On Hitching One’s Wagon to a Star

 





I frequently listen to John Oliver on This Week Tonight.
He primarily tackles hypocrisies in American life … with an Englishman’s flair for language but with a bit more vulgarity than seems necessary. Nevertheless, he’s a personality under whose influence I voluntarily place myself occasionally. And given that, I am aware that I’m opening myself to having my values subtly shaped by the choices made by the writers of This Week Tonight.

I think we all (except for Jordan Peterson who is smarter than everyone else on all subjects) tend to “hitch our wagons to stars” whose modeling takes the place of independent, painful thinking. So tightly can people harness themselves to a human idol that no amount of evidence, no information can shake loose the traces. Donald Trump: need I say more? Well, OK, Tommy Douglas, Muhammed Ali, John Wayne, Martin Luther King, Lady Gaga, Menno Simons, Jordan Peterson, Billy Graham …

I will be forever wary of a speaker on a dais shouting out his/her/their “truths,” while a mass of humanity cheers. I’ve watched film of Adolph Hitler ranting to a sycophant mob in Munich, have walked through that very square and felt the eerie chill recalling words from the "star" of the day:"Wenn ich einmal wirklich an der Macht bin, dann wird die Vernichtung der Juden meine erste und  wichtigste Aufgabe sein." (When I come to power, I will make the extinction of the Jews my first and most important task.) I’ve seen enough videos of Trump rallies to see frightening similarities between the two phenomena. 

I hesitate to place megachurch services or rabid sports fandom into the same category, but something tells me to be cautious of both. To be the star to whom many hitch their wagons confers power, and power and adulation are like catnip to a, well, to a cat, of course. And what good are power and influence if they remain unexercised?

I don’t think it’s just a case of following someone who expresses forcefully what we think we believe. There has to be a psychological bonding that happens, that allows us to excuse excess in our “star” and bury it under the assurance that our “star” has made us one with many, which is what we longed for anyway. (This may be bullshit, please exercise your independent and thoughtful judgment.)

Granted, it’s not easy to separate what is false from what is arguably false-or-true and what is shown clearly to be true. Granted also, knowing which authority is genuinely a seeker of truth and which is manipulating opinion for a purpose is not easy when thinking in isolation. It’s why, for instance, I prefer my church to be small enough so leaders constantly display their true motives in the consistency of their lives, lived where everyone can see; where leaders and not-leaders routinely wrestle together with their doubts and certainties, their fears and assurances. Not that small churches are without vulnerability; community is not a guarantee against human conflict. It has potential, however, to prevent the perversion that so often comes with hitching one’s wagon to a wrong star and seeing a mob falling in behind.

As we all should, I hereby commit myself to thinking critically about whatever any opinion-shaper says. I will try hard not to confuse funny with right, or eloquence with truth, or popularity with proof, or attractiveness with virtue.  Even, yes, if it’s John Oliver to whom I’m listening, or Tommy Douglas, Muhammed Ali, John Wayne, Martin Luther King, Lady Gaga, Menno Simons, Jordan Peterson, Billy Graham …

P.S. Two ways of enticing a following, seems to me, are to vilify people who are not present, or be hilariously funny in exaggerating the foibles or bodily features of persons who likewise are not present. Learning the techniques of "stars" can save us the embarrassment that comes with the realization that we've been following and cheering on a leader who is himself/herself/themself lost. An emperor who has no clothes.   

 

 

 

 

              

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Please hand me that Screwdriver!

Do I dare eat a peach?

A Sunday morning reflection on Sunday mornings