five little monkeys, bonhoeffer, committees
Do you know this rhyme? It begins delightfully enough.
And why? Because the committee here is acting just like a committee. They go on doing exactly what they'd been doing before, with the single exception of the one who got injured this last time. In some committees, it's because the one who fell down and bumped his head got blamed, and was disallowed to continue jumping on the bed; in other committees, it's because the one who fell learned his lesson and refused to continue.
But neither the sadder-and-wiser monkey nor the perfectly reasonable doctor can convince the rest of the committee that the actual problem stems from their continued activity. Nope, they just keep on jumping on the bed, and getting injured, and with each stanza the doctor enjoins the (fewer and fewer) remaining monkeys to stop — to make it so that no one is jumping on the bed. And with each stanza the (fewer and fewer) remaining monkeys do not stop. They keep on doing it, and keep on getting injured, because the ones who didn't get hurt simply cannot look around and see what's happening to their peers and what will soon happen to them.
Until, with the final stanza, the doctor's prescription has become a diagnosis: there are indeed no more monkeys left to jump on the bed.
Five little monkeys jumpin' on the bedAh, but then it takes a trajectory we in the grown-up world know all too well.
One fell down and bumped his head
Mama called the doctor and the doctor said,
"No more monkeys jumpin' on the bed."
Four little monkeys jumpin' on the bedThat's human nature and society in a nutshell, isn't it? What the doctor actually said, as you may recall from the end of each stanza, is that NO more monkeys are to jump on the bed. As of the first stanza, there's a one-in-five chance of head-bumping. By the final stanza, of course, you will not be surprised to know that the head-bumping rate is one hundred percent.
One fell down and bumped his head
Mama called the doctor and the doctor said,
"No more monkeys jumpin' on the bed."
And why? Because the committee here is acting just like a committee. They go on doing exactly what they'd been doing before, with the single exception of the one who got injured this last time. In some committees, it's because the one who fell down and bumped his head got blamed, and was disallowed to continue jumping on the bed; in other committees, it's because the one who fell learned his lesson and refused to continue.
But neither the sadder-and-wiser monkey nor the perfectly reasonable doctor can convince the rest of the committee that the actual problem stems from their continued activity. Nope, they just keep on jumping on the bed, and getting injured, and with each stanza the doctor enjoins the (fewer and fewer) remaining monkeys to stop — to make it so that no one is jumping on the bed. And with each stanza the (fewer and fewer) remaining monkeys do not stop. They keep on doing it, and keep on getting injured, because the ones who didn't get hurt simply cannot look around and see what's happening to their peers and what will soon happen to them.
Until, with the final stanza, the doctor's prescription has become a diagnosis: there are indeed no more monkeys left to jump on the bed.
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