St. Bill and the Sinners
The recent news about “morality czar” William Bennett’s predilection for high-stakes gambling is undeniably satisfying in a certain way. But those who hope it means the end of this preening, self-righteous gasbag as a credible public figure better follow St. Bill’s advice and put down the crack pipe. Fact is, anyone who took Bennett seriously in the first place is unlikely to be the least bit fazed by news of his dirty little secret. And the odds that he will learn some kind of personal “judge-not” lesson from this exercise are so long even Vegas doesn’t have a line on it.
Bennett is simply too valuable to too many people in American society to cut him loose over a few million lost to the one-armed bandit. He is the patron saint of the humorless prig, the martinet, the befuddled principal in teen comedy movies, the weathered old farmer in countless “don’t mess with my daughter” jokes, the church ladies and finger-waggers. He is the one who tells millions of psychologically-crippled Americans that not only are they not missing anything by never having any fun, they’re actually superior to all that. They’re virtuous. They should be lauded and rewarded for their ethic of self-denial, and their scolding disapproval of all things frivolous, risky, sensual or diverting should be codified into law and custom.
Hatred of pleasure is written all over Bennett’s bloated, bitter face. Even his chosen vice is charmless and more than a little bit creepy. After all, this is not a man who enjoys a friendly poker game or gets off on the social thrills of the race track, but one who sits alone in a corner of a casino late at night, putting coins into a slot and pulling on a metal bar hoping for an occasional, exciting release. Of money. From a slot. Ick. (mmm... Bill is right - it sure feels good to make fun of other people's weaknesses. This is better than drugs...)
But we are not here to judge St. Bill. No, that would be wrong. See, his weakness merely validates his humanity. None among us is perfect, but that does not mean we should not each of us strive (quick, copyright that line before it oozes from Bennett’s mouth on Larry King next week). We must save our scorn for the real sinners: those who are not like us, whose passions confuse and disgust us, who justify themselves with philosophies that implicitly challenge our authority, who wish to reduce society to ruin by ignoring all of our pointless and stupid rules.
So what if St. Bill is a hypocrite? We believe because we choose to believe. Because we have to believe, otherwise our lives are a lie. Even the news that Bennett were a cross-dressing junkie who ate children would not shake our need for his voice, his message. The Bill Bennetts of the world come and go, but the urge to judge, to condemn, to feel superior is eternal. So there!
8:50:40 AM 
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