The danger of self-defense

If you ever find yourself becoming too happy with your life, go to Spectator’s website, pick an article on a controversial topic, scroll down to the comments section, and read them all. Pretty soon, your mind will boggle, your stomach will drop, and you’ll be back to your old cynical, bitter self in no time! Articles about issues in the Middle East usually work the best for this, but I experienced this phenomenon most recently while reading the article on the CU Dems’ protest of Troy Davis’ execution. Although Internet comments are almost universally reviled, these comments aren’t from trolls or spambots. No, these are ordinary Columbia students with very strong opinions. Opinions so strong that they spill forth in paragraphs of antipathy, anger, scorn for the opposing opinion, and disbelief that anyone could hold any position other than his or her own. And it’s these kinds of comments, not misspelled or irrelevant ones, that make my heart sink.

These comments depress me because they make it seem as though the only reason we can sit in class together and eat meals together and go to events together is that we don’t know the opinions that our fellow classmates hold. At the heart of it all, these comments make pleasant, respectful conversations about religion, politics, or ethics seem impossible. They pose the questions: Why do we bother talking about controversial stuff at all? Why don’t we just talk about how much we hate the food in John Jay and pretend the stuff we don’t agree on doesn’t really exist?

I have to admit, there are times when I’ve wanted to answer this question, “Let’s not bother at all! You’re right, John Jay food does suck! Look how much we have in common!” The idea of expressing some of my most deeply held beliefs only to be met by vitriol and scorn is a frightening one. (Maybe that’s another reason why we all want to comment anonymously.) More than that, some of the things I believe about the world are seen by other people as monstrous deformations of the truth, horrific errors that threaten the way they see the world and keep me in a tightly closed box of falseness. And I don’t want to be seen this way. I don’t want to be identified with what someone else hates. So it’s really, really easy to pretend that I don’t hold any beliefs that people hate. And it’s really, really easy not to ask anyone else what she thinks about the world, lest we actually have to talk about things we disagree on. And it’s the easiest thing of all to pretend that by talking about the number of pages we have to read this week, we’re all getting to know each other on a deep, intimate level.

But if we move beyond our desire for self-protection, we can see that this is a cramped and stifling way to live together. For one thing, it keeps us in a false world, where everyone believes the exact same thing as we do. (They must, or else they would fight with us, right?) For another thing, it keeps our relationships superficial, and it can often make us feel like we’re putting up a false image of ourselves. In our heart of hearts, we want other people to see us for who we really are—and that includes the beliefs they disagree with. Above all, it keeps our minds from expanding. Talking to someone whose worldview is radically different than ours can help us gain an understanding of what it’s like to see the world from another perspective. It can be educational—we might have had some errors about the actual content of their opinion or belief system. Most importantly, it allows for the possibility that our minds could be changed, that our own opinions are not fixed or static but could shift and alter. After all, as the saying goes, “the truth is out there”—it just might not be inside our own heads at the moment.

It is for all these reasons that I firmly believe it’s important for us to keep talking about controversy, no matter how hard it can get. I also firmly believe that we can do it without the torrents of hatred found in some Internet comments. I don’t have a foolproof plan for how this will work, but I think it starts with two, three, or 10 people coming together to learn from each other by talking about what they believe and why it’s important. And it’s this that can actually build a true, deep community—one real, un-anonymous conversation at a time.

Kathryn Brill is a Barnard College junior majoring in English. She is a member of InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. We Should Talk runs alternate Mondays.