musingsonwomenshealth.com

Reflections on 40 years as a doctor in Women's Health

Beware of jealousy: it is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on


So, is the Evil Eye back, or has it always been there, albeit renamed and disguised? I mean sometimes a person may have a way of looking at me that is positively frightening or menacing, but is that what is meant by an Evil Eye? If I am unsure why they are staring, I can stare back to meet the challenge -or more likely at my age, simply smile and walk away if I don’t think I have done anything wrong. But would it be as easy to escape an Evil Eye?

I have a feeling that I may be misinterpreting a penetrating gaze as an Evil Eye though, whether for me, or the situation in which I find myself. Should I be more discriminating? Not all uncomfortable gazes are Evil; in fact I rather suspect that some of them are merely jealous stares. Envious stares…

As is my wont, I wander through essays like a cow in a grassy field only nibbling at the more appetizing titles. Like, for example The Evil eye is irrational. Abandon at your peril.[i] I had a hunch that it might be interesting for an old man like me who had largely eschewed superstition all his life. Well, except perhaps not walking under ladders with people slopping paint on the walls above, or maybe relying too heavily on Duchenne smile lines as indicators that I could trust their owners.

The article made the point that the Evil Eye is a sign of envy and is devoid of reassuring Duchennes. It ‘emerges whenever someone looks at another person with resentment and jealousy, even unintentionally. Bad luck then follows, targeting things of value: wealth, health, good jobs and happy marriages’. Fortunately though, I am happily retired, and have nothing that would not be waste of eyes: my marriage disappeared years ago…

Apparently though, malevolent eyes have been around for ever if you keep a lookout for them. ‘Texts written on clay tablets around 5,000 years ago show that the Sumerians believed the evil eye was a destructive power capable of destroying harvests, depleting wealth and causing illness. It could be cast by animals, gods and people – even by accident.’ I’m a bit clumsy at my age so I worry about the ‘even by accident’ part. Socrates cautioned against loud praise in case an evil eye undermined his arguments. Apart from booing disappointedly for an opponent’s goal in a soccer game on YouTube, I don’t think I’d could sabotage very much though… And anyway, as far as I can tell, I have never successfully evil-eyed a goalie on the other team.

Still, superstitions relieve our anxiety in the face of uncontrollable events: at least we’re doing something about them, eh? Counteracting the Eye forms a bit of a social bond in those situations: evil-eye rituals protect those once seen as most vulnerable: pregnant women, children and newborns. They identify what society holds the dearest.

And let’s face it, these rituals, these amulets and these anti-Eye things, form an important part of what makes cultural beliefs special. The Evil Eye was a grist for philosophers like Sartre who felt that the ‘the look’ (‘le regard’), transforms us from free agents into visible objects; Michel Foucault felt that societies weaponize the power discrepancy between those who are looked at and those who simply look, such as psychiatrists and guards in prisons. And let’s face it, being watched raises all sorts of tensions propelled by gender, class and ideology. So, could that be the reason over the millennia that the eyes seem to possess special powers…?

I’ve been wondering about eyes lately, and similar to Sartre, I sometimes feel them examining me, long before I can find them in a crowd. And although I doubt that their owners mean to harm me, or simply find me temporarily interesting, I feel constrained somehow… robbed of my agency, my personal autonomy, by the very fact of being observed, and hence my actions judged.

It happened last week: I’m not sure why a lone elderly man like me quietly eating his bagel and sipping coffee in a crowded Food Court would possibly attract the attention of a stranger, but, the more I thought about it, the more I felt her eyes.

I tried not to stare back to single her out with my eyes; after all, one stare is a perhaps a mistake: all eyes wander in a crowd; and even twice could be a coincidence, although a sign of something more than interest: curiosity maybe; but what is three times? What was I doing that was so curious for them?

I began to self-consciously analyse my behaviour as I sat, the solitary resident on one island among many in the crowded room. Then, after a moment of introspection, I realized that I have long had a preference for picking small pieces of my bagel to eat as I lean over the table to read my book. I’d read somewhere that there is more satiety from food the more trips it makes to your mouth -I think Jean Piaget, the Swiss child development psychologist, might have come up with that idea. At any rate, it seems to work for me. But I do it quietly, discreetly; I neither encourage nor welcome stares, so hers was embarrassing…

I could feel her eyes pressing against my face, and I actually spilled a sip of coffee onto my lap as I tried unsuccessfully to ignore her. But it was like trying not to think of the curiosity of my reflection in the bathroom mirror staring at me as I toothpicked my teeth in front of it. The act of not thinking about it meant that I was thinking about not thinking about it… Her eyes were like that in the Food Court.

I buried my eyes for a moment in my book and managed to read a page in blissful absorption of the contents, but suddenly became aware that I was finally alone in the crowd again. Now, the eyes were not interrogating me from afar… She was walking past my table on the way to the garbage bin.

“My kids used to do that with their doughnuts,” she whispered as she hesitated briefly by my table. “It brought back so many memories,” she added. “I used to scold them about it, but now I wish I hadn’t.” She smiled wistfully and sent her eyes to land softly on my cheek as she walked away.

I felt strangely absolved; there are no Evil Eyes in a Food Court. Just curious ones, I think…

[i] https://psyche.co/ideas/the-evil-eye-is-irrational-abandon-it-at-your-peril

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