Tag Archives: Discussion and Philosophy

A Rule of Life for Facebook Posts–thoughts after reading Michael Curry's "Love Is the Way"

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I recently took part in an Advent book study of Bishop Michael Curry’s Love Is the Way: Holding on to Hope in Troubling Times. Partway through, we were given an assignment: to consider the section on creating a Rule of Life, and think about how we might apply it in our own lives. I ended up missing the subsequent discussion session, but decided to write up my thoughts and use it as a blog post.

A Rule of Life is meant to be a set of personal guidelines to help us do a better job of living in accordance with our own highest values. Rather than try to compose a Rule of Life for my whole life, which is a huge thing to think about and really requires a continuing effort, I decided just to formulate a Rule of Life for Facebook posts. If I want to post on Facebook in a way that accords with my values, what should I do or not do?

I’ve narrowed it down to three rules, more or less: one “Do post,” one “Don’t post,” and one “Maybe post.”

Do: post funny and hopeful things from my life. Silly cat photos, attempts at creative bread-making, a special star, colored lights. These are the kinds of things I enjoy seeing from others, and these are the posts that are more likely to be enjoyed by others and very unlikely to upset them. (Okay, it might be annoying if I actually posted photos of every loaf of bread I ever baked, but I’m assuming common sense here.)

Don’t: rant. Rants should be reserved for people who know and understand me, delivered in person or by phone, and given plenty of context. An out-of-context rant can make a person seem considerably more ugly than they really are. People who know me can sympathize with me or tell me if I am going off the deep end, and either way, won’t hold my rant against me. (Again, I’m assuming common sense here. Choose an appropriate person to rant to.)

There might be an exception for rants about things that don’t involve other people. It might be okay to rant about mosquitoes in summer, or about the way I utterly messed up a loaf of bread.

Maybe post: responses to other people’s posts and comments on current events or world situations, if they can meet three criteria.

First, is the post based on good information? This is a lot like saying, “Is it true?” There have been too many times when I read about something that happened and immediately reacted to it, only to later read a different account and realize that I hadn’t fully understood the situation. Sometimes I think I have informed myself well enough by looking at several articles on-line, and then discover I haven’t actually looked at conflicting views and so have still missed a lot. It isn’t possible to be fully informed—but it’s possible at least to read more than one person’s take on a situation.

Second, is the post courteously worded? In Love Is the Way, Bishop Curry lists MLK, Jr’s Ten Commandments of Nonviolence. Number six is “Observe with both friend and foe the ordinary rules of courtesy.” When you post on Facebook, you are addressing human beings, mostly friends, but possibly also foes. (Remember, you can never be sure who will end up reading anything you put on-line.) Be courteous. Don’t name-call.

As a practical matter, I find that posts that do a lot of name-calling make me angry with the person who posted, even if I actually agree with the general message of the post. The words come across as venomous and spiteful. There is nothing to be gained in being deliberately offensive.

Third and most difficult to determine, is the post well-intentioned? No matter how politely worded the post may be, is the point of posting it to be helpful, or to be subtly snarky? To inform, or to show off one’s superior knowledge? To encourage someone to think about something differently, or to score a point?

Here I’ll cite Number Two of those ten commandments: “Remember always that the nonviolent movement seeks justice and reconciliation—not victory.” In posting, am I really trying to do something productive, or do I just want to be right? Or more exactly, am I seeking to make other people admitI am right?

There’s a saying that I think is quite wise when properly interpreted: “You can be right, or you can be married.” I interpret it to mean that if you insist your partner acknowledge that you are right every time you are right, you aren’t going to have much of a relationship. Especially since sometimes you will actually be wrong.

The fact is, people hate being wrong. If you press them hard to admit that they are wrong, they are likely to try to defend their view even if they are having doubts about it. Worse, defending their view will make it even more difficult for them to give it up. If instead you reduce the cost to them of admitting that they are wrong (even just admitting it to themselves), that  makes it easier for them to change their mind.

Going back to the original question, “Is the post well-intentioned?”, I have to admit that sometimes the answer is going to be “Yes…and also, no.” Sometimes I can’t help wanting to show off a little, or be acknowledged right. But at least it’s worth thinking hard about when choosing my words.

A Rule of Life (for Facebook posts or otherwise) is supposed to help you express your highest values in the way you live your life. I haven’t said what those values are, in my case, and it occurs to me that I am doing things backwards—coming up with rules before coming up with the values they are meant to promote. Oh well. Working backwards,  my highest values, at least as far as Facebook posts are concerned, are not clever wit (though that can be fun to read) or the promotion of creative endeavors (though I know some very creative people I would like to promote and know ofmany more) or making myself look good (though admittedly I’m trying to post from my best side). I guess that when it comes to Facebook and my Facebook friends, I value people working together–hopefully to make the world a better place for everyone.

