February 16th, 2024
We have the best access to all the information from all of human history and, according to recent studies, less comprehension of it than ever before.
This is a unique era of humanity; not because, generally, we have lost all sense of context, trust, and grace, but because it has never been easier to have these qualities, and this ignorance is by choice.
Basically, a lot of people are fucking mean, violent, and stupid, and it doesn’t feel like we can do much about it.
I, myself, have adopted a policy: I don’t argue with anyone who is not a serious person anymore. I don’t mean unfunny. I love funny people, even funny people I disagree with. By that, I mean if it’s clear that the person I’m having a discussion with has no idea what they’re talking about (and passionately!) when it comes to a particular topic, I simply nod my head and keep kicking my can down the street, because it has become impossible to have a civil conversation with unserious minds.
You think Donald Trump is Christ-like and has come to save our nation and souls?
Okay. You are clearly unserious. There is a specific kind of physical damage to your brain that neither facts, his words and actions, or my words can repair.
You deny climate change and say shit on the internet like “actually, the world is in a cooling period,” even though over 98% of the world’s scientists disagree and 2023 was the hottest year we’ve had in 125,000 years?
In this case, we’re not agreeing to disagree. You’re wrong and the facts are correct and clear, and I can’t speak, with a straight face, to somebody so comically unserious.
You continue to be openly, aggressively racist or sexist; you deny the impact of slavery or colonization or the history of genocide; or you genuinely think late-stage capitalism is working out for most of us?
We can actually have a conversation about any of these things. Once you become a serious person, of course.
I have long-avoided most comment sections. This is where unserious people get you. They find ways to irritate or infuriate or hurt you, and you comment furiously back, knowing it’s futile, knowing that you’re just making it worse. Most likely on yourself.
We can’t keep giving unserious people our priceless and limited time.
But I’ve found a very nourishing balm to put on the cracked, red skin of division: talking to people about what they do know.
Yes, even unserious people.
Because even they know at least one thing pretty well, better than anyone else: themselves. And having conversations with people about the deep stuff — where they came from, where they want to go, their hopes and dreams, their fears and losses — can draw something stronger to us than the lines between us.
These kinds of conversations give us context. They give us trust. They give us grace.
They’re the kind of moments that give me hope, against cruelty and violence and ignorance.
We have access to all the information that has ever existed, and it’s led us here. Information isn’t enough on its own, and it’s why technology will never be us.
In the end, humanity is the only thing that will ever comprehend humanity.
The Den 