Losing the Morality Contest

(and being okay with it?)

About a year ago now, I saw that a few writers I followed on X (Twitter) were up in arms about an op-ed in The New York Times. Curious, I looked up the piece. I read it carefully, slowly. And? I truly didn’t understand what the problem was. The op-ed concerns a hot-button topic, part of the culture wars, which is why I’m purposely being vague here. If I get any more specific, one’s feelings will be activated. But also, because of this, I couldn’t talk to just anyone about my own confusion.

I’m not the type who was going to tweet back at these people and get into an online dialogue. (I mean, I will get into it with people, but historically I need to actually know the person.)

I talked to Matt first. He read the op-ed and was also confused re: the problem. And so next, I texted one of my best friends. I sent the link to the piece without telling him about the uproar on Twitter, etc. I just asked him to read it and said I’d like to discuss it when he was ready.

This friend is a college professor—a critical thinker by trade. When he read it and said he was up for a conversation, I was excited. (Sidebar: I think that, at the end of the day, this is the thing I value most in a friend: someone willing to go there with me into the deep confusion of my own heart.) (Which is why I don’t have that many friends?) (Lol/ frown.)

I think I called him, but either way, we ended up on the phone. I specifically remember where I was in our house and the joy I felt when it became clear that the piece had not triggered him, that he was mostly curious to know why I wanted to discuss it.  

I then explained to him that, according to the people on Twitter, as he was not outraged, he was the worst thing a person in our milieu in the age of Trump could be: a Republican.

Of course, I was joking and he laughed. He laughed because we both knew that neither of us were Republicans! hahahaahcanyouimagine?

Soon enough we began talking about other things. And then, the conversation was over. I moved on, satisfied, knowing I was not a bad person after all. But then a few days later, I received a text message from this same friend. The message explained that he’d shared the op-ed with a colleague of his who was more of an “expert” in the area and this colleague had pointed out why the op-ed was problematic, not just to him but to liberal ideology at large. My friend was grateful for this person’s interpretation and was now in the camp that this op-ed was, indeed, Republican-y.

My friend and I then got into a back and forth in which I argued, “But your first response was x!”

If you noticed, I didn’t say that this was a good argument. But it is what I argued and unsuccessfully at that. My friend’s opinion had changed. Had progressed, to use a word. And I was left feeling strange, as if he and I’d been hanging out together on a glacier, enjoying the same vista when something happened, when the bit of ice I was standing on broke off, and before I knew it, I was drifting out to sea—my friend waving at me from what was now the shore. The mainland.

Later, when I explained this conversation to Matt, I could feel myself splintering. I was arguing my friend’s points, sort of trying them out for size, while feeling that I wasn’t convinced—like those times, as a little kid, when I was made to apologize to a sibling by a parent. Of course I could say the words, “I’m sorry,” but they couldn’t make me mean it.

It was unsettling. Why couldn’t I pivot? Was I reactionary? Was I just stubborn? Was I everything I’ve historically railed against? At the time, the way I answered these questions was basically: I don’t think so? I also sent the piece to one more trusted friend, who also did not take offense, which helped me feel a bit less alone.

I’m bringing up all of this now because over the past week, I finished reading Alan Watts’ The Wisdom of Insecurity—a book that, thanks to my previous post recounting my year of reading, I was reminded that I’d started but never finished. And in finishing it, I came across some lines that further helped me to feel like I’m not actually a Republican. At least in this instance. (Lol?)

In order to understand the lines I’m about to reference, I think it might be helpful to know that Watts talks a lot about the divided mind vs. the undivided mind. An example of the divided mind might be when you’re engaged in some activity and you think to yourself, “Wow, I’m really enjoying myself, aren’t I?” That is, if you’re internally commenting on your experience, you’re divided.

With an undivided mind, you are what you’re interested in, although this makes it sound more metaphorical than how Watts presents it. A concrete example that helps me understand what he’s saying (and he probably uses this exact example though I can’t seem to find it in the book right now) is that when you look at the sky, you are the sky. (If you look for yourself, you can’t see yourself.) There is no division between subject and object. And, essentially, you can’t be anxious when you live like this because you’re living wholly, in the present.

And when we live like this—when you are what you’re interested in:

it is quite beside the point to discuss what we should or should not do in order to be right or good. A mind that is single and sincere is not interested in being good, in conducting relations with other people so as to live up to a rule… Its interest is not in itself, but in the people and problems of which it is aware; these are “itself.” It acts, not according to the rules, but according to the circumstances of the moment.   

Okayyy. So, I’m not saying that I live my life in this undivided-mind state. Not even close! But I do think that I aim for sincerity, that I need to actually believe in my beliefs. Or, at the very least, I know when I’m faking it. And when my friend made his pivot and explained to me why the piece in question was problematic, I don’t think I could follow because to do so didn’t feel sincere.  

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I wrote all of this down yesterday and then dashed to the gym with Teddy in tow. (It’s still winter break over here!) (The gym I belong to is technically a climbing gym, so Teddy was mostly climbing while I lifted weights.) Anyway, it was really nice to be in my body, to exert myself after having been on vacation.

And as I’d spent the morning writing about all of the above, I could also feel myself sort of going in between the divided mind and the undivided one. When my mind was divided, it was because I was thinking about how I was going to wrap up this piece. I was also thinking about my mom, with whom I’d just spent a week on said vacation. I was thinking about how we’d gotten along so well this time. I know the reasons for this and have written about it a tiny bit here. But in the past, when we weren’t getting along but spent vacation together anyway (for the sake of the grandchildren), I would often look for opportunities to argue with her. It was one of my ways of coping. She, who identifies as a Republican, and I have debated so many political topics over the years.

But yesterday, as I moved around the gym, setting up the weights and taking them down, I could really feel the error of my ways. How, back then, I was essentially telling my mother how she should think about x, y, or z. And unless you’re asking for clarification or assistance in thinking through some kind of dilemma, is there anything more annoying? Or, in the words of Watts:

Nothing is really more inhuman than human relations based on morals.  

I’m not saying that you shouldn’t debate people on topics you feel strongly about. I’m not even saying that my friend shouldn’t have asked his colleague about how to interpret that op-ed. I think what I’m saying is that if everyone does this, if everyone outsources their opinion to whoever is the expert of the moment, you end up with a rather hollow morality. You end up with a bunch of smart people searching social media for the “right” answer and the most moral stance.

I think I’m also saying that there’s a difference between reading an op-ed and being with a person in real life. A difference between theory and practice. I’m saying that in the past, I don’t think I was looking at my mom fairly, as a whole person.

Whoa. Okay. Now I am feeling a little bit nervous.

Xoxx Amelia