Noun: Gossip.  Opinion: Like.

I went to a small graduate program where by the end of your tenure you basically knew everyone by sight and name.  We were also deep to our armpits in nowhereness, the kind of small New England town where the local Japanese restaurant was run by Koreans figuring no one knew any better.  Isolation and an excess of free time made for an absorbing mix of small town friendliness and a disproportionate interest in what every bitch was up to.

My parents have stories of getting their graduate degrees in Europe during the 60s, spending evenings in smoky cafes discussing the imponderables of life.  Sartre was still a significant figure in popular philosophy, and hours were spent deliberating on how to reconcile the meaninglessness of life and the moral imperatives of human conduct.  They would speak of the role of youth in guiding governmental policy and social culture.  They spoke of art and music and history.  Yeah.  We didn’t do any of that.

You’d think that in walking the hallowed halls of a respected institution constructed in buttloads of red brick we would be inspired by the annals of intellectual yore.  We weren’t.  We didn’t talk about politics, we didn’t talk about philosophy, we didn’t exchange chicken recipes.  We talked about each other.  And how!  I have waaaay too much completely uncorroborated shit on these people, as they do on me.  There was one guy who was reported to be a hermaphrodite circus performer with a meth habit and two illegitimate kids living in Mexico.  Not really, but shit comes close.

And we were brutal.  Once a reputation was made, it was nearly impossible to unmake it even with herculean efforts at rational and wholesome behavior.  We enforced roles based on hearsay, not observable action.  It was just so much more fun to think that someone was a slut/bitch/jackass/pervert even when they weren’t.  Gossip is sticky.  Once a label is slapped on your nasty self, it still leaves a residue even if you do manage to peel it off.

This is bad.  It’s very naughty to gossip about people.  It is dangerous and potentially unjust.  I did it ALL THE TIME.  Everyone was doing it.  It was great!  How else are you supposed to fill the silence of the woods?

No, no, it’s bad.  But gossip played a critical role in the formation of society.  People talked about each other as a method of enforcement, a way to threaten perpetrators into behaving according to accepted mores.  Either through shame or the menace of exile, we imposed a code of conduct that ensured the security of the social order.  If someone saw you take an extra serving of woolly mammoth, you better believe that ho was going to tell the world the next day.  And off you go, kicked out of the club, all alone with your flint spear to defend yourself against saber-toothed tigers.  Good as dead.

I think it’s also a function of the size of the social circle you find yourself in.  Gossip is downright tedious in New York.  Spheres of influence are a good deal more dispersed here so we don’t have enough common experiences to reinforce prejudices and opinions.  We actually do end up talking about other things, which is refreshing.  But you definitely give up the benefits, too—you can’t effectively compel people to behave for the common good and you don’t know if a sex offender is your pharmacist.

I don’t have a tidy takeaway for this.  I’ll give it a try, though.  Gossip: bad, unless it’s good.  Choose your sources carefully.  Use in moderation.