this baseness says! And here, no one walks away clean, because there’s no saint who’s never demanded love first. But who will give first if everyone’s demanding and everyone’s deprived, if everyone’s traumatized, if everyone’s afraid of their shame?