There are these moments of realization.
Some come swiftly: Sitting in your hermitage above Mendocino, staring at the Pacific arc, vision folds in upon itself and reveals that you have finally reached the starting gate.
Some come slowly: As you work through your daily routine, minding the store in meticulous detail, the list of things awry becomes a bit too lengthy. The resistance has a fierce tenacity. You breathe a resigned sigh. Of course this is where it’s going.
The identification of a pathogen hinges upon perspective.
I reviewed my notes. I recalled conversations. I added 2 and two. I checked the temperature and barometric pressure. I realized that my workplace was in complete opposition to my personal momentum. I needed to move in a direction that was harmonious with my own integrity. I needed to present myself as working in full concert with my beliefs—especially since I share those beliefs with others. And especially since I really truly fervently believe my beliefs.
I have a view of the world that I wish to inhabit. It is idealistic, it is realistic in small proportions only. I don’t expect the world to ever be what I want it to be. But this is a far remove from supporting a pathogen which is working against my own view.
I did truly come to view my employer’s institution as a pathogen, a causer of disease. From the support of industrial agriculture and therefore industrial toxicity at every level of food production, to the endorsement—implicit and explicit—of unfair labor practices to the absence of commitment to a better way of doing all things, they are indeed a pathogen, empowering other pathogens, in cultivating a sick world.
However, there is another perspective.
I was the pathogen, threatening the health of their institution. And they would take the necessary measures to limit the damage I could do within their system.
It was a slowly developing realization, but the moment of clarity was crystalline. Pathogen that I was, I needed to prolong my stay, to end the possibility of two-way harm, to maintain my functionality while preparing for my own (self-induced) expulsion.
Summon the deus ex machina, garbed not as Euripides might have him, but as a simple gentleman baker. Nietzsche may sneer, but only from jealousy.