So, the Big Red Car is trying to get into the Christmas spirit and is reading an article in some touchy-feely periodical which ruins the spirit of Christmas.
Or does it?
The article says there are all wired in a certain way. In this article that way is dark and forboding.
Here are the ways we are wired:
We view minorities and the vulnerable as less than human.
Supposedly this manifests itself in the notion that we see status as a springboard from which we justifiably dehumanize others. Young folk think old people are fairly dehumanized. Men and women can fairly dehumanize drunk women. We think that immigrants are less evolved than the average person.
We experience Schadenfreude by the age of four. Schadenfreude is one of those silly words that means we take pleasure at another’s distress.
Not only do we take pleasure at another’s distress, we think they deserve it.
We believe in karma — meaning that we assume the downtrodden, the disadvantaged of the world, somehow, deserve their fate.
We have a tendency to blame victims for their own victimhood even when they are poor, raped, assaulted through no fault of their own. We also conversely think that rich people merit their station in life even if their only accomplishment is they were born into wealth.
We are, individually, blinkered and dogmatic.
Once we pick our positions, we are unwilling or unable to see anything which conflicts with dogma. As an example, somebody claims to be pro-life, but has no problem with the death penalty. Of somebody is positioned as a champion of children, but has no problem with abortion. We refuse to see what doesn’t support our dogma.
We would electrocute ourselves than spend time lost in our own thoughts.
This comes from some study which supposedly concluded that a big majority of men would rather experience an unpleasant electrical shock than spend fifteen minutes contemplating their lives in peace and quiet.
We are vain and overconfident. [Please, please, please no more about the Dunning-Krueger Effect.]
This is the Lake Wobegon Effect in which we somehow think that we are all strong, good-looking, well above average. Even when filled to overflowing with faults, we still think we are better, kinder, gentler, more honest than the average person. We are flawed and pontificate about how much better we are than the average human [talking to you James Comey and your obnoxious preaching about your high ethical standards]. Sorry, that one got away from me.
We are all moral hypocrites.
We condemn in others those flaws which are running unchecked in our own pea brains. We swear that incivility is on the upswing, while protesting that we personally are more like Mother Theresa than Hitler.
We all have the seed to be potential trolls.
None of our remonstrances on Twitter are bad even when they are identical to the ones we find to be hateful.
We favor ineffective leaders with psychopathic traits.
We are prepared to follow people with incredible personal flaws as long as they are screaming things with which we agree. It is OK to be a little nuts as long as you are the alpha pack leader.
We are sexually attracted to people with dark personality traits.
Hell, we like people who are narcissistic, psychopathic, and Machiavellian as long as they line up on the same side of the table as we do. Women want to be with that self-interested, manipulative, and insensitive lout because he will use those tools to please them. For women, this is somehow the marking of the successful alpha male in the “ideal mate” quality because, again, they will use those ruthless, sociopathic skills to get the women what they really want in terms of quality of life. If a man is seen as confident and willing to take extreme risks, he must know what the Hell he’s doing, right?
So, there you have it, dear reader. Now, here’s the big question — how much of this is true? How much of it is true about you? How much of it do you see right now in those at whom you are looking?
Could this really be us?
But, hey, what the Hell do I really know anyway? I’m just a lovely, sleek, fast-as-Hell, sexy, well-deserved spectacular Big Red Car. And, you, dear reader, are not. Merry Christmas.
