Abraham Lincoln would have known how to behave online.
The sixteenth president is the most famous practitioner of the “hot letter,” a strategy he used in correspondence with folks who had upset him. He’d draft a letter full of fiery anger, then set it aside and let himself cool off before sending a more levelheaded response instead.
On the internet—particularly on social media, which incentivizes short, snarky, cutting rhetoric—I cannot recommend this strategy enough. Some days, it seems as though everyone online is firing off nothing but hot letters out in the open, which of course does no one any good. If you want to have conversations on social media that are not only productive but also calm and respectful, try adopting Abe’s technique (if you don’t want calm, productive online conversations, I suggest you DELETE THE INTERNET NOW).
I’ll illustrate how it works with a real example. A week or so ago, someone on X (formerly Twitter) made a snarky post insinuating that professional apologists (like those at Catholic Answers) are little more than lazy grifters, since they spend more time answering other faiths than they do “cleaning up” the Church’s messes.
My first impulse was to fire back in kind. I typed out what I thought was a terrific rejoinder: “Please let us know, O Great and Wise One, when you’ve judged the Church to be sparkling clean enough that those who dare to explain and defend the faith are once again permitted by Your Grace to share their knowledge with everyday Catholics.” That would put this guy in his place!
But as my mouse hovered precariously over “send,” I began to calm down. I knew my reply wouldn’t make for a productive conversation—the other fellow would simply snark back, I’d be upset again, and the cycle would repeat. But my “hot comment” still proved helpful: it clarified my thoughts. Sarcastic rejoinders are often highly condensed, spiced-up versions of real, substantive arguments that can be drawn out and presented more respectfully after a little introspection.
So that’s exactly what I did. I thought about what I was trying to say underneath all my sarcasm, and replied with that instead:
If this were [about] a high-ranking prelate, your criticism might be more legitimate. Here, though, it’s misdirected.
No matter how corrupt and broken the Church is, there are always potential converts who are just a few corrected misconceptions away from the Church. There are always honest Catholics who want to know how to answer day-to-day challenges to their faith. And there are always smart, studious folks who can perform a spiritual work of mercy by sharing what they know with those who, for one reason or another, can’t put in the same amount of study themselves.
How did my interlocutor respond? He didn’t argue further (and I don’t begrudge him that—internet arguments aren’t fun), but instead gave “Honest props . . . for even-keeled and good-humored engagement with my original post.” And with that, we were done.
This interaction (for which I give my guardian angel full credit) is my new Lincoln-esque model for how to behave online. But of course, it’s not my idea, or even the Great Emancipator’s; the inspired author told us millennia ago that “A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger” (Prov. 15:1). The beauty of this wisdom is that it leaves open the possibility of putting an unspoken harsh word to use.
If someone agitates us, we should clap back with everything we’ve got—but don’t hit send. Instead, let’s cool off, look over our reply, and ruminate on what we were really trying to say. Then let’s say that, calmly and respectfully; and if the other person doesn’t want to reciprocate, let him go. If we follow this model, I think the internet could—maybe—become a happier place.