The Epiphany of Jonny the Jerk

Jonny was a bright little boy who worked hard and always tried to do the right thing.

His parents told him to always tell the truth and that’s just what he did.

His teacher told him to make up is own mind and that’s just what he did.

Pop stars told him to speak truth to power and that’s just what he did.

His professors told him to base his ideas on facts and evidence, and that’s just what he did.

But things never worked out the way they were supposed to.

Jonny always tried to tell the truth, but when he did that people got mad at him.

Jonny always made up his own mind, but when he did that people called him nasty names.

Jonny always made sure to speak truth to power, but when he did that people said he was privileged.

Jonny always based his ideas on facts and evidence, but when he did that people told him he was perpetuating outdated narratives rooted in systemic oppression of people of virtue.

Jonny felt sad.

And, as Jonny grew up, he got sadder and sadder and sadder.

He flunked out of college.

No-one invited him to parties.

He lost his job, then another one, then another one.

Women greeted his advances with roughly the same countenance one might expect to produce upon encountering a puddle of warm sick.

Jonny was a sad man indeed.

One day, Jonny felt so sad that he dropped everything and just walked as far he could. He walked and he walked until he had no idea where he was and then he walked some more.

Finally, Jonny found himself at the top of a tall mountain.

And at the top of the mountain sat an wise old man, whose white beard seemed to melt naturally in the mountain’s rock.

“Are you God?”, Jonny stuttered.

“Obviously not”, the wise old man said with a half a smile, “but I am very wise and old, so if you have a question, now’s the time”.

“Well,” said Jonny, “can you explain me this? Everyone tells me not to tell the truth and to make up my own mind and to speak truth to power and to back up my ideas with facts and evidence, but when I do that they hate me for it.”

“I can explain, Jonny”, the old man said, now with perhaps a third of a smile. “I can explain, but are you sure you want to know, Jonny?”

“Oh yes,” Jonny replied, “more than anything!”

“Okey dokey then” said the old man, his face now entirely grave. “I will tell you Jonny. It’s because you’re a jerk”.

Jonny was stunned. “What do you mean?” he blurted out.

“You heard me,” said the old man, “you’re a jerk. Everyone else says the right things, but Jonny just has to mess it all up by showing how stupid and nonsensical they are. What makes you so special?”

“But everyone tells me to tell the truth and make up my own mind and speak truth to power and back up my ideas with facts and evidence”, Jonny replied.

“Obviously, you’re not supposed to actually do it.”

“But if they want me to just repeat the same thing as everyone else, why not just say so?”

“Because, Jonny, telling people to tell the truth and think for themselves is one of the things you’re supposed to repeat, which would be obvious to you already if you were less of a jerk.”

Jimmy stood there, dumbfounded. He felt that a great fog had lifted, but instead of light he saw only endless darkness.

“Look,” the old man finally interjected, “it’s time to wrap things up”.

“But, but, b….”, Jonny trailed off. He had so much to ask, but he didn’t know where to start.

The old man tossed him a book. It said Elementi di scienza politica and it was by Gaetano Moscana.

“But I don’t understand Italian,” Jonny said.

“That’s fine,” the old man said, “it’s in translation. I really have to get going now. This epiphany has taken way longer than usual.”

Jonny started to read.

*Warning: Boring bit. The political theory of Gaetano Mosca*

Mosca demonstrates that every society that has ever has existed has been divided between a governing class and everyone else, as will every society that will ever exist, or could conceivably exist.

This being so, every society requires a political formula, which justifies the governing class’s position. The function of a political formula is to make people feel subjectively virtuous by performing actions that objectively support the continued rule of the governing class.

There has never been a political formula that was ‘true’ in the sense of corresponding to reality, and few have even risen to the level of being internally coherent. Being angry about the fact that your society has a political formula that consists of untrue statements that make no sense is like being angry that people respire. Even if you could somehow overthrow society and impose your own political order, you’d still need a political formula of some sort. Given the record of recent history, you should count yourself lucky that whatever society you are born into doesn’t have a political formula that mandates the extermination of entire classes of people.

Jonny breathed deeply. Everything finally made sense.

Then Jonny woke up. It had all been a dream and not even a especially veridical one. Obviously, you can’t just walk up to the top of a mountain, and what would an old white man have to say that was interesting anyway? But from this day forward, Jonny resolved to be a jerk no more.

Jonny went back to college and wowed his professors with his fresh and insightful essays.

Jonny was the toast of society with his passionate allyship.

Jonny impressed women with his commitment to justice and being good.

Most importantly, Jonny now smiles.*

*(And he’s available to run corporate workshops on how to be more active at being righteous. Book now, though, because business is booming.)