There is in my mind a standing opposition party which subsequently attacks everything I have done or decided, even after mature consideration, yet without its always being right on that account. It is, I suppose, only a corrective form of the spirit of investigation, but it often casts an unmerited slur on me.
—Schopenhauer, “Psychological Remarks,” Parerga and Paralipomena
Socrates claimed to have a daimonion whose advice prevented him from making bad decisions. I have a permanent opposition caucus who second-guess everything I think. They never propose a bill, never draft a budget. They only sit in the back benches, jeering. An executive decision made at breakfast becomes a motion of censure by lunch.
Every so often, they win. Recently they prevailed over my skepticism toward Emil Cioran, a writer whose bleak aphorisms had been recommended to me by several people whose taste I trust. I read him anyway, under the opposition’s urging, and found my suspicions confirmed: a few sharp lines, but too much dreary nihilism. I can imagine him calling a suicide hotline, only for the counselor to hang up, convinced, and start fashioning a noose. Do I regret listening to their counsel? I wouldn’t call it regret — just the faint annoyance of realizing that being right isn’t always satisfying. The opposition party chalked it up as a victory all the same.
Nonetheless, I refrain from having them imprisoned. Without their heckling, there’s a danger I’d take my own enthusiasms too seriously. And once in a while their victories do me good, even if they can’t resist crowing about them afterward. Still, if you know any daimonions looking for work…