There used to be an informal rule that in a friendly social conversation, in the interests of peace two subjects would be kept off the table — religion and politics. This was an acknowledgement that since actual facts played a vanishingly small role in those two fields — that they were both enmeshed in such a tangle of personal history, prejudice, opinion, and speculation — that people of differing views would never be able to talk dispassionately about them. Rather than spoil what might otherwise be an enjoyable chat, the rule of thumb was to simply avoid them both.
If you are a Republican whose basic assessment of strangers is that they are bad and threatening and must be kept at bay, and I, as a Democrat, believe that people are essentially good, and are entitled to encouragement and understanding, it is unlikely that we can reconcile our views. If you are a Catholic (or a Muslim or a Buddhist, or a Zoroastrian, or a Jehovah’s Witness, or a whirling dervish), sure that you are one of a limited number of chosen people assured of access to an everlasting existence in Paradise, and I am an atheist, equally sure that after death a human corpse has no more future than the soul of a squashed cockroach, it is doubtful that we can to come to much of an understanding. There is no conclusive evidence for either of our positions that will suffice to convert either of us. Why spoil Rick Blaine and Louis Renault’s Casablanca walk-off line about the “beginning of a beautiful friendship” over an irresolvable conflict?
Well, maybe just to test the strength of our friendship? Is friendship only a matter of shared prejudices? Or does it represent some deeper commitment — perhaps a simple acceptance of our common humanity — that can absorb differences of opinion without descending into animosity? Etiquette once held that we not risk subjecting our personal ties to this test. Why? The obvious reason is that we weren’t sure of the outcome, and we were reluctant to explore the possible fragility of our relationship. “Tolerance” was the self-congratulatory word we assigned to this timidity. Tolerance was to be considered a virtue. We tried to keep religion and politics equally out of our daily doings with each other and we patted ourselves on the back for avoiding disagreements. Let the school curriculum deal with quadratic equations and geography — subject to objective proofs and measurements. Leave the ethics and the morals to Sunday mornings, when it was easier to sleep through the lecture or observe the actions of a fly in the sunbeam on the back of the next pew and there were no tests.
Except that, of course, that’s not the way we actually do it. We hang crucifixes on the classroom walls. We wear yarmulkes and hijabs and turbans. Teachers do mental handsprings in an effort to avoid PTA-forbidden words like “atheist” or “creationism” or the infamous “n-word”. Comparisons of religious or political beliefs may be of more interest to students than when the faster but late-starting train will catch up with the earlier but slower one, but to most parents the trains are safer territory. Time enough for that when we get to college. If we get to college.
But avoiding them has a price. Openness between teacher and student is sacrificed. There is created a belief that there can be in scholarship a hiding place where hypocrisy can trump inquiry. This corrodes trust. How can I fully respect my teacher if there are questions she will not let me ask? And what, then, is the example she gives me about morality and ethics? When does teaching become propaganda? If I am i9n possession of Truth, then tolerance is betrayal.
These are important questions. Are they more important than friendships built on etiquette? Manners may help to preserve the external appearance of social harmony, but what if they mostly serve to conceal rot at the heart of the social contract? (I take the definition of “social contract” to be simply “We are all in this together.”)
So, in the interest of everyone’s survival (versus the interest of my short-term advantage over you, or your short-term advantage over me) I recommend that in view of the unusually critical nature of our politics and our religions at this moment we suspend etiquette for the next few years in the United States and try to establish a respect for honesty — and accuracy — and let the chips fall where they may.
Wear your “Bern” or your “Her” button or your pussy hat or your red baseball cap and deal with whatever comment it may elicit in your encounters with the people you meet during your day. And if your own ideas are different from the ones you see on your acquaintances’ lapels or heads, don’t hesitate to raise questions. If the conversation turns to what God said or didn’t say or what He may have promised or may not have promised, or whether three million illegal Mexican immigrants were bused in so they could vote for Hillary, have the courage to stand up for your belief.
What good will that do if a shouting match \ensues? Firstly, you can’t be sure there will be a shouting match. Maybe your friend will surprise you. He may be as willing to have a relaxed discussion as you are. But secondly and more importantly the importance of asking questions will be reinforced. “Hyperbole in the service of truth” (I think that was Donald Trump’s phrase) will not be allowed to overrule reality. The Republicans will no longer be able to “create their own reality” (that was Karl Rove’s battle cry) without having a battle on their hands. The occupants of Washington will not enjoy the shield that the inhabitants of the Kremlin are accustomed to. Women will no longer be told that God forbids them to use birth control or to tolerate gender adjustments. If Sunnis and Shi’ites want to behead each other in Iraq or Iran, let that be their pleasure, but let’s keep America a land where we can still hand-letter our signs and put on our funny hats and march in our streets and voice our disapproval of stupidity.
At this point it seems to me that that’s no longer a safe privilege. I n my book it’s one that requires active defense if we want to preserve it. Keep your weapons sharp — our verbal ones — and don’t fear to exercise them whenever you get a chance. Do that until each of us re-learns to recognize the difference between reality and bullshit. Do it until we have returned to sanity. Just do it.