Your Majesty, We Regret to Inform You
Mass disagreeableness, once frowned upon, feels necessary
It is said the courtiers in Henry II’s royal court had to preserve a carefully crafted persona to win his acceptance and trust. Excessive public displays of emotion, especially anger, signaled an intemperate, unbalanced mind, and any advice from such a figure could be dismissed as hasty or unwise.
Rivals for the king’s affection often tried to goad the unwary through insults, hoping to provoke an outburst. Many hot-blooded knights, born to the battlefield, struggled to maintain this mannered control.
Today, instead of a great council in a royal hall, we have the next best thing: social media.
The digital realm of social media is no School of Athens, and it still feels completely revolutionary to those who remember a pre-internet world. Identity is infinitely flexible: anonymous, pseudonymous, authentic, or entirely invented. Whatever mask you choose, you’re thrust into every conversation.
From sports to geopolitics to economics, you can speak on a national or global stage about nearly any issue. A suspicious number of people even become experts the moment a topic appears in this sprawling town square.
Yet online communication feels like a different language than face-to-face interaction. The old barriers and norms are weakened or absent, replaced by new languages and rituals with no real-world parallel.
One consequence: it’s practically mandatory to abandon the virtues Henry’s court deemed essential. Self-mastery, or simply keeping one’s emotions in check, is increasingly rare.
Many log on just to fight. Others trade dignity for clicks, chasing cheap entertainment on TikTok or, God forbid, Substack. In nearly every medium, traditional or new, brash is normal.
Often, that even helps.
I’m not immune. Raised to believe the Southern Gentleman was the pinnacle of society, I still think myself highly reasonable and would undoubtedly be well respected by the King’s court (Ha Ha Ha). Yet in this new paradigm, I find myself able to leave snarky replies to strangers. I default to public rebuttal for ideas I disagree with, rather than private reflection.
Some of my friends even earn real money by provoking outrage online. But that confrontational style clashes with what we used to think was good communication. It’s nothing new, but I’ve met people who cannot speak civilly to a flight attendant even if their life depended on it. Where I see customer service as a place for friendliness, even some of my relatives treat it as a zero-sum conquest straight out of Henry II’s time. But it’s changing, getting worse.
Mass disagreeableness, once frowned upon, feels necessary. The algorithm is our editor, and instant passion sells. Classical virtues like prudence and civility are yesterday’s news.
We’re becoming a society where the loudest fringe sets the tone, influencers drown out officials, and memes replace reasoned discourse. The spillover into real life is obvious.
Younger people steeped in these platforms seem more curt than cotillion. Social skills are disappearing. As I sit here at Gate 5 of the Austin airport, all of my neighbors sit stooped over their phones, probably leaving a snarky reply on Facebook. And social media is to blame.
Henry II prized prudence and stoicism. The algorithm prizes outrage and spectacle. We have accepted this trade, but at what cost? Will our modern Kings still value counsel from a society wired for performative drama?
Evidence suggests they do. In both major political parties, self-control appears politically disadvantageous. Senators and Presidents, world leaders, and major CEO’s spar in the public domain–but it’s no Athenian agora. They get down into the proverbial mud with the rest of us.
So we grow more combative, tribal, and theatrical online. It bleeds into society, and we shrug: this is the new normal.
Shame. I quite liked the old one.