Act Versus Actor

A lesson I learned several years ago is to separate the act from the actor. When someone acts—the impact being either good or bad—I have come to believe that it's crucial to focus on that action, not the actor. An action is a temporary thing; it occurs and then is gone. Actors can stick around.

What this means to me is, if someone commits an act that is problematic for me, it's better for me to focus on that act. If the act is harmful, I can oppose or condemn it, without condemning the actor. I can see the act as wrong and direct my attention toward responding to it.

If, however, I put my focus on the person who committed the spiteful act, it's easy to label him a bad person. Labels stick. Maybe that person was confused and upset when he did that “dastardly” deed. If I label him as defective or wicked, I fix him in my mind as someone who is irredeemable; a “bad guy,” who must be dealt with harshly. The danger is that I do not allow him to change his ways and become a “good guy.” This negative labeling of certain people leads to divisions and wars. It leads to our unforgiving prison system.

By focusing on the act, however, I can avoid stigmatizing offenders and give them space to reform, or for me to develop some compassion for them. This makes forgiveness a far easier thing to do, because it allows people to change.

There's another side—a flip side—to this coin: when someone acts in a good way or a moral way, I think it's still better to focus on the action, rather than the actor, and be thankful for it. Just as we tend to condemn bad actors and conclude they are defective individuals, we elevate those who do good things; and by so doing, we turn them into demigods. Rather than celebrate what they did, we tend to honor their person; we put them on a pedestal, as if they were superior to us normal human beings. We lose sight of the fact that they are just another person who has done something special.

This kind of hero worship can be as insidious as the denunciation of someone who commits a harmful act, because we transform the good actor into someone better than most people. We lose sight of the fact that we should be honoring the act, not the person. We thus feed their ego and transform them into some kind of icon. What's worse, if they don't keep performing good deeds, we often become vindictive and vicious towards them.

I think it's more positive and productive to put attention to the act, rather than the actor. Acts come and go. Acts can be mistakes or graceful behavior. Either oppose them or honor them. Then allow the actor to be just another normal human being who happened—in this one instance—to do something either reprehensible or wonderful. Don't make them into either a scoundrel or a god.

Forget to Forgive?

An Oxford University professor of internet studies had an article in the Washington Post on 11/25/12 titled “Can We Forgive if We Can’t Forget?” Viktor Mayer-Schönberger makes the point that we tend to forgive each other for our transgressions when we—over time—gradually forget what the other person said or did to us. Our memories fade away in time, unless we specifically and repeatedly bring them back up and lock them in, or if some kind of external record exists, such as a written account.

It’s necessary for us to forget many things that happen to us, otherwise our minds would become overloaded with details that get in the way of our dealing effectively with the present. So the loss of some things from memory is important for a healthy life.

Mayer-Schönberger is concerned that our digital social tools—emails, Facebook, tweets—can be a problem, because they do not allow us to forget transgressions that occur between us and friends or loved ones. They become part of the cloud’s permanent record.

For example, a snide comment that Fred made to you in an email—something you’d otherwise let go of in time—gets indefinitely preserved and reminds you of it, every time you open Fred’s email (when you may simply be looking for his address). These hurts do not fade away, as they could if Fred had said that directly to you, with nothing permanently recording his unkind comment. As another example, you fired off a smart-ass tweet to Sally last year. You wish you’d not been so quick to do that. You’d just as soon she forget it, but both you and she know that the nasty comment is frozen in time in the digital world.

I feel that Mayer-Schönberger has some good points. He recommends that we find a way to let old emails and Facebook comments slowly fade away over time. That could help. But I also think that he’s focusing on dealing with what to do, after you’ve opened the barn door and the transgressive horse has already escaped. It strikes me that we could better deal with the problem by keeping the damned door shut in the first place. That is, keep our mouth shut… or more appropriately to the subject, keep our vengeful fingers off the keyboard until we cool down.

Where we once talked to each other face-to-face or over the phone, we now hastily fire off emails and tweets. It only takes a few seconds and, hey, aren’t we all too busy to pause and allow ourselves a moment in which to reconsider our actions? Aren’t we all in a rush to complete three other things we’re also attempting to do simultaneously? So we dump down a fast rejoinder and hit the “Send” button.

At the least, the one who opens our message may be confused at what we meant, or more likely, hurt. Our sloppiness, our transgression, is now history. It’s permanently stored in the ether. The problem is not the inability to forget the offense—it’s our lack of control, consideration, and attention in the first place. Our uncouth, shoot-from-the-hip, rash response is now a permanent part of the cloud… waiting to keep reminding the other person, every time she opens that page on her computer.