If you use the restroom in a certain brightly-colored, Mexican-themed bar in Chicago’s Old Town, you’ll be greeted by a seemingly chill and flippant question on the door:
“Who cares?”
The message, which stands in lieu of any designation of whether the facility is intended for male or female use, is painted on the bar’s two single-occupancy bathrooms. Some art accompanies the statement-posed-as-a-question: On one door, a mustached skeleton wearing a dress; on the other, a feminine-looking, long-haired skeleton in a suit.
On one level, perhaps it doesn’t really matter whether single-occupancy bathrooms are designated for men or for women. If two or more people won’t be using the facility at the same time, then for the sake of practicality and limiting unnecessary waits it might make sense to have both rooms available to whoever is ready to use them.
But the gender-fluid doors seem to be saying something more. Not merely that either men or women can use the bathrooms, but that distinguishing between the two is pointless — or even stupid.
This “who cares?” attitude seems pervasive in American culture now — and isn’t just applied to the difference between men and women and why it might be relevant for how we live our lives and organize society. “Who cares?” is also the prevailing response to any number of topics of profound significance, from the societal impact of casual sex to the dangers of AI and virtual reality, from the plight of the poor and forgotten to the ultimate meaning of life.
Instead of care, concern or intentionality — which are portrayed as pointless or even laughably lame — the “who cares?” attitude suggests studied apathy and chill detachment.
At best, it seems to suggest certain questions are hard to answer, so we’re better off not wasting our time with them and instead getting on with our lives.
At worst, it’s a smugly nihilistic attitude, a denial of any answers to these questions, and therefore to any ultimate purpose or coherence to life. If nothing matters, then who cares?
Either way, this attitude cuts us off from one of the most profoundly human postures: openness. It shuts down wonder, curiosity, asking important — though difficult — questions, and striving to find the answer. It too often reduces us to Nietzsche’s “last man,” preoccupied with comfort and routine, and unwilling to confront the greatest mysteries of life.
In fact, even elements of the activistic spirit that seems especially potent today can be animated by this mentality, insofar as they’re not concerned with ultimate justice and man’s eternal end, but with correcting perceived instances of people being deprived of comfort and self-determination — the greatest goods that the “who cares?” attitude can offer.
The Christian attitude is profoundly different. God has numbered every hair on our heads. Christ died for us not merely out of duty, but because God loves us and the whole world.
God shows profound care, from the minutest of details to the most significant of dilemmas. And we are called to imitate him: to have an interest in all of reality, to be concerned about every aspect of it, and to never let apathy, comfort or smug nihilism cut off the desire for ultimate truth, goodness and justice that is hardwired into us, and leads us to our ultimate destination.
When the question “who cares?” is posed, in any context, the Christian should answer: “I do.”
