The recent assassination of conversative activist and influencer Charlie Kirk has once again stoked the fires of opposition in American society.
Some who stood with Kirk on the same moral, religious, and political issues, believe that his murder was an attack on the truths they hold dear.
Others, who regard him as a right-wing extremist that energized the fumbling 2024 campaign of Donald Trump by bringing him the youth vote, in turn blame him for the state-sponsored bigotry and hostility against Democrats, immigrants, people of color, and transgender individuals.
We might feel challenged in such a tense political atmosphere to declare ourselves on one side or the other. After all, identity is a function of identifying with something – a party, a sect, an ideology, or a movement.
An all-in fanatical identification can quickly provide us with motivation to eliminate anyone who doesn’t share our allegiance.
In our desperation, we may feel that the only way forward is by violence.
At this moment, the Trump administration is vowing to “hunt down” all radical liberals who oppose the current government and its ambition to Make America Great Again. Trump’s early reflex of blaming the radical Left for Kirk’s murder has not been verified under investigation.
In this post, I will not take a side for or against what Charlie Kirk believed and professed. It’s not that I don’t hold different beliefs from his – I surely do, on many topics, from Christian nationalism, sexuality and the Bible, the nature and meaning of God, gun rights, reproductive rights, civil rights; the list goes on.
It’s easy to take Kirk as an advocate and agitator for a certain set of beliefs and then put ourselves on either side of the line, for him or against him.
When we do this – when we make this moment about sides and who is right, about who has the right to define God, control the government, and determine how others should live – it’s only a matter of time before someone uses violence in an attempt to shift the balance of power.
We fundamentally misunderstand what Charlie Kirk represented in American life if we try to pull him to one side or the other of this conflict zone. What then? What was it that Kirk represented, if something more (or other) than his personal convictions and stance on polarizing issues?
I call it a social commitment to civil debate, and it’s what originally made America great and kept it great. Recently, however, the practiced skills of argumentation and a commitment to the rules of civil engagement have been usurped by sloganized convictions and a readiness to close down and bring violence upon those who don’t agree with us.
Convictions are beliefs so ironclad and inflexible that their algorithm (the logical chain or ‘script’) holds the mind hostage, like a convict. Any belief will eventually become rigid and absolute when it’s not given the light, free range, and fresh air to stretch itself against Reality and the opinions of others.
A mind that cannot think outside its box of beliefs has lost contact with Reality and is susceptible to baseless conspiracy theories and getting lured into extremist thinking.
American democracy began in the social commitment to civil debate. The much-invoked but frequently misinterpreted First Amendment Right to free speech was not originally about speaking our minds and telling others what we think, but rather joining others in public forums of civil debate where ideas and opinions can compete for agreement based on the rational virtues of sound logic, valid reasoning, factual transparency, common sense, ethical integrity, and pragmatic value.
The 18th-century British monarchy allowed for little public debate, where subjects might assemble to speak against its oppressive regime and articulate their aspirations for a new order, the “more perfect union” of a (future) constitutional republic.
Autocracies cannot afford to let ordinary people (i.e., their ‘subjects’) sharpen and clarify personal belief in the thoughtful public exchange of ideas.
America’s founders and framers made this Right the First Amendment because everything else would turn on the social commitment of its leaders and citizenry to civil debate. Partly an expression of the Enlightenment culture but also rooted in Renaissance humanism, they shared a deep confidence in the human spirit, along with high hopes that when individuals feel respected and included in the forum of disciplined debate – not having to fear ridicule, rejection, or persecution for their beliefs – every opinion will be lifted a little nearer to the light of Truth.
Still, for the founders and framers America was destined to be more than a robust culture of enlightened debate. The transcendent ideal on which their hearts and minds were oriented – the apotheosis of the American Experiment itself – is the shared wisdom, mutual devotion, covenantal fidelity, and harmony of wills named community.
For us to get there, it is imperative that we conceive (or reconceive) the ultimate aim and purpose of public debate as not winning, but understanding one another.
To “stand under” another – an ideological opponent, say, or just someone who sees things differently from us – requires that we engage in deep listening, reaching past our separate positions and opinions, to the common ground we share as human beings. Whereas beliefs logically degrade into polarized extremes, particularly given how we construct our personal and tribal identities around them, human needs and aspirations are universal.
As earthlings and children of the universe (or God if you like, although our concepts of God – our gods – too often divide us), we are all possessed of a longing for wholeness, harmony, kinship, and belonging – in a word, community.
The American founders and framers knew that American destiny as a vibrant community of different backgrounds, beliefs, values, and voices would only be possible insofar as its citizens were not just free to debate their differences, but also challenged to listen more deeply and look more closely at their common human denominator.
Only then could their differences be embraced and lifted into a higher wholeness. This social commitment is what made America uniquely great.
What was just described – this way of engagement involving deep listening, mutual respect, and a relentless pursuit to understand the human needs and aspirations beneath and informing our personal (political, moral, religious) beliefs – represents a significant, transformational, step beyond debate.
Called dialogue, its intentional method is at the heart of genuine community.
Today, violence once again threatens to pull us even further apart. Charlie Kirk’s call to civil debate is in danger of getting drowned out by war cries and threats of vengeance. Our differences are being artificially amplified in an effort to polarize American society into violent extremes.
Perhaps at some level it was Kirk’s more principled method of using words to articulate his beliefs rather than a gun to eliminate his opponent, that desperate and thoughtless individuals find so intolerable – because for them it is inconceivable.
Donald Trump’s own tactics of attacking his opponents, calling them “evil” and vowing to destroy them, is likely the major force on his supporters in foreclosing on debate and opting for violence instead. They exercise their Second Amendment Right to delete our First Amendment Right.
It’s easier to pull a trigger than make a coherent case for what you believe and have to defend it.
Ultimately, we as a nation need to renew our social commitment to civil debate. In accepting the challenge to voice our beliefs in the public forum – giving our reasons, refining our logic, and breaking open our convictions for the light we need to think clearly – we have a chance of becoming the community our founders and framers envisioned.