If You Can't Say Something Nice

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The internet is a minefield of rage. Articles, videos, one-liners that make us want to snap our phones in half.

Last week, I encountered an article arguing a claim I completely disagree with and which used, in my opinion, poorly-considered evidence.

This could cause harm, I thought. This could mislead people.

Throughout the day, I scoured the comments, hoping someone had called the writer out in such a way that he would be forced to see his error.

For hours—yes, hours—I was half in and half out of my work, dreaming up every possible argument, every clever quip, even some half-decent memes, that would blast the opposition out of the water.

As I saw it, the writer was, in the firestorm of division that is this cultural moment, dumping gasoline on the trees. Doing nothing but creating noise, and I was prepared to shout him down from the rooftops. To yell until no one could hear him yelling. Scream until he stopped screaming.

It was about that time I stumbled back from the edge, my hypocrisy having just slapped me in the face.

When you’re ready to become what you’ve sworn to oppose, it’s time to take stock of the situation and yourself.

The reality is that keyboard war doesn’t change hearts or minds. Not on controversial topics.

I’m not saying it doesn’t serve a purpose. There’s nothing better when you want to unify your base and inflame the opposition, but it certainly won’t build any bridges. Your enemies aren’t going to read your comment and suddenly see the error of their ways, nor will they admit defeat, groveling before your superior intellect. They will only double down.

I’m happy to confess, I’ve witnessed hard conversations being had on Substack in a much more mature way than you’ll find anywhere on the internet. It’s enough to give a body hope.

And we all must follow our conscience. It wouldn’t be right to let corruption and abuse go unchallenged or remain hidden. It’d be wrong not to speak on those topics.

But those aren’t the topics I’m talking about. I mean the ones you aren’t supposed to bring up at parties or the ones you brief your spouse about on the way to Christmas dinner. The ones that needle you and threaten to burst out of your chest. The ones that cause anger and never resolve the issue.

Those are the ideas by which we define ourselves, the ones welded to our egos.

Of course it hurts when someone yanks on them. We aren’t meant to be fused bundles of opinions.

We can’t identify with our ideas—however correct they might be—and expect to find silence. In that condition, we only create more noise. In the resulting cacophony, it becomes easier and easier to forget that our opponents are other human beings, much more like us than we care to admit.

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Painting is Battle of the Cimbrians by Carl Rahl (1812-1865).