I am a routine opponent of what is often termed “cancel culture.” (To see my bipartisan “receipts,” look here, here, here, here, here, and here.) Fundamentally, I believe that our pluralist society will only work properly if we agree to tolerate one another’s views, even when we consider those views to be abhorrent, dangerous, or at odds with the presumptions on which this nation was founded. Legally, the First Amendment does not bind most of the institutions in our society, but, as a rule, we would usually be better off proceeding as if it did. America, as Fitzgerald put it, is a “willingness of the heart.” Part of that willingness is agreeing to live and let live.

I will confess, however, to being a little annoyed by the way in which the term “cancel culture” is currently being used — or, more accurately, by the way in which it is currently being flattened into meaninglessness. There is no doubt that, in the wake of the murder of Charlie Kirk, some figures have gone too far in trying to get those who cheered the killing fired from their jobs. But this does not mean that in no circumstance is it ever acceptable to consider whether someone’s words affect their suitability for employment, and it certainly does not mean that those who have consistently called out the frivolous or pre-textual invocation of “accountability” are “hypocrites” for defending its proper use. The critique advanced by the anti-“cancel culture” types was that, in the vast majority of cases, the personal views of a given American were irrelevant to the role that he or she played within our society. That Kyler Murray had once tweeted words he now regretted did not in any way affect his capacity to play football. That Brendan Eich held traditional views on marriage did not in any way affect his capacity to develop a web browser. That Alexi McCammond had expressed ugly sentiments as a teenager did not in any way affect her capacity to lead Teen Vogue a decade later. That Gina Carano once made a joke about transgenderism did not affect her ability to appear on The Mandalorian. Insofar as this is also true of those who have celebrated Charlie Kirk’s death, the same rule ought to apply. Where it is not true, however, it ought not to. To observe this basic distinction is not to “soften” or “backpedal” or “retreat” on the matter of “cancel culture”; it is to distinguish between what is “cancel culture” and what is not, in the same manner as we always have.

Now, as ever, I consider the material question to be whether there is an obvious link between the views that were held and the consequences that resulted. As I wrote back in 2014, when Brendan Eich was kicked out of Mozilla:

Notably missing from the hysteria was any explanation of precisely what Eich’s critics expected to happen were he left in charge. Instead, Mozilla’s press office merely asserted that the company was such a diverse, tolerant, and live-and-let-live sort of place that it was all but obliged to hound a man out of office because he possessed slightly different political views from the majority of its staff. Nowhere was it suggested that Eich would damage the company. Nowhere was it argued that he was personally hostile or unpleasant toward its employees. Nowhere was it implied that he would seek to discriminate against those about whom he might have personal qualms. Instead, we were left with the uncomfortable impression that the assembled denizens of the open-source browser industry are so pathetic and so delicate in their sensibilities that they cannot work alongside anybody who displays the temerity to disagree with them. Is that who we want to be?

It is, of course, entirely grotesque for a waitress to write on Facebook that she is thrilled that Charlie Kirk was killed. But it is not at all obvious how that view affects her job as a waitress, or, indeed, what the broader purpose of getting her fired from that position might be. In all likelihood, such a person will soon find another job — maybe even another job as a waitress. And then what? Surely, the rule cannot be that if someone says something ugly, they ought to be removed from whatever position they happen to hold at that time — after which point the clock is held magically to have reset? That, in my view, would be pointless.

Nevertheless, there are obviously some circumstances in which such a sentiment would be fatally incompatible with one’s role. If, rather an a waitress, a college dean expressed the view that it was good that a speaker on a college campus had been murdered, there is no way that she could remain in her position. In that case, positing that such a view is “dangerous” is not an abstraction; it is literally true. The words and the responsibilities line up perfectly — or, rather, they perfectly clash. One can quite easily pour coffee while holding terrible views on campus violence. One cannot be responsible for a campus and do so.

Another good example might be the difference between holding bigoted views as a IT engineer and holding bigoted views as a judge. I would, if I had my way, prefer that the guy on the database team at Netflix not believe that one race is superior to another, or have illiberal opinions about the Jews, but, absent behavior at work that manifested these opinions into a practical abdication of his role, it does not especially matter if he does. The same is not true of a judge, whose oath of office demands impartiality, and whose place within our system of government is contingent upon the public’s belief that he will uphold it. To say, in that instance, “but what about cancel culture” is not to sustain an admirable consistency, but to subordinate one’s brain to a slogan. There is nothing about being a pluralist that requires such a move.

One last note: Naturally, there is a qualitative difference between cheering someone’s death and offering a political opinion. Yes, in America, both fall under “free speech.” No, they are not morally the same thing. To cheer someone’s death because one didn’t like his views is to reject the classically liberal order atop which the United States has been painstakingly built. It is not an argument, but the rejection of argument. It is not politics, but the abolition of politics. It is not a viewpoint, but the relegation of viewpoints to the trash heap. This being so, I have no time whatsoever for those who, having celebrated what happened last week, have pretended in the aftermath that they have been criticized for their “opinions.” To contend that it is acceptable to kill someone for his speech but not to fire him for it is a nonsensical and cynical position that ought to be laughed out of the room wherever it is encountered. We can, as I have here, debate where the line should be for consequences, but, irrespective of where we draw it, this much will remain true: If you are pleased that a man died because you disliked his words, you’re a horrible person and a useless citizen of the republic.