When we look around today, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the amount of division we see. At times it seems worse than anything in recent memory, as if forces—both seen and unseen—are working to unravel not just our country, but much of the world.
Of course, division is not new. It has been woven through human history from the beginning. What has changed, in my opinion, is the internet. It exposes more, amplifies more, and provides a platform for voices—helpful and harmful alike—to spread conflict far beyond what was possible in earlier generations.
But perhaps there is another side to this that deserves our attention. The internet may amplify division, but it did not create what it amplifies. Anger, fear, pride, jealousy, resentment, tribalism, and the desire to be right have been part of the human experience for thousands of years. Technology has simply given these things a much larger stage.
It is very easy to see division in someone else. We see it in politicians, churches, political parties, social media, nations, families, and communities. It is much harder to recognize the small ways division begins within ourselves. Every time we reduce another person to a label, assume we know their motives, refuse to listen because we have already decided they are wrong, or allow anger to speak before understanding has had a chance, we may be adding another small piece to the very problem we complain about.
Perhaps one of the greatest mistakes we make is believing that unity requires agreement. It does not. Two people can disagree strongly and still respect one another. We can hold convictions without turning those who disagree with us into enemies. In fact, learning how to disagree without hatred may be one of the most important skills our world needs to rediscover.
Jesus gave us a remarkably difficult instruction: love your enemies. It is easy to read those words as a religious ideal. It is quite another thing to practice them when someone has offended us, misunderstood us, challenged our beliefs, or treated us unfairly. Yet perhaps that teaching goes directly to the heart of division. Loving someone does not mean agreeing with them or approving of everything they do. It means refusing to let hatred take possession of us.
The more I have thought about this over the years, the more I have come to believe that the healing of division has to begin much closer to home than Washington, our churches, the news media, or the internet. It begins with the person looking back at us in the mirror. We cannot control what millions of other people think, say, or do. But we can begin to observe our own reactions. We can learn to pause. We can listen. We can ask whether our words will heal something or deepen the wound.
That may seem like a very small response to a very large problem. But nearly every great division is ultimately made up of individual human beings reacting to one another. If division can spread from person to person, perhaps understanding, patience, compassion, and love can spread the same way.
So what can ordinary people do? How do we, as individuals simply trying to live our lives, help slow this rising tide of separation?
Many books, thinkers, and traditions confront these questions head-on. Over the coming posts, I hope to take a deeper look—not just at the symptoms of division, but at its roots. I plan to keep most reflections short, though some may grow longer depending on the direction the ideas take.
I hope that together, we can explore how to become part of the solution rather than part of the problem. We will continue with the post About Me.