righteous:  acting in accord with divine or moral law : free from guilt or sin

indignation: anger or annoyance provoked by what is perceived as unfair treatment

I have been a fan of righteous indignation, an attribute and attitude that has generally eluded me. In the second season of Dallas, the night-time soap opera that aired from 1978-1991, Miss Ellie, the silent suffering matriarch, turned to her husband, Jock, the heavy-handed ruler of their oil dynasty, and proclaimed, You sicken me. Three simple words delivered quietly but with the power of a right, left, right uppercut. I lived vicariously through these words for weeks, marveling at the clarity of Miss Ellie’s indignation and the righteousness that founded her blow. There she was, an aproned, gray-haired woman who schooled her oil baron, bourbon-drinking husband. What a woman, albeit a fictional one in a network melodrama.

Most of my moments of pure righteous indignation have occurred in those minutes–sometimes hours–before sleep. In the dark and privacy of my own bedroom, I have silently spoken strong, indignant words to countless recipients of my anger. I rehearsed the words I would speak, perhaps should speak, but words that would never leave the confines of my silent rants. Still, I had some moments of stellar indignation, if I do say so myself.

Aristotle wrote: Anyone can get angry, but to do this to the right person, to the right extent, at the right time, with the right motive, and in the right way, that is not for everyone, nor is it easy.

Anger directed at the right person, to the right extent, at the right time with the right motive and in the right way–that is righteous indignation. But just consider all those “rights,” all the qualifications that come with righteous indignation! It’s enough to make you exhausted you before you begin. And that is it exactly. Aristotle knew that we should be exhausted–or rather that we should exhaust every concession, every caution, every consideration before we release our indignation, righteously.

Today, righteous indignation has become a legitimate genre in and of itself. In print, online, through radio or television, voices are almost always sharp uppercuts intended to knock-out the opposition in a single round. There is no time for careful research or corroboration of sources. There is no time for conversation or reflection. There is only now and the gratifying release of anger. To hell with those feeble, overly cautious namby pambies who, in solitude and armed with a host of sources and a humble spirit, deliberate until they arrive at a worthy position.

But just as music performed with constant forte becomes little more than loud noise, persistent moral indignation becomes little more than barking at the wind. 19th century French poet, essayist and philosopher, Paul Valery says it well:

An attitude of permanent indignation signifies great mental poverty. Politics compels its votaries to take that line and you can see their minds growing more impoverished every day, from one burst of righteous indignation to the next. 

The election and the presidential inauguration have passed, but we cannot seem to shake the attitude of permanent indignation that characterized the campaign months. My greatest fear is that, perhaps, we will never shake it. That its permanency is actually permanent. And one day, when a voice cries out in righteous indignation that has been carefully forged through reflection and study, after years of voices who have cried wolf, we will simply smile and turn to our own affairs.

Permanent indignation does reveal great mental poverty. Poor is the mind that cannot discern what is truly worthy of righteous anger. If, as it seems today that, everything and everyone is worthy of indignation, then ultimately nothing and no one is. And all of our rantings become little more than tales told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. [Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5]

In truth, as much as I fear this contagion of righteous indignation, I also marvel at those who feel wholly, utterly confident of their anger and the targets of this anger. These individuals likely sleep well at night. They walk with shoulders back, taking deliberate strides and commanding the centers of hallways and sidewalks. They tremble with anticipation at each opportunity to unleash the fury born from their guiltless, sinless certainty.

I can only guess how many of these individuals would respond if Jesus were stand before them and say, “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” My guess? There would be a sizeable pile of rocks and a frenzied hoard whose hands had already gripped the first stone, eager for muscular release. Throw first, and worry about your sin later. Or perhaps never.

I fear too often, as H. G. Wells claimed, that Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo. Jealousy of those whose voice is being heard, jealousy of those with power equal to, or maybe greater than theirs, and jealousy of views, that they privately fear, may be proven more “right” in the end. But once they have donned the halo of righteous indignation, they often rest easily on platitudes and charisma. America is a land of immigrants, America can be great again, A true feminist believes in choice, A real woman is pro-life. Platitudes fill the air around us until we are suffocating in righteous indignation.

Don’t misunderstand me. There are causes worthy of righteous indignation, and these causes will surely represent opposing views. It’s just that these causes can never truly be reduced to platitudes, no matter how often and how passionately they are delivered. These causes require Aristotle’s wisdom: right person, right extent, right time, right motive, and right way. They yearn to be tempered with humility by servant leaders.

Open the borders to all? And how many families will you be willing to sponsor in your own homes and communities, which–in the spirit of openness–will forever remain ungated? Will you be willing to open your children’s schools to those who can’t speak the language, who haven’t been formally schooled for years and who will require the majority of the school’s attention, efforts, and services, leaving your children to largely school themselves? And will you be eager to forgo private schooling for public schooling, particularly public schooling in the inner cities? Will you create college or vocational training funds for others’ children, sacrificing your standard of living for the opportunities of others? Will you lead by example?

Close the borders to all? Will you be willing to pay much, much more for fresh produce, to send your sons and daughters into the fields to harvest it? Will you be willing to populate the meat packing plants, the construction sites, your favorite restaurants, etc. with your own family, friends, and neighbors to ensure that all individuals have rights to affordable meat, housing, and fine dining? Will you sit in air-conditioned churches on padded pews extolling the virtues of caring for the least of these?  Will you lead by example?

I think our nation could benefit immensely from servant leadership, from  the expectation that, until–and unless- we are willing to lead by example, we must refrain from public righteous indignation. We could expect our citizens to remove the plank in their own eyes before attempting to remove the speck from others’ eyes. I could honestly get behind this kind of righteous indignation, for its origins are divine–not man-made.

Two rooms away from the television where I can’t detect individual words, I can hear the fevered and prolonged pitch of someone’s indignation. This, I fear, is the genre of the season. My greater fear, however, is that I will become one of many whose disillusionment leads to partial, and then complete, deafness. When the next great philosopher, statesman or woman, business or technological leader, theologian, artist, social or educational advocate comes along, I fear that I will be humming to myself, blissful in a self-imposed cocoon of simple song, wholly unaware that there is genuine cause for righteous indignation. Wholly ignorant to the fact that, right there before me, is one whose anger is directed towards the right person, to the right extent, at the right time, with the right motive and way. Wholly deaf and blind towards acts and attitudes that are clearly not aligned to moral or divine law.

Certainly, such ignorant bliss will not make America–or anything else–great again. And in the proverbial words of Miss Ellie, this sickens me.