Last night I took part in a kind of twitter discussion with a guy I have never met. I was advising him on the perils of being judgmental. I told him:
‘being judgmental does not honor any aspect of human decency. As to be virtuous enough to judge everyone else you must be blind to your own flaws as a human being.’
I look back on my comments with a modicum of pride that I was able to articulate my thoughts so well. However having a day to reflect upon them I realise now that in one statement I have massively contradicted myself and exposed myself as a stinking hypocrite. It is not that I do not believe in what I have left. I do believe it. I think it is an absolutely vital moral concept. What troubles me is the fact that I stand at a crossroads in my life and this very statement is at odds with myself.
In the past year and a bit I have done my level best to come to terms with myself. I have accepted that I am either a writer or a child trapped in a mans body. Whichever I am I decided to give myself a year to find out, and that year is nearly up. Conceptually being a writer does not meld well with my above statement. Supposedly a writer should be an acute observer of the world. He should make judgments of those around him in order to create a story which resonates with other humans. If the prior statement is true and the above statement too, then a writer is morally bereft of human decency. Especially one with a readership of zero and a category entitled people studies.
I confess. I am a hypocrite. However I deny that I am a liar. I believe what I said. I am just not able to live by it. Therefore the only question which remains is whether it’s better to be an honest hypocrite or a dishonest liar? Who am I to judge?
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