The biblical prophet, Jeremiah, was despondent, filled with hopelessness. His sermons are depressing and morose. The graphic shown, a piece of the Sistine Chapel painting by Michelangelo, accurately depicts him as a man living without joy. He brought a message of change to the residents of Judea and they ignored him. The unique characteristic of his preaching was a call to the Jews to forgo their temple worship and recognize that true worship of God was something that took place individually, in their hearts. He challenged them to be circumcised not only in their body but in their heart. The people of Judea considered this the next thing to blasphemy, having become addicted to the outward and visible elements of their faith, the rituals and ceremonies which were practiced to perfection. Jeremiah believed, and preached, that these were shallow ceremonies; the true worship of God called for them to change their hearts.
From this biblical experience of the prophet Jeremiah has come the word jeremiad which is applied in contemporary use to a similar form of lament which is unending. Someone who is jeremiad in their public words goes to the point of frustration on the part of readers and listeners who want the person to “give it up, already!” People become visibly irritated with the jeremiad personality.
Last week my friend, John McIntyre, wrote about the jeremiad syndrome in his daily blog, You Don’t Say. In speaking of the way in which he has ranted about newspaper management over the past year, following his release by his employer, The Baltimore Sun, McIntyre acknowledges his tone.
With reason. It has been hard to see so many colleagues lose their jobs, to watch the decline in quality in so many publications, to be on the losing side in the War on Editing. But justifiable as jeremiads have been, they must have grown tedious to you, and they no longer serve the best purpose for me.
The reason for his change of heart is the fact that The Baltimore Sun hired McIntyre back into a prestigious position. It was time to put away his lament. It was also awkward, given his situation.
It is easy to get on a jeremiad roll. I was thinking this as I watched the local news the other night. Article after article was about murder, other crimes, auto accidents, fires, floods, oil spills, political games…you know the scene. By the end of the half hour I was sinking lower and lower into my chair, fully deflated by the litany of despair. Thankfully, the Red Sox won that night, so there was something to be pleased about, even though their lack of consistency is still something about which to be concerned.
The fact that Jeremiah was correct in his appraisal of things in biblical times didn’t diminish the response he received from his audience. The same is true in contemporary criticism. Rightness and wrongness (are those even words?) can get lost in the process when the tone of the criticism is one of unending despair.
There are some personalities who, when introduced on cable news, immediately press my caution button. I know that the moment they open their mouths I am going to hear about how the world (specifically this nation under this administration) is going to Hell in a hand basket. Their words and phrases are predictable, having been employed now for several months on a daily basis. At the same time, there are those who fail to see the flaws in the current leadership and do a similar thing with words of naive defense. Neither of these types do much for my assessing of the situation. In a sense, they are both jeremiad in their approach, although one is more depressing than the other.
I notice in re-reading this post that I have been using the word jeremiad as an adjective. In its defined form, it is a noun. I am taking liberty with the word. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.
Photo Credit: Moshe Reiss
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I really really enjoy it when you teach me a new word — not that I haven’t heard the word “jeremiad,” but I never knew precisely what it meant. Couldn’t have used it in a sentence. Certainly didn’t have any perspective on it. You’ve given me MUCH here to think about … even the concluding mea culpa. Thank you!