459px-NSRW_Aaron_Burr

“I think Aaron Burr might be my patronus,” I told a friend recently. She laughed, as I meant her to.

But I’m not so sure I was joking.

I’m referring, of course, not to the historical Burr (who was likely better than rumor paints him), but to the Burr who plays the antagonist in Hamilton, the musical so many people (including me) are obsessed with.

Burr’s mantra in the musical is the advice he gives Hamilton, “Talk less, smile more. Don’t let them know what you’re against and what you’re for.”

Hamilton asks him, “If you stand for nothing, Burr, what will you fall for?”

For weeks, I’ve been thinking about the role of these two men. In an increasingly heated election year, I spend lots of time reading social media posts by people who are more confident in their opinions than I am. I read, and I listen—and I don’t say much.

A lot of times, I feel like Burr, with Hamilton’s accusation ringing in my ears: if you stand for nothing, what will you fall for?

It’s not that I don’t have beliefs—I do. But I struggle to share my strongest beliefs in public forums, hesitant about my ability to do justice to my thoughts and reluctant to expose that much of myself. (And yes, I’m aware of the irony that I’m making this confession in a public forum). Often, I’m still listening, weighing ideas, working slowly toward my own conclusions.

I’m also much more comfortable as a bridge, someone who occupies a middle ground ( a position I’ve written about before). After all, rhetoric—using language to achieve social goals—can’t happen without some kind of common ground between speakers.

But increasingly, I’m feeling like I need to own my stance, even if it’s uncomfortable. I won’t post it here, because I don’t think Segullah is the right forum for a political post—suffice it to say that I oppose rhetoric that demeans God’s children, and it sickens me to see how many people use the current political climate as justification or validation for hateful attacks on others. Surely there’s a way to remain principled without having to resort to name calling, a way to take a stance without denying others a foothold.

I’m not sure I have a clear-cut conclusion—even here, I’m still only reaching tentatively for my stance. But I do know that if Aaron Burr is my spirit animal, I’d rather it not be the facile political creature of early acts, but the vulnerable, open-hearted Burr of the end of the play, who, after Hamilton’s tragic death, realizes “The world was wide enough for both Hamilton and me.”

How do you approach politics? Is there virtue in simply listening? How do you decide if, when—and on what issues—to take a public stance?


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