The most unpleasant person I’ve ever encountered on a regular basis was a fellow in a Facebook group who possessed near unfathomable arrogance, convinced his was the sole voice of orthodoxy in the universe. Disagree with him on one point, or gently try to correct his behavior, and he’d unleash either a wall of text about why he was right, a string of insults and ad hominems, or some combination—always in the most condescending tone possible. I couldn’t stand him.
I thought of him while reading the Vatican’s Pastoral Reflection on Engagement with Social Media released last week. I could complain about the length (eighty-two paragraphs, presumably directed at . . . TikTok users??), but fortunately I didn’t need to read far before something resonated with me:
“As believers, we are called to be communicators who move intentionally towards encounter…Indeed, by orienting digital connections towards encountering real persons, forming real relationships and building real community, we are actually nourishing our relationship with God” (24).
Nearly every interaction on social media is with a real person who we’ve reduced to words on a screen. That is a drastic reduction from a whole flesh-and-blood human being, vehicle of the imago dei.
This is the biggest reason it’s so easy to stay angry with people online—you barely perceive that you’re angry with someone rather than something. But if you can break through that barrier, at least a little bit, the result can be startling.
A personal example: one day I decided to click on the profile of the fellow mentioned above, and something weird happened. I saw his face.
I saw pictures of his wedding day. Pictures with his kids. Playing guitar. Living a normal life. He came alive before my eyes.
I was much more acutely aware of a real person, and the encounter disarmed me. The words on the screen were humanized. Suddenly I felt uncomfortable that I disliked this real person, despite the abundance of reasons he provided every day.
It made me want to like him more, however difficult he made it.
Now I’m not saying that all internet squabbles will be solved overnight if we all just look at each other’s faces and get filled with warm fuzzies. I’m simply illustrating the point: orienting myself towards “encountering [a] real [person]” caused a startling change in my disposition. The imago dei broke through. As I said, it made me more uncomfortable than anything.
It’s no coincidence that, at that time in my life, some men in my college dorm were leading us in the Litany of Humility every night. Possibly the most challenging, uncomfortable prayer I’ve ever recited, it’s full of pleas to Jesus to “grant me the grace to desire” occasions of humility. With every line, you almost don’t want Jesus to hear it.
Well, Jesus heard it, all right. He granted me the grace to desire greater love for one of his children. On the internet, that’s nothing short of a miracle.