Certainly uncertain

I'm listening to Shadi Hamid on the "Difficult Conversations" podcast. Hamid's written a book called The Problem of Democracy, and on the podcast he's making the case against consensus. He argues that, since some political questions touch upon fundamental notions of fairness and justice, polarization is acceptable and even desirable.

To some extent, I see his point. I'm not going to support repealing the 13th Amendment no matter how much I desire consensus, because I think slavery is a fundamentally unjust institution. Nor am I going to get behind even the most rational proposal to use The Handmaid's Tale as a roadmap for society, because that strikes at the very heart of the ideal of personal autonomy. I am unashamedly partisan on those issues, I think my opponents are morally deficient for their positions, and I'm willing to fight over it. So Hamid's on point there.

Where Hamid loses me is when the issues aren't quite as fundamental. For example, I think total bans on abortion are bonkers, but I'm not sure I feel the same about parental consent requirements. I think those are wrong, mind you, and I'd vote against them, but I don't think those who disagree are bonkers, or evil. They're just wrong, and that's an important distinction. Not because we should be kind to people--although we should try--but because a belief that other human beings are evil justifies almost anything you'd want to do to them. 

Tyrants always cast their opponents as evil, because that's one way to get the public on board with sending those opponents to the salt mines or the death camps. I think there's more to it than that, though. It's comforting to think that I know what's right, and that it is not only my right but my duty to bring the Good Word to others. If they hear me out and agree, great; if not, well, it's off to Siberia with them. I don't need to feel bad about that, either, because my opponents are evil and evil people deserve what they get. A very tidy approach to life, and one that requires only conviction.

In my fifty-three years on this planet, I have come to fear that kind of conviction. I have seen, time and time again, that more harm is done by those who are sure they are right, than by those who think they might be wrong. Moral certitude feels great, but it's addictive, and in spotlighting a single issue, it can make everything else harder to see. Life can often seem like a place shrouded in darkness, so I find it's best to carry more than one light.

This isn't some call for centrism--I don't even know what that means, other than a dig at liberals who are insufficiently zealous about one issue or another. It's a reminder that humility--about yourself and your certainties--burns cooler than self-righteousness, but it sheds much more light.

Megan Phelps Roper, of Westboro Baptist fame, has developed some questions you can ask yourself, to test if you've gone off the deep end over what you believe. Makes sense that she did so, as MPR herself once held some rock-solid views she was delighted to scream at people. If anyone knows the perils of being too sure of oneself, it's her, so I'm going to share those questions here:

1. Are you capable of entertaining real doubt about your beliefs, or are you operating from a position of pure certainty?
2. Can you describe the evidence you would need to see to change your position, or is your perspective unfalsifiable?
3. Can you articulate your opponents' position in a way they would recognize, or are you strawmanning?
4. Are you attacking ideas or attacking the people who hold them?
5. Are you willing to cut off close relationships with people who disagree with you, particularly over small points of contention?
6. Are you willing to use extraordinary means--forcing people from their jobs or homes, using violence or threats of violence, or celebrating misfortune or tragedy--against people who disagree with you?

A good righteous anger can be a wonderful thing, spurring people to demand change, or to prevent or repair harm, or to help others. However, like fire, certainty is so powerful that a little of it goes a long way. Humility is just as illuminating, and it doesn't burn the entire world.