By Jonah Goldberg
Friday, July 10, 2026
Let’s say Johnny Cash was the guy he pretended to be in
“Folsom Prison Blues” and shot a man in Reno just to watch him die. Now
Johnny’s in Folsom Prison. One day, he sees Willie, a guy he hates, shiv
another inmate in the cafeteria line. During lockdown, the guards come to him
and ask if he saw anything. He says, “Maybe. What’s in it for me?”
Johnny works out a deal. In exchange for snitching, he
gets some extra time in the conjugal trailer, a couple of years shaved off his
sentence, his guitar in his cell, and a promise to keep his identity as the
informant secret. (As Gandhi famously said, snitches get stitches, and all
that.)
Now, if you’re a cop or the warden, you have lots of
reasons to be skeptical about Johnny’s story. First of all, he committed a
pretty heinous murder. Second, he has beef with the guy he’s dropping a dime
on. Third, he has a personal, material interest in you buying his story.
In short, he has a lot of motivation to lie.
That doesn’t mean Johnny is lying. It means you should
bring a lot of skepticism to his claims and ask for details or corroborating
evidence that backs up his story. But the fact remains: He’s either telling the
truth, or he isn’t.
Now, let’s say Johnny says, “What Willie did was evil. He
killed that guy just because he cheated at cards.”
It is an unassailable moral fact that Johnny—the guy who
murdered someone just to watch him die—is an outrageous hypocrite. He’s sitting
there condemning someone for murdering a cheater. Cheating is not a good reason
to murder someone, but it’s a lot better than murdering someone just to enjoy a
stranger’s suffering and death.
Johnny is a very bad person. (Just to be clear: We’re
still talking about the hypothetical one, not the real-world, super-terrific
Man in Black.) In fact, we already knew he was a bad person because he’s a
convicted murderer. He’s also a hypocrite. But as bad as hypocrisy is,
premeditated murder is worse—at least according to my Judeo-Christian, Western,
Anglo-American, Eurocentric tradition. Any romantic notions of him being a
Byronic hero with a code are null and void.
He’s still not lying.
Hitler could say 2+2 is 4, that the Treaty of Versailles
was deeply unfair to Germany, that German shepherds are great dogs, or that
Benito Mussolini had terrible table manners. None of those things would be
rendered false just because the person saying them was a bad person.
Hypocrisy mania.
I’m going to assume everyone already knows the basic
details about the Graham
Platner story. In the wake of the Democratic Senate nominee in Maine being
credibly accused of rape this week, a lot of people
got very defensive about their past support for Platner. I should back up and explain
that, prior to this week, support for Platner varied, depending on who the
supporter was. Some asserted he was a fantastic
person and that his sketchy past was proof of his authenticity. Others
suggested that his obvious lies, gross statements, and Nazi tattoo were
regrettable, but the primary voters in Maine should not be second-guessed
and/or that his flaws were minor when stacked up against the moral imperative
to defeat Sen. Susan Collins and give Democrats a viable path to take back the
Senate.
But the rape charge was too much, and most supporters
withdrew their support. I think many of these people were sincere in their
condemnation, but I also think other motives were at play. His poll support was waning, and people lost confidence that there wouldn’t
be more revelations yet to come, given that he’s been saying from the outset
that there was nothing troubling about his past.
But let’s talk about the defensiveness. Progressive
activist Neera Tanden insists
that “[t]he absolute worst people are the Republicans who attack Dems on
Platner while they cheer a President who has been credibly accused of assault
by 13 women. That hypocrisy is off the damn charts.” Here
she is telling former Rep. Peter Meijer he doesn’t get to “throw stones” at
Democrats when “you have stood by Donald Trump.”
Now, I’ve had some fairly minor disagreements with my
friend Peter Meijer, but it takes some chutzpah to say that to a guy who lost
his seat in Congress because he bravely voted to impeach Donald Trump,
particularly when Democrats spent nearly half a million dollars to boost the MAGA Republican who ended up beating Meijer in
the primary. Also, not to go all Norm
Macdonald, but I think the “absolute worst people” in this situation are
the ones who rape or assault people, not the hypocrites who are inconsistent in
their condemnations.
We’re all communists now.
Hannah Arendt argued that one of the annoying things
about communists—and ex-communists who held on to their rhetorical tricks—was
to dispute facts by questioning motives. When you think about it, the whole
Marxist project rests on this kind of reasoning. The ruling class does and says
what it does and says in order to protect its material class interests. Any
talk about God, justice, or anything else is merely cover for the true motives
of the elite. It’s a really clever trick because it makes you immune to any new
facts or arguments.
The communists had a related annoying habit, commonly
referred to today as “whataboutism.” When Americans criticized the Soviet Union’s
brutality and oppression, the Soviets would point to America and say, “and you are lynching Negroes,” or “Over
there they lynch Negroes” (“U nich negrov linchuyut”). In 1980, the
great former dissident and future president of Czechoslovakia, Václav Havel, called
this one of communism’s “commonly canonized demagogical tricks.” This tactic
arguably became more widespread after the fall of the Soviet Union, as former
KGB agents and the like took over the country.
