Many of us, I suspect, take a secret pleasure in judging others.
The events in Ferguson, Missouri have certainly made me think so. Over the past several days I've watched closely the media's coverage of, and the public's response to, the shooting and protests in Ferguson. And I've come come to one conclusion: we've lost our minds. It seems then that there is only one thing left to do...
The events in Ferguson, Missouri have certainly made me think so. Over the past several days I've watched closely the media's coverage of, and the public's response to, the shooting and protests in Ferguson. And I've come come to one conclusion: we've lost our minds. It seems then that there is only one thing left to do...
Many of us, I suspect, take a secret pleasure in judging others.
We learn of a neighbor accused of drunk driving and immediately assume his guilt. A friend’s son is busted for drugs, and we can hardly wait to spread the news. We hear rumors of a housewife caught in adultery and phone other acquaintances to pin on the Scarlet A. Uncle Dexter’s son, the one we never liked, loses his job, and we conjecture he was fired for incompetency.
Some people attempt to conceal their delight in judgment by feigned compassion. One woman I know relates scandal in a sorrowful voice, nearly whispering as she tells others of some damning news about a friend so that they can all pray for the sinner. The mask doesn’t work: behind that downcast face and lugubrious tone lurks the immense pleasure of condemnation.
Smug self-vindication—“I always knew there was something wrong with him”—has lived in the human heart since the days of Cain and Able. Human beings have long enjoyed scandal and the opportunity it affords to jab an outraged finger at those on trial. In our fit of titillation, we usually take aim and blaze away at the suspect before we know the facts of the case or the evidence yet to come. And if we were honest about ourselves, we would admit that our finger-pointing and shrill accusations fill us with a dark joy, that some slinking creature in our soul takes pleasure in watching other people crash and burn. As Gore Vidal notably said, “It’s not enough to succeed. Others must fail.”
Not so long ago, we limited such revelry to our circle of people, family, friends, and neighbors, gossiping and shaking our heads over the conduct of others at a barbeque or the office water fountain. With the exception of calumny found in Hollywood fanzines, we were usually acquainted with the people we had in our crosshairs.
That circumstance has changed. Today’s technology has replaced those slings and arrows of malicious talk with machine guns and heavy artillery. What once provided grist for the mills of backyard gossips now goes viral, and we charge into judgment, eager to take shots at victims we don’t even know and to blast away at situations we don’t understand.
Look, for example, at the suicide of Robin Williams. Hundreds of people on the internet—bloggers, reporters, and various other commentators—offered their opinions as to why Williams killed himself. They did so without all the evidence—Williams, for example, was diagnosed with Parkinson’s, information that didn’t appear until a week after his death. More importantly, these scandalmongers sentenced a human soul to all manner of speculation without humility or mercy.
This past two weeks, this same frenzied impulse to shoot off our mouths has brought riot and near revolution to Ferguson, Missouri. When a white policeman shot a young black man to death, all hell broke loose in Ferguson and on the internet. Peaceful protests against police brutality gave way to Molotov cocktails and stores in flames, police appeared armed for full combat, there were cries of racial discrimination, and some bellowed for the policeman’s death or at the least, his trial for murder. After all, a white cop had killed a black man. What else could it be but racism?
Unfortunately for those screeching for “justice,” more evidence has emerged. (See link below)
Since the appearance of this witness, new information has further muddied the situation. Evidence appeared indicating that Mr. Brown belonged to a gang, did drugs, and composed rap music celebrating violence. On the day of his death, he had committed a robbery in a store and physically assaulted a store clerk. When stopped by a policeman, he resisted arrest, punched the policeman in the face, apparently tried to steal the officer’s sidearm, and then rushed at him again even though the officer had drawn his weapon and ordered Williams to stop.
But a white cop had gunned down a black man, and rational thought flew out the window. A few called for calm, and fewer wanted to wait for the evidence to be evaluated, but many—and to be fair to Ferguson, most of these criminals were outsiders—couldn’t wait to throw Molotov cocktails at the police, loot stores, and burn down neighborhoods. Many more jumped on their computers, blasting away with preconceived opinions from all directions.
Too many Americans today live in never-never land. Here I do not mean the island of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys. No—I mean that we live in a land where feelings and emotions count for more than thought, where we judge others off the cuff and by our prejudices. We turn Descartes inside out and declare, “I feel, therefore I am,” and evidence be damned.
Because of how we feel, we bring democracy into places like Afghanistan and Iraq. Never mind that the culture in those places won’t support a democratic system. Because of how we feel, we bend the law for people illegally entering our country. Never mind the billions this will cost the American taxpayer or the fact that is against the law. Because of how we feel, we immediately assume that a cop with white skin would shoot a man with black skin without provocation or reason. Never mind that a hundred other factors come into play in such a confrontation.