I Trust My Cat, and My Cat Trusts Me

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Sometimes when I am sitting with a cat on my lap, watching Netflix, I am amazed that this creature trusts me enough to fall asleep there. I am certainly big enough to do her harm.
The trust works both ways, of course. She may be small, but I know how sharp her claws are. But I don’t even notice when she settles down mid-movie, though she could, if she wanted, shred my face.
Why do we trust each other? We certainly don’t have any contract with each other, enforceable or otherwise. We don’t even speak the same language. What we do have is our past experience with each other, and a strong need to trust.
I mention our need to trust because past experience alone isn’t enough. Bertrand Russell, in The Problems of Philosophy, points out that the chicken gets fed every day, right up until the farmer decides on a chicken dinner. How can my cat be sure she isn’t in the same position? The fact is, she can’t. But living with continual suspicion of each other—suspicion not based on anything in particular–would be an exhausting and unhappy way to live. We need to trust each other so we can relax and enjoy each other.
In the case of my cat, she is trusting me not to harm her. She also seems confident that I will put out food every day. It’s a fairly uncomplicated relationship, given that we can’t communicate well enough to set up rules. Otherwise I’d feel betrayed, rather than annoyed, when she scratches the sofa or climbs up on the table.
People have much more complicated motives than cats, and it’s harder to know when to trust them. Our lives together are full of rules, written and unwritten. Our decisions about whom to trust are still based on our shared past experience, though we can also consider what motives they might have. We can worry about the possibility that we are chickens being fattened up. But we desperately need to trust at least some people in order to be able to live and work together.
Sitting with my cat reminds me how important trust is to our sense of security, and oddly, how basic it is. It’s about expecting not to be harmed by the other. Maybe with a little food and treats thrown in.
Till next post.

Reflections on the book "The Circle" by Dave Eggers–transparency versus privacy

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When I first read The Circle by Dave Eggers, I expected it to become the 1984 of our time. It took to the logical extreme a number of problems that were already visible—reduced privacy, an increased sense of insecurity resulting from too much social media, and the constantly increasing requests for feedback from every quarter. Instead, as far as I can tell, the book just disappeared in the ever-growing flood of new books.
I’m of two minds about recommending it to other people. On the one hand, I thought it raised the issues very cleverly. On the other hand, I wouldn’t exactly call it a fun read—though it is much more entertaining than 1984, The Jungle, or The Grapes of Wrath, all of which I’m glad I (was forced to) read, and none of which I enjoyed.
I’m going to focus on privacy versus transparency for this post, setting aside the mostly separate issue of too much emphasis on feedback (really, there are areas in which asking for feedback is just a terrible idea!). There is a moment near the beginning of the story in which our main character, Mae, tries to wring clever changes on a trite phrase and ends up saying something she never meant to say. Ouch. But
“it didn’t matter. He was laughing now, and he… made her trust that he would never bring it up again, that this terrible thing she said would remain between them, that they both understood mistakes are made by all and that they should, if everyone is acknowledging our common humanity, our common frailty and propensity for sounding and looking ridiculous a thousand times a day, that these mistakes should be allowed to be forgotten.” (p. 34)
Mae is new at the company when this happens, and hasn’t yet absorbed the company’s view of things, expressed by one of their founders as “All that happens must be known.” And by “known”, he pretty much means accessible to anyone, anywhere, and at any time. It isn’t Big Brother that’s watching you, it’s your peers—everyone with an internet connection.
One of the things that kept me caught up in the book was the way the company’s spokespeople somehow managed to make the most outrageous claims seem not just plausible, but positively progressive. (I spent a lot of time mentally shouting at Mae to get a clue and realize why they were wrong.) The founder in question, Bailey, gives two main reasons for promoting transparency.
The first is that people behave better when they know they are being watched. He thinks the only reason people have for wanting privacy is that they are ashamed, either because they are doing wrong (in which case we should know about it) or unnecessarily (in which case we should all just get over it.) If we know we are watched, we will be our best selves—and don’t we want to be our best selves?
The second, lesser reason is that we owe it to others to share with them experiences that they may not have an opportunity to have for themselves.
To take the second reason first, no, we don’t owe that to others. Furthermore, sometimes part of what makes an experience special is that it is unrepeatable or rare. Sometimes the fact that an experience is shared with only one or a few people is what makes it special. Recording the experience wouldn’t really convey what made the experience special to anyone else, and might take away from it for those who were there. There are plenty of people happy to create logs of interesting places and events, and  enough places and events to fill several lifetimes, without having to record everything.
The first reason Bailey gives for transparency is more interesting. People almost certainly do behave better when they know they are being watched. But people can have good reasons for wanting privacy. As Mae noticed early on, we are terribly prone to making mistakes and we hate having everyone know about them and judge us based on them. People who don’t know us well may take our mistakes for character traits, and people who are malicious may use them as an opportunity to pounce on us and malign us to others. When we know we are being watched, we are likely to play it safe. Not only do we avoid doing wrong, we also won’t say or do anything risky, that might be taken wrong or go badly. Unfortunately, making mistakes is a large part of learning, and taking risks is how we (sometimes) make progress. So if we are constantly watched, we won’t be our best selves, we’ll just be our most conformist selves.
The other reason for wanting privacy is that we don’t necessarily want to be judged even in areas where there are no “mistakes.” I don’t want to hear what the world has to say about my taste in paint colors. It’s none of their business if I want to live in a house decorated in Easter egg colors. Some of them might think the color scheme enchanting, but others will not, and as Mae discovers when only 97% of fellow Circlers think her awesome in a silly quiz, “she could only think of the 3 percent who did not find her awesome.” (p. 405) Negative evaluations are disproportionately upsetting.
On top of that, some people are mean and will say nasty, critical things about your paint colors (or whatever) just to make you feel bad. Who needs that kind of unsolicited comment?
So we should have some control over what is offered up for public comment. Things I post on this blog are fair game; things I say to my family over dinner are not.
Other times, the benefit of producing better behavior does outweigh the value of privacy. Security cameras, open meetings, proctored tests… sometimes these are worth it. But there is usually some cost to be taken into account.
I won’t say how the book ends.
Till next post.