The canonization has metastasized. Whataboutism has
gotten into the American bloodstream. (This shouldn’t be too shocking. Lots of
KGB projects have taken root here. For instance, the deceitful idea of “Zionism
= Racism” was a Soviet invention. Ironically, given how the Soviet Union
discriminated against “lesser” populations, the whole tactic was ripe for some
whataboutist comebacks.)
Here’s the thing: The Americans criticizing the Soviet
Union were right about the Gulag, the repression, torture, censorship, etc. And
the Soviets were right about the evil of lynching (however much they
exaggerated the claim that this was U.S. policy, particularly in the late 20th
century). Indeed, one of the reasons a lot of Cold War intellectuals argued for
civil rights reforms was to inoculate ourselves against Soviet propaganda
around the world. It wasn’t the primary reason, but it was definitely part of
the case.
It is absolutely true that many Republicans making hay
about Platner’s alleged abuse of women are hypocritical—or, if you prefer,
inconsistent. After Platner won the Democratic primary in June, The Bulwark’s
Sarah Longwell wrote that Republican critics of Platner had “no moral
authority” to criticize him. She made a very solid case, running through the
whole parade of horribles in GOP ranks that Republicans have turned a blind eye
to.
But, I ask, so what?
It’s not a rhetorical question. The answer depends on
what we’re arguing about.
If the argument is about the moral rot in the GOP, that’s
one thing.
If the argument is about Graham Platner—which it was!—that’s
something else. One can concede all of Longwell’s points about the GOP—you
don’t have to, but I’m fine with it for these purposes. How is any of it a
justification for, say, Platner’s Nazi tattoo? Or manhandling women? Or any of
the rest of his long, gross record?
I often have to appear on TV with Republicans who feel
the need to defend Donald Trump’s corruption. Last month, I mentioned that
Trump has used the presidency to enrich himself. A former GOP congressman snapped back, “Are you talking about Hunter Biden?”
Hunter Biden was a corrupt leech on his father’s
presidency. How is that an exoneration of Donald Trump?
I’ve attributed this form of reasoning to the communists,
but that’s probably because I have communism on my mind these days, having spelunked
into the cave networks of the Democratic Socialists of America.
But the tendency is broader than that, even if it was
refined by the Marxists. C.S. Lewis called it “Bulverism” in a 1941 essay of
the same name. This is the practice of declaring that the person is
wrong while ignoring the arguments that person is making. He wrote:
In other words,
you must show that a man is wrong before you start explaining why he is wrong.
The modern method is to assume without discussion that he is wrong and then
distract his attention from this (the only real issue) by busily explaining how
he became so silly. In the course of the last fifteen years I have found this
vice so common that I have had to invent a name for it. I call it “Bulverism.”
Some day I am going to write the biography of its imaginary inventor, Ezekiel
Bulver, whose destiny was determined at the age of five when he heard his
mother say to his father – who had been maintaining that two sides of a
triangle were together greater than the third – “Oh, you say that because you
are a man.” “At that moment,” E. Bulver assures us, “there flashed across my
opening mind the great truth that refutation is no necessary part of argument.
Assume your opponent is wrong, and then explain his error, and the world will
be at your feet. Attempt to prove that he is wrong or (worse still) try to find
out whether he is wrong or right, and the national dynamism of our age will
thrust you to the wall.” That is how Bulver became one of the makers of the
Twentieth Century.
Lewis’ example above speaks to the riot of identity
politics in our culture. The sum of the triangle’s sides are dismissed as a
“male perspective” in much the same way defenses of Israel are dismissed as Jew
talk, defenses of meritocracy are dismissed as white male talk, etc.
But in America, partisanship has become a kind of
identity. If a Republican says a true thing, it is dismissed because partisan
Democrats start from the assumption that Republicans are wrong. If a Democrat
says a true thing, Republicans dismiss it because they start from the same
assumption about Democrats. If I say something about Trump, it’s because I am
anti-Trump, and therefore the conversation can end there.
Yes, partisanship can make people lie. Some lies are
obvious: “James Talarico is a gay vegan.” Some lies are lies by omission: “I care deeply
about respecting women and condemning sexual abuse and that’s why Graham
Platner should withdraw,” says the man who forgives or ignores exactly such
things from members of his own team. This lie isn’t a lie about Platner, it is
a lie about the person speaking. And that’s basically what hypocrisy boils down
to: a lie about yourself, what you believe, and what you care about.
In other words, just because partisans lie doesn’t mean
everything a partisan says is a lie. In my both-sides-y Remnant ghetto,
I go most days listening to Republicans saying a lot of true but hypocritical
things about Democrats and to Democrats saying a lot of true but hypocritical
things about Republicans. I also hear a lot of lies. But there’s no transitive
property. Lies are not made true when spoken by people you agree with, and
truths are not made false when uttered by hypocrites.
Much of our civilization—democracy, liberalism, science,
the rule of law, free markets—depends on the ability to make arguments and
refer to facts independent of the moral status of the people making the
arguments. If everything depends on the moral status of the messenger, no true
message will survive contact with the human ear.
