So against the grain I serve to produce events and do what's irrational because I am commanded to. For all their indisputable intelligence, men take this farce as something serious, and that is their tragedy. They suffer, of course ... but then they live, they live a real life, not a fantastic one, for suffering is life. Without suffering what would be the pleasure of it? It would be transformed into an endless church service; it would be holy, but tedious (The Devil – Ivan’s Nightmare, Brothers Karamazov)
Donald Trump is Dostoevsky's Devil. Without distortion, impossible caricature, one-liner insults, and an absolute, unassailable confidence in remaking the truth, life would be a thumping bore. All of us would would like to insult, to ridicule, to stereotype in public precisely because we have been told to shut up, be considerate, compassionate, and respectful despite the fact that the world needs more ridicule not less.
Only the Left miss the point and still don’t get it. Trump supporters knew precisely whom they were electing – a braggadocio, a carny barker, an outrageous, oversized, magnificent blowhard. They love his political incorrectness and willingness to take on all comers – Pocahontas, Crooked Hillary, Crazy Bernie, and Sleepy Joe.
Each time Trump goes off-program and Borscht Belt at opponents’ expense, his supporters shout for more. They have been zipped, closeted, and shut up for decades by the censorious Left, so it is no wonder that they have delighted in the excesses of their man.
The story of Franchot Gunn, a man of infinite charm, seductiveness, and an irresistible wit who was neither a politician nor a vaudevillian, was as profoundly dismissive of tedium and the 'truth' as Donald Trump; and as such was the best and most telling example of the America's dalliance with deception. How hungry for it, desperate for it, needy for it we are! Gunn had none of Trump's outrageousness. He was small compared to The Big Man, much more modest in aspirations and crowd appeal; but in a way he was as much of Ivan's Devil as Donald Trump, perhaps even more. This is a tale of two Devils.
A good man does not lie. It is this intuition which brings lying so naturally within the domain of things categorically wrong. Yet many lies do little if any harm, and some lies do real good. How are we to account for this stringent judgment on lying, particularly in face of the possible trivial, if not positively beneficial, consequences of lying? (Right and Wrong, 1978)Robert Fullinwider summarizes Bok’s “Theory of Veracity”, a very strong moral presumption against lying:
What, she asks you, would it be like to live in a world in which truth-telling was not the common practice? In such a world, you could never trust anything you were told or anything you read. You would have to find out everything for yourself, first-hand. You would have to invest enormous amounts of your time to find out the simplest matters. In fact, you probably couldn't even find out the simplest matters: in a world without trust, you could never acquire the education you need to find out anything for yourself, since such an education depends upon your taking the word of what you read in your lesson books.
However, there are so many shades of lying (white lies, tales of fantasy, half-truths, minor deceptions) and so many compelling cases for benign lies (withholding a diagnosis of terminal cancer, “Mommy will be back soon”, or “The weather will probably clear”) that most people lie without even thinking twice about it. Yet, as Bok observes, such pervasive lying is corrosive, and ultimately destructive.
Franchot Gunn shared none of these concerns. For him like Dostoevsky’s Devil life was a carnival complete with mountebanks, carnies, bearded ladies, babies with two heads, and sideshows. People take life far too seriously says the Devil. In Bok’s world there would be no carnivals, circuses, tearful public apologies, or great novels. Everyone is deceptive and deliberately so. The fact that they get caught in their lies does nothing to alter the equation – lying is the rule, honesty a tedious ideal, and the conflict of the two the stuff of theatre. If people were as good as Bok hoped, we – as Ivan’s Devil suggests – would be bored to tears.
Despite his repeated and continually sexual indiscretions, his wife never had a clue. Or more correctly, suspended her disbelief at his stories because of his enchanting charm and simple, heartfelt expressions of love and consideration. His deception was so artful and so complete that she was the last to know about Franchot’s lovers and paramours.
Was any harm done? Not in his mind. His wife and colleagues were all adults with reason, sense, and will. The free market did not only apply to the buying and selling of products, but to stories, ideas, and character. There was no right or wrong in human commerce, just transaction; and deception was always been a part of it.
“Look at it this way”, Franchot explained. “The ends justify the means” He knew that in the marketplace of human nature he might one day meet his match and be snookered, taken for a ride, or hung out to dry. “Equal opportunity”, he smiled.
As far as anyone knows, Franchot Gunn was never taken in, seduced, or entrapped by anyone else’s silver tongue and charm. He was too good and too smart. The nice thing of it all was that no one wanted him to come a cropper. He had fooled so many people into thinking of him as the ideal lover, colleague, and friend that no one resented his successes or the ease with which he accomplished them. He was a modern hero.
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