Lately I’ve been rereading Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography. It may be one of the most American books ever written. It is both a revealing portrait of early American life and the story of a most remarkable self-made man who helped shape our country.
Back in elementary school, we learned about a jolly-looking old fellow flying a kite with a key and discovering something about electricity. What they should have taught us was how Franklin developed and tried to live his “13 virtues.” That lesson would serve us tremendously now, facing today’s technological, political and social challenges.
Franklin wasn’t born wealthy or famous. The 15th of 17 children, he received only two years of formal schooling. Through relentless self-improvement, he created his famous list of 13 virtues: Temperance, Silence, Order, Resolution, Frugality, Industry, Sincerity, Justice, Moderation, Cleanliness, Tranquility, Chastity and Humility. He spent years trying to live by them, while joking that if he ever perfected humility, he’d probably become proud of it and ruin the whole thing. And he became, as we know, “healthy, wealthy and wise.”
Which may explain why I found myself wondering what Franklin would have made of the recent UFC event held on the White House lawn, with the cage, the blood and all the marketing.
Like most modern spectacles, it arrived uninvited, marched through my news feed, landed in my living room and demanded attention. These days, we don’t need to search out the sensational and bizarre. It finds us.
A UFC cage on the White House lawn, complete with all the garnishment of a Vegas casino. The crowd? Influencers. Subservient politicians. Social media personalities. Beer sponsors. Gambling markets. Cryptocurrency. Cameras everywhere.
Toward the end, one of the evening’s winners, Josh Hokit, grabbed a microphone and announced: “There’s only one person more incredible than the Incredible Hok, and that’s my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. And lastly, Michelle Obama is a man! Am I right, America?”
The crowd reacted. The clip spread. The internet did what the internet does.
I found myself imagining Franklin sitting ringside. Eventually I suspect he would have asked a troublesome question.
“Why is this what commands the attention of the republic?”
Franklin once observed that “well done is better than well said.” We seem to have reversed the formula.
A century ago, if somebody stood on a street corner and shouted something outrageous, most people would roll their eyes and walk away. Today, millions stop, stare, share, comment, argue and enrich the platform that delivered the absurdity.
The village idiot is not new. Every town had one. For most of history they remained local. They sat on bar stools and offered strong opinions on matters they barely understood. The rest of us smiled politely and walked away.
Then we gave them smartphones.
The problem isn’t that village idiots exist. The problem is that we’ve built a worldwide machine that systematically promotes village idiots because they’re economically valuable.
The village idiot didn’t conquer the village. The village embraced him. And once the crowds assembled, the advertisers naturally followed. Then came the sponsors, the television cameras, the podcasts, the influencers and the algorithms that amplify our worst selves. What was once a local annoyance became a business model.
In Franklin’s day, the village idiot sought attention. In ours, attention seeks the village idiot. What’s fascinating is that this transformation occurred at precisely the moment humanity acquired the greatest information machine ever created. Virtually the sum of human knowledge now sits in everyone’s pockets. Every book. Every document. Every speech. Every subject.
Franklin spent much of his life founding libraries because knowledge was scarce. We built devices that make knowledge abundant and virtually free. Yet somehow, we ended up discussing whether an accomplished former First Lady and mother of two daughters is secretly a man.
Franklin spent years trying to cultivate temperance, frugality, industry and humility. Two hundred and fifty years later, we’re treated to a White House event sponsored by beer, gambling and prediction markets, cryptocurrency and personal injury lawyers, with a fighter who appeared to vomit on himself at the weigh-in the day before proclaiming: “… Michelle Obama is a man! Am I right, America?”
One cannot help but notice that our national curriculum has changed.
Franklin might have surveyed the evening and observed:
Intoxication. Wagering. Speculation. Grievance. Conflict.
And this is the message we are sending ourselves, and the world, on the eve of America’s 250th anniversary. Not the virtues Franklin spent a lifetime pursuing.
A visitor from another century might reasonably conclude that intoxication, wagering, speculation, grievance and conflict are the qualities we most admire, because these are the qualities to which we devote so much of our attention.
I don’t want to sound too self-righteous. Like Lot’s wife, I turned and looked. Which brings me to what may be a modern epidemic. Let’s call it “Influencer.” Symptoms include confusing self-aggrandizement with accomplishment, boastfulness with competence and cellphone groupies with earned fame.
The cure, as Franklin knew, has existed for centuries.
Education. Not merely schooling. Education in its broader sense: reading difficult books, challenging assumptions, listening to people who know more than you do and learning things that cannot be reduced to a 15-second video.
Franklin understood that self-government requires self-improvement. A republic depends not only on freedom, but also on citizens capable of using that freedom wisely.
The village idiot will always be with us. The question is whether we continue building him a larger stage.
“Am I right, America?”
Gary Horton is chairman of the College of the Canyons Foundation board. His “Full Speed to Port!” has appeared in The Signal since 2006. The opinions expressed in his column do not necessarily reflect the opinions of The Signal or its editorial board.
