Two men went to Mass one Sunday.
One spent his time internally criticizing the songs, the sermon, and the liturgy.
The other allowed the songs, the sermon, and the liturgy to criticize him.
The first man wanted to tweet about his experience to show how discerning and wise he was. The second man reflected on what he had learned and resolved to do better.
Modern life is turning all of us into the first man. Everything is crowded with commentary and opinion.
A recent report says fewer and fewer young people are reading for pleasure. Here’s what I fear. Some genius is going to create a way to crowd-source reading to draw in young people. To make it social. So now, as Frodo is trying to make it to Rivendell, the peanut gallery will be chiming in with comments in the margin:
“Why didn’t Gandalf send an eagle to take Frodo to Rivendell?”
We can’t seem to enter into an experience without pre-, mid-, and post-event commentary. The author, the speaker, and the comedian is drowned out by live tweeting and hot takes.
To enjoy Tolkien (just as an example), you have to allow him to create the universe. You have to subdue your own opinions for a while and allow yourself to be guided. There’s a kind of humility required in enjoying a good book.
Instead, social media has made us all armchair quarterbacks. We’re the obnoxious guy who has to correct every play call, every on-field decision, every coach’s choice.
How much commentary on social media comes from people who haven’t even read the article or watched the video? But their ill-informed, snarky reply “goes viral,” which is the grand prize in this contest of stupidity.
Given all this, what do we do?
Here are some ideas:
- Learn to experience an event for what it is, without any thought of criticizing it or providing commentary.
- Dismiss the notion that “going viral” or any similar measure of crowd-sourced approval has real significance.
Snark gets approval. The clever misuse of a word or concept gets claps and cheers. So what? - Where it’s in your power to do so, reward thoughtfulness over knee-jerk reaction.
- Resist this trend toward the democratization of expertise.
Here’s an example.
I was taking a graduate theology class from a genuine scholar of Reformed theology. The classroom was set up in a circle, for a discussion, and we heard more from the peanut gallery than we heard from the guy who actually knew what he was talking about.
It was a waste of my hard-earned tuition money.
The tyranny of the peanut gallery does not merely make us more critical. It makes us less teachable. It trains us to evaluate before we understand, to react before we reflect, and to make “wisdom” into a performative act.
The result is a culture full of critics and increasingly short on students.
One man judged the experience. The other allowed the experience to judge him. I want to be the second guy.
