On Rewinding a Video, Helen of Troy, and Being Kind

Be Kind, Rewind 

If you are a certain age (old), then you recall “videos” . . . which for the younglings or those of us old enough to be forgetful were a physical medium that could store and play a single film (unless it was long and so the film came on multiple cassettes). In addition to the film inside the case frequently getting chewed up inside the monstrous Video Cassette Recorder, videos needed to be rewound after watching the film. At least on any machine we ever owned, this was a lengthy process and one of life’s small irritations was getting ready for “movie night” with the dinner hot, the Diet Coke cold, and discovering the last person had not rewound the film. Worse still was reaching a climatic moment in a film, only to have to change cassettes (this never happened at sensible breaks in action) and finding that some barbarous, entertainment narcissist had not rewound the film. By the time the second cassette rewound, a person might have forgotten the movie and family members would have drifted to other rooms.

Since you could also “rent” these movies from “video stores,” you often discovered that someone had NOT REWOUND any of the films. Our aging VCR, made weak through rewinding too many Disney Sing-Along videos, would grind along. This was bad enough that our local store started putting stickers on the cassettes saying: Be Kind, Rewind.

I saw this often enough, BE KIND, REWIND, that being kind became associated in my mind with the kind of man who always rewound the tapes before sending them on to others. In fact, as I reflected on this, an occupational hazard of philosophy is that one reflects on any strong message, even silly ones, I realized that kindness is well defined by this small sort of act: caring enough about the next movie watcher to take some of your time to rewind.

Kindness is a form of love, a social charity that honors a person . . . even the unknown viewer of the rental who may not be all that worthy. Kindness is the charity that one can give even to an enemy. Such thinking has led me, over time, to think being kind is underrated. If we say of a man, “he is kind,” we do not think we are saying so much, but we are, especially if the man is powerful and need not be kind at all. The man who rewinds when nobody could make him do so has a decent sort of soul, a small sign pointing to good character.

Of course, greater literature than video store stickers makes this point much more powerfully: kindness counts.

Hector was Kind, Even to Helen

The Iliad is unsparing in the description of the man and woman who brought doom to Troy: Paris and Helen. They were both hateful, self-centered, with a reckless disregard for the laws of civilization. While others worked, they played: the first image of a decadent elite bringing destruction on the city of Troy. And yet they were also human and the evils they did were hapless. Both of the pair had enough sense of self to know they were no good.

Of the two, Helen deserves a moment’s pity. She has a super power she did not request or earn, divine beauty and charm, and this was very dangerous to a human woman in ancient times. Helen was no Penelope, beautiful and virtuous, but she was not just her narcissism. People are almost always more complicated than that. Few are Hitler, moral monsters so terrible that we should say nothing good about them.

Helen was bad, but not all bad. Most bad people (Lord have mercy on me a sinner!) are like Helen and kindness is appropriate even when we must reject their lifestyle or choices. Helen chose badly, but Hector, who would not compromise with her, was kind to her. How do we know? When Hector died, Helen pointed out his gentleness:

Then third among the women, Helen led the lament: “Hector, far dearest to my heart of all my husband’s brothers; too true, my husband is Alexandros of godlike beauty, who led me to Troy; would that I had died before; for this is now the twentieth year for me since I set out from there and forsook my fatherland, but never yet did I hear a harsh or abusive word from you, but if someone else would revile me in these halls, one of my husband’s brothers, or his sisters, or one of my fine-robed sisters-in-law, or my husband’s mother—but my husband’s father was like a kind father always—770 you with soothing words would restrain them with your gentle nature and kind speech. Therefore I weep, grieving at heart, for you and for me, ill-fated, together; for no longer is there anyone else in broad Troy to be kind or friend to me, but all shudder at me.”*

This is the most human speech Helen gives. She is not here the face that launched a thousand ships and the cold hearted person who would see Ilium burn and yet manage to escape without punishment or accountability. When we see her again in Homer (Odyssey), she is back in Sparta acting as a happy and dutiful queen, wife, and mother.

Hector set Helen up for this hopeful future by his kindness. She came, the Greeks conquered, but she became better than she was. I think Hector made this possible by his willingness to see more in her than the obvious. He was kind without compromise: he loathed her choice, but was kind to her.

We should do the same. To rewind what is, to what could have been, is a great gift to those who will watch the human comedy in the future.

—————————————————-

Homer, Iliad. Book XXIV. The brilliant must-use translation by Caroline Alexander.