And because of our feelings and our new technology, we can now rabble-rouse crowds of thousands with our self-righteous condemnations and judgments.
Shooting our mouths off is easy.
Thinking is hard.
We learn of a neighbor accused of drunk driving and immediately assume his guilt. A friend’s son is busted for drugs, and we can hardly wait to spread the news. We hear rumors of a housewife caught in adultery and phone other acquaintances to pin on the Scarlet A. Uncle Dexter’s son, the one we never liked, loses his job, and we conjecture he was fired for incompetency.
Some people attempt to conceal their delight in judgment by feigned compassion. One woman I know relates scandal in a sorrowful voice, nearly whispering as she tells others of some damning news about a friend so that they can all pray for the sinner. The mask doesn’t work: behind that downcast face and lugubrious tone lurks the immense pleasure of condemnation.
Smug self-vindication—“I always knew there was something wrong with him”—has lived in the human heart since the days of Cain and Able. Human beings have long enjoyed scandal and the opportunity it affords to jab an outraged finger at those on trial. In our fit of titillation, we usually take aim and blaze away at the suspect before we know the facts of the case or the evidence yet to come. And if we were honest about ourselves, we would admit that our finger-pointing and shrill accusations fill us with a dark joy, that some slinking creature in our soul takes pleasure in watching other people crash and burn. As Gore Vidal notably said, “It’s not enough to succeed. Others must fail.”
Not so long ago, we limited such revelry to our circle of people, family, friends, and neighbors, gossiping and shaking our heads over the conduct of others at a barbeque or the office water fountain. With the exception of calumny found in Hollywood fanzines, we were usually acquainted with the people we had in our crosshairs.
That circumstance has changed. Today’s technology has replaced those slings and arrows of malicious talk with machine guns and heavy artillery. What once provided grist for the mills of backyard gossips now goes viral, and we charge into judgment, eager to take shots at victims we don’t even know and to blast away at situations we don’t understand.
Look, for example, at the suicide of Robin Williams. Hundreds of people on the internet—bloggers, reporters, and various other commentators—offered their opinions as to why Williams killed himself. They did so without all the evidence—Williams, for example, was diagnosed with Parkinson’s, information that didn’t appear until a week after his death. More importantly, these scandalmongers sentenced a human soul to all manner of speculation without humility or mercy.
This past two weeks, this same frenzied impulse to shoot off our mouths has brought riot and near revolution to Ferguson, Missouri. When a white policeman shot a young black man to death, all hell broke loose in Ferguson and on the internet. Peaceful protests against police brutality gave way to Molotov cocktails and stores in flames, police appeared armed for full combat, there were cries of racial discrimination, and some bellowed for the policeman’s death or at the least, his trial for murder. After all, a white cop had killed a black man. What else could it be but racism?
Unfortunately for those screeching for “justice,” more evidence has emerged. (See link below)
Since the appearance of this witness, new information has further muddied the situation. Evidence appeared indicating that Mr. Brown belonged to a gang, did drugs, and composed rap music celebrating violence. On the day of his death, he had committed a robbery in a store and physically assaulted a store clerk. When stopped by a policeman, he resisted arrest, punched the policeman in the face, apparently tried to steal the officer’s sidearm, and then rushed at him again even though the officer had drawn his weapon and ordered Williams to stop.
But a white cop had gunned down a black man, and rational thought flew out the window. A few called for calm, and fewer wanted to wait for the evidence to be evaluated, but many—and to be fair to Ferguson, most of these criminals were outsiders—couldn’t wait to throw Molotov cocktails at the police, loot stores, and burn down neighborhoods. Many more jumped on their computers, blasting away with preconceived opinions from all directions.
Too many Americans today live in never-never land. Here I do not mean the island of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys. No—I mean that we live in a land where feelings and emotions count for more than thought, where we judge others off the cuff and by our prejudices. We turn Descartes inside out and declare, “I feel, therefore I am,” and evidence be damned.
Because of how we feel, we bring democracy into places like Afghanistan and Iraq. Never mind that the culture in those places won’t support a democratic system. Because of how we feel, we bend the law for people illegally entering our country. Never mind the billions this will cost the American taxpayer or the fact that is against the law. Because of how we feel, we immediately assume that a cop with white skin would shoot a man with black skin without provocation or reason. Never mind that a hundred other factors come into play in such a confrontation.
And because of our feelings and our new technology, we can now rabble-rouse crowds of thousands with our self-righteous condemnations and judgments.
Shooting our mouths off is easy.
Thinking is hard.