The Madness Of Crowds: Or, Which Side Are You On?

Though some may cry "relativism," morality remains an intensely personal concept, far from any universal agreed-upon standards. And the construction of a personal morality isn't something that happens overnight. Just like any thoughtful human being, my political and philosophical beliefs are precious to me precisely because they were hard-won, concepts I grappled with over the course of years and continue to tinker with to this day. Just as somebody who has never lived anywhere but the town or region they were born in will never understand the difficulties and pleasures of the peripatetic lifestyle, so, too, do those who have never wavered in their beliefs often fail to understand why the world might best be viewed through a decidedly gray prism rather than a fixed black and white lens.

Gray shouldn't be considered a pejorative term - the central nervous system functions to a large extent thanks to gray matter. But certain strands of ideologues will steadfastly insist that to assign any issue or argument a gray hue is to toss reason aside and join the ranks of the savages. Interestingly enough, many of these same ideologues will tell you from time to time that they aren't interested in politics or philosophy, that they avoid the stuff precisely because they "know what they believe". The problem with such stances (there is more than one) is that it defies logic, claiming personal beliefs exist in some formaldehyde chamber using chemical compounds to neutralize the petty bickerings between national political parties - the notion that politics exist apart from our daily lives and only within the halls of government buildings and across radio bandwidths.

I long ago stopped apologizing for my political and moral beliefs, not because I think everybody should think the way I do or that anybody who does not is a demon, but because removing those beliefs from daily conversation seemed intellectually feeble and dishonest. These beliefs do not get trumpeted to the world via bumper stickers or megaphones, and I don't saunter into working-class bars to pick fights with patrons over why FOX News is on the flatscreen overhead. But I've managed to hold many civil conversations on a variety of topics that ordinarily epitomize the "I don't want to talk about politics" mindset, conversations that unfold calmly precisely because neither party felt the need to apologize for their beliefs while also never once stooped to hyperbole or accusation. In most cases, there was also rarely if ever an attempt to "convert" the other, a rather hopeless cause for any single conversation, even if points and counter-arguments remained lodged in both brains for some time afterwards.

Maybe only those of us who have undergone some type of gentle conversion process are able to easily transcend labels and mingle with opposing sides, if only because we can recall how self-sustaining our old beliefs and opinions really were. Political conversions also tend to unfold slowly - not baptisms in fire, but small incidents spilling over into one or two dark nights of the soul. No doubt, if my experiences with those taking issue with spouted opinions back in the formative years of high school had manifested itself through red-faced shouting matches, I might have proven less pliable. But the handful of incidents in which I clearly saw that my words or opinions had wounded, confounded, or disappointed others made their impact thanks to the calm manner in which the response unfolded - the look on a friend's face when I aped some line I'd heard about building a wall around Mexico, the gentle suggestion by an English teacher that I was probably a bit too smart to really agree with some stock phrase I tossed out, or the quiet hour-long discussion I had with an unfairly demonized religious instructor who took issue with a handful of thoughtless slurs I'd peppered a paper with simply to gain attention. In all three cases (there may have been more, but these three stick out), it was the absence of judgement and anger that forced me to confront why exactly I was saying the things I was saying, to question what reason, if any, such opinions were things I held dear. In nearly every case, the startling discovery was made that a large bulk of my political assumptions were at odds with my moral and philosophical beliefs - that I was lazily referencing what I heard at home without questioning whether they actually applied to my worldview. Things fell very rapidly into place once I squared my morality with my politics.

This very long stroll down memory lane is really just an excuse to step back and reflect upon how grateful I am to have undergone this type of conversion experience, because there are times when I wonder if specific causes I've allied myself with are hopeless, or wrong-headed, or pointless. When I read reports of the ongoing Occupy Wall Street movement, for example, I recoil at the documented evidence of police brutality, yet also shake my head at the sheer empty-headed cluelessness permeating a crowd that perfectly personifies the toothless utopian dreams of the politically unsophisticated. From the literally meaningless signs hoisted into the air (personal favorite - "Even If The World Were To End Tomorrow I'd Still Plant A Tree Today") to the confusion manifested in a crowd bringing Apple products to a protest against global capitalism, I understand the desire yet cannot get behind the political naivete. In the eyes of some, this makes me a traitor, a term that perfectly summarizes the conformist mindset of too many decent, driven people. But I've also incurred the wrath of activists before by telling them to leave their damn "Free Mumia" signs at home next time they come to protest an illegal war. 

All this wavering on the edges and sidelines, then, can lead to concerns about the very relativism I noted at the opening of this essay - the concern that seeing multiple sides to any issue is really just a spineless or lazy attempt to shrug off making hard decisions. But I easily recall the way it feels to bask in the pleasure of a black-and-white belief, the way endorphins rush through the body as one delivers a sermon choked with certainty much as if one had just devoured an entire block of chocolate. This is something only rarely remarked upon by those who wish to understand differences in moral reasoning - it feels good to be sure about something. And the more confounding the issue - the more perilous taking a stance may prove - the better it feels to cast doubt aside and embrace certainty. And so when I see or hear or read reports of audience behavior at recent political debates (behavior I'm highlighting below in an attempt to remind myself and anybody interested that clear moral differences exist between worldviews, in which the responses of the actual politicians being questioned have been removed because the crowd speaks ever so much more loudly than they could) - behavior that shocks and appalls many even if it warms the hearts of others, I don't marvel so much at what seems to me their cold-heartedness or absence of empathy or indeed possibly even their complete lack of humanity. I marvel instead at how easy it is to express disturbing or even unthinkable opinions as long as one has anonymity within a crowd who will back you up. That, too, feels good. Nobody ever said politics or morality was easy.

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1.  


September 7, 2011 


Brian Williams, moderator:


Governor Perry, a question about Texas. Your state has executed 234 death row inmates, more than any other governor in modern times. Have you -


Audience:


[applause, whistles]






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2.


September 12, 2011


Wolf Blitzer, moderator:


You're a physician, Ron Paul. You know something about this subject. Let me ask you this hypothetical question. A healthy, 30 year old young man has a good job, makes a good living, but decides, You know what? I'm not going to spend $200 or $300 a month for health insurance, because I'm healthy; I don't need it. But you know, something terrible happens; all of a sudden, he needs it. Who's going to pay for it, if he goes into a coma, for example? Who pays for it?


Ron Paul:


Well, in a society that you accept welfarism and socialism, he expects the government to take care of him.


Wolf Blitzer:


Well, what do you want?


Ron Paul:


What he should do is whatever he wants to do, and assume responsibility for himself. My advice to him would have a major medical policy, but not before -


Wolf Blitzer:


But he doesn't have that. He doesn't have it and he needs intensive care for six months. Who pays?


Ron Paul:


That's what freedom is all about: taking your own risks.


Audience:


[cheers, applause]


Ron Paul:


This whole idea that you have to prepare and take care of everybody -


Audience:


[applause]


Wolf Blitzer:


But Congressman, are you saying that society should let him die?


Audience Member :


Yeah!


Ron Paul:


No -


Audience Member:


Yeah!


Additional Audience Member:


Yes!


Audience:


[applause]






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3.


Sept. 22, 2011


Stephen Hill, soldier serving in Iraq:


In 2010, when I was deployed to Iraq, I had to lie about who I was, because I'm a gay soldier, and I didn't want to lose my job. My question is, under one of your presidencies, do you intend to circumvent the progress that's been made for gay and lesbian soldiers in the military?


Audience:


[several loud boos]