“Honesty is the cruelest game of all, because not only can you hurt someone – and hurt them to the bone – you can feel self-righteous about it at the same time” ~ Dave Van Ronk
Introspective post warning. Continue at your own risk.
I do not have the respect for honesty that most people do, in a common, every-day sense. I believe there are times (many of them social niceties) where lying is not only a kindness, but a necessity. Measures of self-deception are called for in ourselves to deal with hard times and to come to terms with some of life’s complications. The same is often the case when helping others. It’s tricky, of course, as all nuanced aspects of life are. Knowing when you’re lying for someone else or when you’re lying for yourself; knowing when you’re lying for good intentions as opposed to simple convenience; knowing when your lies are a bridge and when they are a crutch — these are all concepts that can give us mental vertigo and some of us wrestle with them all our lives.
However, there are also times when wielding the “truth” is done recklessly — when facts and hyperbole are used to cloud a narrative rather than clarify it. This has always been a tightrope walk for journalism and writers of non-fiction. It’s one of the main reasons that integrity and reputation are so important when dealing with someone in the position of journalist. A reporter’s responsibility is to relay facts in context with as little editorial as possible. A critic’s job, in contrast, is to deliver an honest, well-defended opinion. Anything different is pandering either to subject matter or reader-base or one’s own ego.
If living in America has made anything brutally clear in the last decade, it’s that facts presented out of context or opinions delivered with a pandering agenda aren’t just distasteful, but also damaging. Championing such acts (whether out of ignorance or lulz) breeds a destructive sort of emotional vandalism that doesn’t wash away easy. The result is that honesty begins to have no distinction against pap and fact begins to have less importance than frenzy.
In the real world we see more and more the pushing of ridiculous narrative in effort to avoid hard work. We know that a 17 year old girl sending a topless photo of herself to her boyfriend on her iPhone isn’t distributing child porn. We know that a hippie grandmother growing pot in her basement to offset chemo nausea isn’t drug dealing. We know, but too often we allow our legal and political systems to further untruths in the name of convenience. It’s easy to catch a teenager and a hippie grandmother. The result is that resources which might have otherwise gone to finding and convicting actual producers of child porn or actual harmful drug distributors are squandered, and the individuals who pushed the agenda are free to push to ever more precarious edges. And those edges reach toward a place where justice has no meaning and can have no authority. The actual gray areas, which are crucial for us to explore that we may better understand the world and ourselves, disappear in order to establish a nursery school palette of primary colors to classify everything as simply as possible; giving us a paint by number ruberick that any idiot can follow. So we don’t have to go to the trouble to explain or, god forbid, think. So we can fall back on outrage when anything makes us uncomfortable and forget about all that tiresome critical thinking. It’s the thread that, once pulled, unravels the whole sweater.
The virtual world is just as tainted by this human game as the concrete-and-sky world. Humans, being the constant, import their vices along with their virtues. Sitting behind the mask of an avatar often lends the distance necessary to unburden ourselves and be truthful, but that same distance also gives us the length of rope with which to be truly vile and hang one another. And that vileness breeds itself, convinces itself it has both nobility and purpose.
Combating this invasive species of sophism isn’t just the responsibility for writers of important subject matter. In the beginning I felt that blogging about make believe clothes meant that I could take a pass on caring about hypocrites and liars. I wanted to just maintain my own standards and not engage because with attention-seeking glowworms, to address them is their own sort of victory. But as I’ve blogged virtual consumerism in Second Life and watched the community develop around it, my feelings have shifted. The silence and indifference of people who would maintain standards is just as destructive as those who prance around advocating drama for its own sake.
So I’ve decided a few things are non-negotiable. Honesty matters. Integrity matters. Ethics are not flexible. Even in the world of make-believe clothes. This is not to say that I won’t color outside the lines from time to time — I simply have to push myself to acknowledge when I do, if for no other reason than to demarcate the point where I crossed over and will cross back. No one can maintain an ideal all the time, but we can endeavor to know what the ideal is, to adhere to it when we can, and acknowledge (winking, smiling, crying or on our knees as the individual case may dictate) when we fall short.
I can do that. When all is said and done, it’s just not that hard.
Manifestos about who does and doesn’t belong in a place are meaningless. Venting without purpose is vanity. Building a reputation on unresearched, out-of-context facts, and outright lies you go back and edit out later is cheap. And every time a person that knows the difference makes excuses for or turns a blind, exhausted eye upon these practices, the good things, the fun things, and those elements of the world that are worth a good fight, disappear under a groupthink veil of mendacity.
Simple translation: sometimes you gotta clap to bring Tink back to life or the whole damn play just stalls.
I want to enjoy my SL. I want to still have fun writing about silly make-believe frippery. I want to offer honest, well-defended opinions about unnecessary things without wading through the circus that seems to have formed around the community. I don’t get to make the world and no amount of wishing will change that, but I can change how I interact with the world. In that sense the world really can be what I want to make of it.
The past few weeks have afforded me a painful, but valuable perspective and clarity:
1. But for a handful of people in the world, I don’t have to give a fig about what anyone else thinks;
2. Quality begets quality and good work will attract attention and readership for the right reasons;
3. The only real power we have to change what frustrates us is to refuse it entry into ourselves;
4. Approval and applause are meaningless.
I don’t know that this internal change will have any noticeable effect on my subject matter or writing style. I do know it already makes me feel a little more free and a little less heart-heavy.
That can only be a good thing.
