Facebook Morality

It was once the case, back in the Presocratic, that if you wanted to be judged well you lived well, acted well and cared for fluffy kittens. If you wanted to be regarded as something of an inveterate scum-bag, you beat up the elderly, robbed the rich and gnawed the noses off of babies. What I am trying to say is that the moral compass of our fine land was formed of action not just words. 

It seems that things are a-changing. One sunny afternoon, a Facebook appeared and a be-spotted lad became so rich he almost qualifies for a ring on his little finger. So rich, in fact, that he could afford to buy a house in Great Britain. In the early days of the Facebook, you simply gathered names in a basket and claimed them as friends. You may have written to them, but more than likely ignored them completely as you had for the previous twenty-odd years. They were safely in the 'friend-basket', no need to bother with them. 

Games appeared, and applications galore. Quizzes manifested the fact of your sexual orientation (as distinct from the one you know you have), the fact of your ecclesial leanings (as distinct from those that you actually do have), the kind of politician you would be if life ever really came to a dead end, what you inner sprog might utter and so on. Then Farmville. The world started to take sick-days just to get back home to Farmville, and those who didn't  do Farmville took sick-days from work just to delete the Requests from friends who sought only to advantage themselves by your efforts. 

Of course, in the middle of all of this, the smug posted Statii not actually saying what they really meant, but gave enough away to just avoid plain old boastery. Others would tell you at length the last drink they had, the depilation (or exfoliation, I don' know) of their legs, who they have fallen out with, which plan lay ahead of them in the next thirty minutes and so much other largely pointless and dull material. 

Then it happened. Last week but three. It happened. And you're all at it.

It seems that image is King these days (or should we say 'Monarch' so that the laydees don' t think me sexist and become gusset-rotated, or perhaps 'President' so that the anti-monarchists don't become revolting). I love imagery and it is the case that I 'see' the world rather than 'read' it. But it now that the Facebook is exploiting our visual sense and the output of the PhotoShop Generation [Generation P?]

This is what I mean: If you think this baby is beautiful, press 'Like'. (In short, if you don't press 'like' you think the brat is fetid and the world will suddenly hate you). Or this: Press 'Like' if the person here, who has just died, was the greatest human ever more even than Jesus or even Usain Bolt (In short, if you don't press 'like' the world will think you were guilty of the moidah of said celebrity and will plan to dance on his/her grave). Or this: press 'Like' if you think the platitude herein contained is the truthiest truth in the whole truth-telling world (In short, if you don't press 'like', you disagree with the truth herein contained and support the cannibalism of the over-70s). 

And hundreds of thousands of people press 'like' like drooling lemmings. Which is great, but it puts it is my time-zone and must create some serious traffic in the old Facebook account (in that, anything I have dared to 'like' will then tell me when someone else deigns to do likewise - i.e. the potential for a hundred thousand or more notifications). Lordy!

Facebook is fast become the Law, the Covenant, the Paschal Mystery, Leviticus, Deuteronomy and all the Saints. If you need Facebook to tell the world you are someone who won't stir-fry a gerbil, then you need to have a word with yourself ... and not me!

... just saying!