I strongly dislike criticism.

Needless criticism. I strongly dislike needless criticism, criticism with no purpose other than criticizing, the type which does all harm and no good, which deteriorates one’s well-being and self-confidence. This sort of criticism is a contagious disease. It plagues humans more often than the common cold and cannot be alleviated with medicine. In its simplest form, it is gossip, and at the height of its terror, it assumes the role of hate.

Some criticism, like constructive criticism, is good. If done right, the criticizer helps the criticized to improve, so it serves a positive purpose.

Then there is the criticism sandwich, a critical comment partnered with a compliment. We’ve all heard them, “Wow, your hair actually looks good today,” or, “I like your dress, it’s very slimming.” These needless sandwiches leave one unsure of how to respond, questioning past choices and events.

Some people’s livelihoods depend on criticism. They are critics. They take home a paycheck each month for judging the world around them, supposedly “enlightening” others by informing them. Is this criticism still needless despite its fulfillment of the critics’ basic needs? Let’s explore.

Exhibit A: I sit on the couch in my living room. It had been a monotonous day, exhaustion overwhelms all but one of my senses: hunger. My stomach growls as I peer into the empty fridge. A take-out kind of night. I slug over to the computer, enter a quick search for Thai restaurants in the area, and come upon a stream of reviews, reviews by critics.

Restaurant number one: slow service.

Restaurant number two: lacked vibrant flavors.

Restaurant number three: Typically very fast. Great peanut sauce.

Number three it is! These critics served a purpose, and may I just say the pad thai was wonderful.

Exhibit B: I walk out of a movie theater with a smirk on my face, pondering the Lone Ranger and thinking of all the people who will enjoy the film as much as me. It was a great movie. I loved every second of it. This euphoria lasts approximately two hours, until I think, confident in my gauge of the quality of films, “Let’s just see how many people like what I like.”

I hop in bed, pull up Lone Ranger reviews, and begin to cry. Everyone hates it, the worst movie reviews I have ever seen. And I’m sad, not because I feel I’m wrong—quite the contrary actually. I am sad because I know other people would love the movie, but they will never give it a chance after reading a bad review. In that moment, I hate all critics.

What if Thai restaurant number one just had a rough night? What if restaurant number two was training a new chef? The critics don’t care. They critique and move on. There is something inhumane about that. There is something about tearing down someone else—or something else—that makes me very uncomfortable.

So why do we criticize? It brings about a sense of power. It’s “honest.” And it’s a part of our culture, like an illness or disease it has meshed into everyday life to the point of it being subconscious.

I am not the first to wish for a cure to this disease. Neil Young wrote, “Why do we have to hate? Why do we incinerate? Why don’t we illuminate? Around the world.” The Beatles echo this idea in their song All You Need Is Love. Jesus preached, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Preschoolers learn, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all.” So perhaps the cure for criticism is not necessarily killing it as much as overpowering it with something greater, something like Love.