(Apologies to the cartoonist and the site on which I found this cartoon. I downloaded it several days ago and now can no longer remember where it came from,)
Judge not, that you may not be judged. For with what judgment you judge, you shall be judged: and with what measure you mete, it shall be measured to you again. And why seest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye; and seest not the beam that is in thy own eye? Matthew 7:1-3
Ah, yes, the self-righteous.
Judge not, that you may not be judged. For with what judgment you judge, you shall be judged: and with what measure you mete, it shall be measured to you again. And why seest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye; and seest not the beam that is in thy own eye? Matthew 7:1-3
Ah, yes, the self-righteous.
Here’s a guy calling for gun control who doesn’t know the difference between a shotgun and a .22 rifle. His companion doesn’t know a thing about shooting statistics, but is willing to decry millions of gun owners as Nazis. Over there is a woman who makes a point of telling her dinner companions at the café that she’s a vegan. At the YMCA another woman throws scornful glances at the obese man working out beside her. Next up is the politician who flies by private jet to lecture audiences about global warming. Then there is the Christian who plays God, deciding who is going heaven or hell, or who weekly hears the priest’s homilies on mercy and forgiveness while hatred for another simmers in his chest.
Occasionally, if we are fortunate, life can make plain the beam in our own eye.
That beam can become apparent when we think highly of ourselves, and then royally screw up. The stool on which we have been standing above those we regard with sanctimonious contempt is ruthlessly kicked from beneath us, and we crash to the floor. We see our sins, the beam in our eye, and feel sick with the revelation of what we have done or failed to do.
With luck, we learn a hard lesson from the awful mess we’ve created: We learn to withhold judgment. As our flaws and wrongs become apparent to us, we realize we scarcely know our own hearts, much less the heart of a neighbor. We realize it is possible to judge actions, but not motives—not without a great deal more information. In this toughest of classrooms, we may even learn real tolerance, not to be confused with acceptance, and real compassion, not to be confused with the mawkish virtue signaling that takes place everywhere these days.
Let me give you a trivial example.
Two men are using the restroom at the public library. Both emerge from the stalls about the same time. One man washes his hand at the sink; the other goes straight to the door and departs. The man at the sink shakes his head, disgusted by the other’s failure to obey customary rules of hygiene.
Yet the man washing his hands knows absolutely nothing of the other man. Perhaps his doctor has told him that his itching fingers are the result of dry skin, and to avoid soap and water. Perhaps his daughter has died two weeks earlier, and as a result he’s a walking zombie, scarcely aware of where he is or what he is doing. Perhaps he is wondering how on his salary as a custodian he’s going to pay for his wife’s surgery for her cancer. Perhaps he simply forgot to wash his hands.
In his fine book 12 Rules For Life, Jordan Peterson urges his readers to take steps in understanding their fellow human beings. He writes, “Intolerance of others’ views (no matter how ignorant or incoherent they may be) is not simply wrong; in a world where there is no right or wrong, it is worse: it is a sign you are embarrassingly unsophisticated or, possibly, dangerous.” When we give way to self-righteousness, when we claim that we are floating above the common herd, when we condemn without giving an ear to all sides of an argument, we do, as Peterson claims, embarrass ourselves.
Echoing the thought expressed by Christ in Matthew, Peterson also offers as one of his 12 Rules this admonition: “Set your own house in perfect order before you criticize the world.” I doubt whether I will ever be capable of setting my house in “perfect” order, but I can try harder not to blame others for my misfortunes, and I know for damn sure most of us could do with some of the humility Jordan advocates.
As some of you can see, an irony is at work in this short essay. I am condemning the self-righteous, perhaps self-righteously.
Maybe.
But so did the Teacher who spoke of motes and beams.
Occasionally, if we are fortunate, life can make plain the beam in our own eye.
That beam can become apparent when we think highly of ourselves, and then royally screw up. The stool on which we have been standing above those we regard with sanctimonious contempt is ruthlessly kicked from beneath us, and we crash to the floor. We see our sins, the beam in our eye, and feel sick with the revelation of what we have done or failed to do.
With luck, we learn a hard lesson from the awful mess we’ve created: We learn to withhold judgment. As our flaws and wrongs become apparent to us, we realize we scarcely know our own hearts, much less the heart of a neighbor. We realize it is possible to judge actions, but not motives—not without a great deal more information. In this toughest of classrooms, we may even learn real tolerance, not to be confused with acceptance, and real compassion, not to be confused with the mawkish virtue signaling that takes place everywhere these days.
Let me give you a trivial example.
Two men are using the restroom at the public library. Both emerge from the stalls about the same time. One man washes his hand at the sink; the other goes straight to the door and departs. The man at the sink shakes his head, disgusted by the other’s failure to obey customary rules of hygiene.
Yet the man washing his hands knows absolutely nothing of the other man. Perhaps his doctor has told him that his itching fingers are the result of dry skin, and to avoid soap and water. Perhaps his daughter has died two weeks earlier, and as a result he’s a walking zombie, scarcely aware of where he is or what he is doing. Perhaps he is wondering how on his salary as a custodian he’s going to pay for his wife’s surgery for her cancer. Perhaps he simply forgot to wash his hands.
In his fine book 12 Rules For Life, Jordan Peterson urges his readers to take steps in understanding their fellow human beings. He writes, “Intolerance of others’ views (no matter how ignorant or incoherent they may be) is not simply wrong; in a world where there is no right or wrong, it is worse: it is a sign you are embarrassingly unsophisticated or, possibly, dangerous.” When we give way to self-righteousness, when we claim that we are floating above the common herd, when we condemn without giving an ear to all sides of an argument, we do, as Peterson claims, embarrass ourselves.
Echoing the thought expressed by Christ in Matthew, Peterson also offers as one of his 12 Rules this admonition: “Set your own house in perfect order before you criticize the world.” I doubt whether I will ever be capable of setting my house in “perfect” order, but I can try harder not to blame others for my misfortunes, and I know for damn sure most of us could do with some of the humility Jordan advocates.
As some of you can see, an irony is at work in this short essay. I am condemning the self-righteous, perhaps self-righteously.
Maybe.
But so did the Teacher who spoke of motes and beams.
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