First, a caveat: I don’t claim to be a decent human being. I am a Media Studies major. I text in all caps. Just last week, in fact, I set my hair on fire.
But even in the face of these grave character flaws, I strive to be rational, a trait that is not prized enough by modern society. Fuck being earnest—earnestness is just, as P. J. O’Rourke so rightly said, stupidity sent to college. The importance of being reasonable, however, is paramount: if we can’t reach conclusions from deliberate consideration, if we can’t connect our beliefs to our reasons for belief, and our actions with our reasons for action, we are chickens without heads.
Too often, issues that are shaded grey are discussed in black and white terms. The argument over Voluntary Student Membership is a key example: to articulate it as a binary of compulsory or voluntary undermines the influences on and implications of the debate. Even worse than such total statements is hand-wringing, hysterical rhetoric. The New Zealand Union of Students’ Associations were quite rightly mocked for their “desperate” press release that declared that “members of the press release” would “tonight be appalled” that the “extreme… Bill” had not been reconsidered. I understand the intended effect of emotive language, but this verges on being insulting.
The same issue arose at the tumultuous ‘We Are The University’ protest on Kelburn campus a fortnight ago. Call me heartless, but changes to the International Relations programme does not constitute “the death of tertiary education”, and saying so undermines your point, alienates potential supporters, and makes it easier for your detractors to ignore, dismiss or rebut you. Moreover, the letter addressed to Vice-Chancellor Pat Walsh was, quite frankly, cringeworthy—petulant, sarcastic, and reeking of entitlement. I don’t dispute that the lack of consultation with students on changes to the University is disturbing, but snarky repetitions of “Pat” do not convey this, and that the protest’s organisers felt that this was an appropriate way of articulating these concerns—especially on behalf of other students—was acutely embarrassing.
Sometimes people confuse “discussion” with “sermon”, “lecture”, or “verbal assault,” but it’s easy to engage in reasonable dialogue, and doing so fosters constructive, rewarding, authoritative debate. Just be respectful of and open to new ideas; provide proof and justification; and concede to evidence that disproves your point. Your argument is never so powerful that it’s not necessary to talk about it.
By the same token, it is important to recognise the limitations of your opinion. Above all, you need to come to terms with the fact that all your opinions, without exception, are framed by your own experience and understanding of the world. Being a student of Victoria University, you are likely to be a white, middle-class New Zealander, aged between 17 and 25—and by that definition, you cannot be a leading authority on China’s economy or Michele Bachmann or the Israel-Palestine conflict. Not even if you hold a full online subscription to The New Yorker. It is of course vital to pay attention to international affairs, but fronting like an expert on issues that neither you nor I, by virtue of our position within the world, could ever hope to fully comprehend is misleading and presumptuous.
This is why we need to initiate a return to reason. Rationality does not preclude creativity or innovation: in fact, it reinforces their foundations. As one creative type, filmmaker Lars von Trier, noted—”if one devalues rationality, the world tends to fall apart”, and I am deeply concerned about the world falling apart. It is so, so important that we articulate ourselves clearly and intelligently and reasonably; otherwise, we just look like dicks. And if I’m going to look like a dick, it won’t be because I’ve made a blanket or overwrought statement that highlights the flaws in my logic. It will be because I’ve set my hair on fire.