the-caffeinated-introvert-blog

[the-caffeinated-introvert-blog]

Right, Wrong, and Facebook

The other day I logged into Facebook and saw one of those articles...you know the one. The click-bait with a title so incendiary that there's a magnetic pull between your finger and the screen of your smartphone.

I read through it, and just as I expected, it made me angry. I sat there, hands shaking, stewing over what I had just read. As though I was surprised that I could read something on the internet that would bother me. My eyes slowly drooped down the rest of the page and saw the worst button that exists on the internet...

"View Comments."

I knew right away. I felt it in my bones. My brain screamed down to the nerve endings in my fingers, "DON'T CLICK THAT LINK."

Nothing good comes from comments on articles like that. It's a pool filled with professional trolls, the wildly ignorant, and the woefully undereducated shouting profanity-riddled opinions at one another. A world rife with personal attacks disguised as arguments, underscoring an opinion that the troll cannot truly explain as it was ripped straight from the mouth of their favorite talking head.

So, obviously, I viewed the comments.

As though it were planned, I stopped at one so awful that I think I might have passed out for a second or two. Then I got to work.

I began writing a rebuttal so poignant -- I mean it was downright beautiful -- that surely this interweb-dwelling ne'er-do-well would break into tears, post an apology, and we'd become best friends. I would be heralded as the voice of a new generation. A more understanding, tolerant, and educated world would begin, and people would finally get along on the internet. All because I had the gumption to tell this gentleman that he was wrong, without cussing even once.

About three-quarters of the way through what would be my magnum opus, the rational part of my brain awoke again to catch me in the middle of the intellectual equivalent of yelling at the wind to stop being so blow-y. I stopped.

Did I really think this would change his mind?

This man's opinion, though the words might be stolen from someone else, has been bred through years of misinformation, prejudice, and hate. A malicious mixture of the worst that nature has to offer, and the darkest thoughts that his upbringing could nurture. And here I sit, in pajama pants, trying to change the mind of a person so disconnected from his own feelings that he finds that vile treatment of another human being acceptable.

So I deleted everything. Which was really sort of depressing at the time. I mean, come on. It was beautiful. The kind of prose that would make Fitzgerald jealous. Probably. But in the end, certainly for the best.

That experience caused me to reflect on myself, and my own opinions. How they were formed, how I represent them, and who I become when I disagree with someone else. I mean, certainly I'm better than that guy, right? Maybe. But maybe not.

Of course, I don't speak to other human beings the same way he does, but his thought process and mine seem to start from the same place. A brain that seeks to prove everyone else wrong first, rather than seeking to understand them. His just manifests in an uglier way.

When you look at discourse today, you see a lot of that. Point, counterpoint. And maybe that's how it's always been. Solomon said there's nothing new under the sun, so I'll believe him. But certainly, it is more obvious today. With Facebook, I can immediately tell a complete stranger that they are ignorant (the must-have for any Facebook Debators vocabulary), right in front of the rest of the world.

I can't remember the last time I saw someone ask a question in a discussion. A question that is genuinely meant to better understand someone else's opinion.

So I decided that, as best I could, I was going to walk into nearly every disagreement with this thought on the forefront of my mind --"I could be wrong."

Now, I don't mean to say that everytime someone disagrees with me I'm going to change my mind. Further, there are certainly some things in my life, namely my faith, that are not reversible. But other than that exception, I have to accept the reality that I'm just a 26-year-old man with a below-average amount of life experience, so I could definitely be wrong about a lot of things.

I realize this isn't necessarily a groundbreaking idea. I'm not going to win a Nobel prize for realizing that humans aren't omniscient. And maybe most of you don't struggle with wanting to be right the way that I do. Good on you if that's truly the case.

But I've grown so tired of arguing just to argue. I believe that we are all creations of the same God. All beautifully and wonderfully made, with our own purpose set in His mind. We've all had different experiences, and seen them through different eyes. We have all formed our own inferences, that will, in turn, determine how we react in any given scenario. So how can I tell you, without any honest investigation, that you are wrong? Further, if I treat you with disrespect, am I not also showing disrespect to The One would put you here?

I come from the same sinful nature that we all do, so it seems reasonable that I could end up in the midst of a number of logical fallacies and inconsistencies. Chances are good that I will immediately and fundamentally misunderstand any point you make because I don't think the same way that you do. And those differences were intentional. So why do I try so hard to ignore them?

What am I trying to say here...I'm not really sure. I think this is all just pouring out of an overwhelming sense of frustration and fatigue. As with the comment that initiated this whole story, I don't believe this will truly change anything.

I guess, if this serves any purpose at all, it's to breed hope within myself. Hope that one day, I could read something on the internet or see something on the TV and not immediately feel the need to tell that person off. That I could listen first, and speak second. That I could put some action behind the phrase, "I care about people." That I can stop mistaking variation as villainy. The fact is, you and I can disagree and not be enemies. I'd love it if one day my reflex would be to ask instead of to argue.

And that I'd finally stop forcing myself into fits of Facebook Rage.