“Those who have swords and know how to use them, but keep them sheathed, will inherit the world.” ― Jordan Peterson
Avatar Aang’s destiny is to face off with the evil Fire Lord Ozai and restore balance to the world in Avatar: The Last Airbender. Every generation, a figure is born into the world who can command all of the elements: Fire, Earth, Water, and Air. This person, the Avatar, can do it all, whereas the everyday people from each nation can only wield their one native element.
The Fire Nation, in keeping with fire’s symbolic reputation for passion, anger, and assertiveness, is a domineering force in the world, swallowing up territory and waging war on the other elemental kingdoms.
Everything is falling out of balance. Aang’s problem is that he is not only very young, but an Airbender monk and a pacifist at heart. He will fight, but he does not seek to kill or do lasting harm to his opponents. Aang’s Airbending arts are all about putting distance between himself and an enemy, using the air between them to redirect and deter their attacks.
Aang is not confrontational, and yet he is somehow supposed to subdue an imperialist warlord. Not great timing for the Avatar to be born as an Airbender. Jesus of Nazareth could relate. All of Judeah at his time was under Roman occupation, and when people cried out for a Messiah, they had long believed it would be a warrior riding in on horseback to lead a revolution. Instead, they got a man of peace.
The world really needed just about anyone else but Aang. It needed a fighter.
At some point in your life, you’ve been thought of as a pushover or someone’s doormat. Maybe it was a hurtful parent, an abuser masquerading as a friend or mentor, a boss, or a romantic partner. We love people and want to do right by them, so we take the abuse and rationalize it.
Again and again, we’re rolled over, and in time, we become masters of conflict avoidance.
“If I don’t do this, they won’t come at me.”
“I could be more accommodating.”
“It must have been something I said.”
You’ll hear a lot from the world’s HR managers and educators about the importance of empathy as well as the best tactics for conflict resolution, and there is a time and place for those things, but is anyone telling you when to fight? Because there most certainly is.
The Book of Ecclesiastes, attributed to King Solomon of Israel and Judah, says in short:
There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
Most people begrudgingly respect committed pacifists for their discipline and assuredness in opposition to violence, just like we admire the men and women who don’t lose their cool and verbally smack down their partners with regularity.
But then there are the people who either don’t know how to stand up for themselves or don’t think they have any right to ever fight back.
We’ve all known someone like this.
The husband, whose wife dresses him down daily for the world to see.
The wife, who endures endless condescension from her husband and is dismissed at every turn.
The colleague who daily endures criticism from a coach or supervisor, driven by a “small man” complex and desperately seeking someone to torment, so they feel less small at the end of the day.
These moments of fight or flight aren’t always on the battlefield. Unlike Aang, most of us won’t be expected to save the world. We make much smaller choices of consequence in our homes and friendships.
Is today the day I raise my voice?
In The Fellowship of the Ring film, the first installment of The Lord of the Rings trilogy, Bilbo Baggins has entered a state of near-drunkenness from holding onto the “Ring of Power”.
It’s unclear whether the elder Hobbit possesses the ring or if it's the other way around.
The wizard Gandalf isn’t sure. As he tries to assuage Bilbo to part with the ring, even just for a few moments, Bilbo spirals into a rage, stalking about his home, snarling, and his eyes are wild. He won’t let the ring go.
“You want it for yourself!” Bilbo practically spits out at his friend.
Gandalf has seen enough. Using a bit of magic and his already commanding presence, Gandalf lurches forward and towers over Bilbo with a thundering voice.
Gandalf roars, “Bilbo Baggins! Do not take me for some conjurer of cheap tricks! I am not trying to rob you,” before softening his tone and posture, “I’m trying to help you.”
That was enough to bring Bilbo to his senses. Gandalf didn’t club the Hobbit over the head or yell in an extended monologue at his friend. He rose, he shouted, and stood back to see how it landed.
Bilbo rushed into the wizard’s arms for comfort, full of regret.
There is a time and place for yelling, just as with anger, violence, and mercy. A time for all things under the heavens. The trick for the human being is knowing what time it is and acting accordingly.
We stay in the relationship too long.
The job gets even more toxic and demoralizing.
Your children or loved ones learn that you’re overly accommodating and begin to take advantage.
It has to stop, and you’re the only one who can do it.
There is no wizard coming to do it for you, but that’s why we read and watch movies. They show us how.