Facts don't care about your feelings, but I do

“Facts don’t care about your feelings,” proclaims the nightmarish figure to all political left-wingers, Ben Shapiro, perhaps doing so while on another holy crusade against liberals who support abortion or transgenderism. His indifference to feelings may not only be the very standard by which he lives but also serve as a justification for his frank and candid style of argumentation. This motto is ingrained within him, as though by disparaging feelings he is naturally on the side of reason and logic; conservatives find nothing more satisfying than his destroying another sensitive liberal, perhaps whose eyes are brimming with tears as his feelings are blatantly hurt. They applaud the ever commendable victory of reason and truth over feelings and sentiments.

Admittedly, I enjoyed watching his debates, and, in fact, I used to be one of those who chuckle in front of my computer screen as I see him murdering another feeling-driven liberal. Gradually, like him, I began to belittle feelings, which I saw as a sign of weakness and intellectual cowardice; feelings are irrelevant to truth and reason, which should instead be a person’s only source and guidance. Those who easily shed tears are nothing noble; they are cowards who are not strong enough to face the harshness of reality.

I remember roughly a year ago I watched Damien Chazelle’s Whiplash, a film that documents an ambitious drummer’s tortuous path to greatness. Andrew Nieman, a young teenager who dreamed of becoming a master of his craft, encountered a tyrannical and ruthless music instructor, Terrence Fletcher, who would not hesitate to throw a chair at him for not being on tempo. Yelling is considered merciful when he would often slap Andrew’s face to make him drum on beat. Andrew, pushed by such a stringent instructor, began to practice obsessively and, as the end of the film shows, achieved what he wanted: performing with the most elegant virtuoso.

Ambitious as Andrew, I took the message of the film as an inspiration: that to be a strong and accomplished person, one must minimize his feelings and be numbed to pain to fully focus on his pursuit of greatness. Had Andrew yielded to his feelings — crying in front of the whole band as Fletcher hurled the most vicious insults at him — he would have simply quitted the world of drumming. No greatness. No stunning performance in the best theatre. Nothing.

Fuck feelings, I thought every time after watching another Ben Shapiro debate or another scene in Whiplash. Feelings do not matter. Feelings are an impediment to objective truth and courage. Feelings are what hold me back. Feelings are meaningless and trivial and serve no other purpose than enfeebling me and numbing me. And, indeed, most human institutions do not care about one’s feelings; facts don’t care about your feelings, nor do exams, nor do job interviews, nor do auditions, nor do morality and punishment. The white paper of a test does not care about my feelings when I fail it; a rejection letter from my dream school does not care about my feelings.

But — sorry I’m probably using this transition too often — quarantine changes things. As my obsessive pursuits over greatness, accomplishments, ability, and glory come to a halt, as I begin to reflect, I could not help but question my previous disparagement of feelings. Many memories that I have not visited during the school year begin to inundate me as I am given the time to reminisce. I still remember when a dear friend passed away from our school — when many of his closest friends cried and hugged and prayed together in comfort. I still remember small moments of my kindness that brightened up a person’s day, and, on the other side, moments of my impulse and inconsiderateness that ruined a person’s day. I still remember when I accidentally annoyed someone or broke someone’s boundaries and had to apologize for it. I still remember precious thank-you’s from friends whom I help and supported… all of these moments which I saw were trivial and everyday begin to bombard me as I reflect in solitude.

Joy, laughter, grief, anger, annoyance, appreciation, discomfort… All of these I have caused upon others, and, likewise, all of these I myself have felt. Admittedly, they are short lasting, but, when they take possession of us, they take possession of us fully. When I was upset after an argument with a friend, when I feel despondent over failing a test, or when my boundaries are broken by another, I may have been no different from one of those liberals whom Ben Shapiro slays as a hobby, or Andrew after Fletcher threw a chair at him — possessed fully by feelings.

This is when I begin to acknowledge that feelings do matter. Feelings are, indeed, often opposed to logic and reason. Telling any heartbroken lover that his tears are illogical would not help him. Feelings possess us fully, and, I begin to learn, are what makes us human. We are more than mathematics and science, more than facts and logic, more than truth and reason. They constitute the entirety of our galaxy, yet they do not constitute the entirety of us. Emotion, sensibility, love, feelings, beauty… these matter and are, undeniably, beautiful as well. No piece of literature, art, or music is written without a good knowledge of what appeals to people’s feelings. Feelings guide us fully when tears brim in our eyes as we finish a beautiful novel or listen to a melodious symphony; feelings inundate our mind when we reunite with a long absent friend, when one whom we love passes away, when we witness nature’s beauty and wish to capture it. Feelings are not cowardly; feelings are beautiful and human. Feelings are an art itself, and this art must be learned to make us compassionate, caring, and kind.

Facts don’t care about your feelings. Exams, job interviews, competition, politics, morality… most human institutions don’t care about your feelings. The grave of the one you love, the white paper of the test you failed, the rejection letter of your dream school… all of these do not care about your feelings. But, I reassure you, I do and should care, and so should everyone.