Being bad

It has struck me on many occasions that when I have screwed up at work, my colleagues will inevitably say, 'Oh, everyone does that!' I will ask, 'Have you?' And they say, 'Well, when I was just starting out...' and I think how irrelevant that is. No one blames a raw recruit. I mean now, this week, this month, even this year! Or they say, 'Well, I nearly...' and I think how irrelevant that is, because nearly is not the same as having done it. Or they say, 'Well, I said "team" twice in one paragraph.' and I think how irrelevant that is - it's hardly worth mentioning. So I am left thinking, did they lie to me about everyone making mistakes or did they lie about the calibre and scale and temporal frame of their mistakes? Are they perfect or do they think they are perfect or do they want me to think that they are perfect?

It's the same with moral infractions. I'm not going into details here as I fear the data police - so few readers, but trust my luck if some malicious agent came along and highlighted my past crimes and misdemeanours. There are plenty of them. Moral, legal, personal. And not insignificant ones. Lying, cheating, stealing, causing harm. Cruelty, selfishness, stupidity. Sex, drugs, rock and roll. No more detail. I have confessed, to friends, to family, in therapy. The blinkers are off. I have seen my sins and I have repented. I think I am a better person, but I know that seeds of, if not evil, at least badness are in me. It's possible that I could sin again. That's why I watch myself. That's why I work on myself.

These acts had various different roots and causes. Sometimes, I knew that what I was doing was wrong, but didn't care. Sometimes I knew that others thought it was wrong, but I could justify it. Sometimes I was shocked to be judged negatively for my crimes. Sometimes I didn't really realise it was wrong or that anyone else would. Sometimes I didn't even think about it. Or I was curious. Sometimes I did it in order to do something bad. I wanted to be as bad as I felt myself to be. Or I wanted to punish someone - my parents, my society, myself.

Sometimes I felt guilt - at once or later. Sometimes I felt shame because people knew - and either I also felt guilt or I felt indignation at being judged, alongside the shame. Sometimes I accepted it was wrong and that I wouldn't do it again, but I didn't feel anything much. Sometimes I felt that my soul was blackened and besmirched and I'd never escape. Sometimes I felt my character or reputation was blackened and besmirched and I'd never escape. Sometimes I tried to blame someone else - my parents or my society - only later taking responsibility.

However, if I speak to people about their past crimes, again, no real response. Are they all perfect? Or do they think they are? Or do they want everyone else to think they are?

Often, the relatively minor crimes that are offered up - not giving enough to charity, say, or speeding - are then quickly justified. 'But I do give money monthly to three charities and I have to support my sister.' 'But I only speed on the motorway, when the roads are empty. Or to get past people who overtake and then slow down in front of me.' So, yes, their personal balance sheet is clean.

Am I alone? The one real screwer-upper among my middle class friends? It's possible. It really is possible. No wonder I feel so alone.

One thing I can say for my screwing up and more sinning than sinned against past is that is has left me humble and compassionate in the face of other people's screw ups and sins. It's probably why I so hate the blame and shame game. It's probably why I value forgiveness. It's probably why I see a need to make leading an ethical life attractive and emotionally appealing, rather than just assuming that all-comers will obey the Categorical Imperative or fulfill their utilitarian obligations.