Boundless Webzine
We struggle with duplicity. Though we may grow so weary of phoniness that we make bold movements toward the genuine, we can also wrestle with its attractions. Those fake plants are just so convenient because we don't have to water them. In a print ad for jewelry, a topless woman has her arms crossed over her substantial breasts, highlighting the giant stones in her rings and necklace. The copy reads: "Who cares if they aren't real?" Sometimes we don't care. And we aren't sure how it "genuinely" matters.
At other times, we catch ourselves lying to our neighbors so they will think more of us or acting as if we know what we don't know so that we will look smarter. And we excuse it because everyone else does it. We're just spinning things positively, right? In a culture of narcissistic exaggeration, we are just trying to compete, to not fall behind. Then we hear a Still Small Voice reminding us of who we really are. We sigh and wonder would happen if people saw us truly. Thus convicted, we recognize a deep longing to be authentic — and we see our failure of courage.....
Authenticity requires an inside-out consistency. The most straightforward reading is: "Be who we say we are." We should not be hypocrites. We should not say we are "humbled by your praise" and then puff ourselves up like a mating prairie chicken. Another aspect of the "inside-outness" of authenticity is that not only should we "be who we say we are" but we should "say who we do we are." We should use words that are consistent with our other actions.
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Authenticity requires a rigorous commitment. The word "rigorous" adds to the definition because, without it, a response might be: "How obvious! Who doesn't know that we shouldn't be hypocrites?" And I suppose there is some "how obvious" in every definition of virtue — because the difficulty is much more in the living than in the knowing. In our attempts to live authentically, the word "rigorous" heightens the sense of scrutiny; it tells us that authenticity is hard work. For one thing, we must be tough-minded as we compare our attempts at authenticity with the realities of the situation. We are not being authentic when we act out insecurities based on inaccurate conclusions of what others think of us. Our perceptions are just muddle-headed.
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Part of the rigor of authenticity can be seen in Jesus' variation on Plato's theme. When discussing insincere oath-making, Jesus said, "Simply let your 'Yes' be 'Yes,' and your 'No,' 'No'." (Matt. 5:37a). We don't need to add flashy assurances to our statements if we truly mean what we say. If you want to be authentic, be dependable, be morally predictable. One irony in our culture is that, for all of our praise for "spontaneity" and "radical free choice," we are remarkably conformist. In a way, we are conformist in practice (all wearing jeans) while being nonconformist in principles (believing widely contrary ideas about honesty). Yet we should be personally flexible but morally predictable. We should agree on important values and then apply them in wide-ranging, freedom-inspired ways.
Authenticity requires courageous love. Courage could be called the "parent" virtue of authenticity. It takes courage to tell the truth, to be genuine, to resist the falsifications that our culture encourages. To be sincere when others are being wickedly sarcastic takes bravery. And love must inform our actions. Authenticity can easily be misunderstood, misapplied, or used to justify all manner of interpersonal violence. Like all virtue, authenticity cannot be made a god unto itself. We need to assess our intentions and the fullness of our thoughts and feelings and beliefs, and seek to make the best choices we can. Like artists, we grow in skill with good mentoring and sensitive practice.
Three cautions show the importance of adding "courage to love" to the definition. First, authenticity is not "cruel honesty," as if we are justified saying whatever is on our minds. Authenticity practices a gracious honesty, and it takes wisdom to know when is the best time to say the fullness of what we think and feel.
Second, authenticity is not "indulgent transparency," as if we are noble for divulging our darkest secrets. A young woman came into my office years ago and told me her story of sexual abuse and suicidal thoughts. I felt honored that she trusted me — until I learned that she had been "revealing all" to everyone in the building, one person after another. She was compulsively transparent. But authenticity is not an excuse for undisciplined speech.
Third, authenticity doesn't mean we never act insincerely. This sounds rather odd, but "pretending" is, at times, essential, inevitable, and ethical. In Faking It, William Ian Miller acknowledges that although insincerity conjures up many negative connotations, "I am not a hypocrite ... for pretending to find interesting what is dull, ... [n]or am I a hypocrite for putting on a somber face at the news of the untimely death of a person I didn't especially care for."
Rather than characterizing these choices as "faking it," I prefer C.S. Lewis's idea: "Let us pretend in order to make the pretense into a reality."
Suppose, for example, that my neighbor Joan thinks she is the only one who should be permitted to park in front of her house — on the street, the public street. When she sees a visitor of mine parking there, Joan pounds on my front door. I open it and she releases her expletive-laced threats about the police and my insensitivities. On one hand, I authentically want to smack her all the way back to her own yard. On the other hand, I authentically want to keep my anger from getting the best of me. My goal is sincere, even though in the moment I struggle to fulfill it.
Lewis says I should act lovingly toward Joan. In doing so, not only will I build community in the short run, but, over time, I will actually grow into the love that I'm pretending to have. This possible transformation shows that genuineness is not just a goal. Making a sincere effort is also a process, a tool that moves the nuts-and bolts of human character. (more)
