I Feel Like . . .
This phrase has claimed more than its share of territory in American speech.
Traditionally the phrase “I feel like . . .” indicated a preference of taste or the experience of an impression. “I feel like having chocolate-covered strawberries for dessert” fit into our cultural lexicon of expressions. “I feel like an explorer in uncharted territory” would be an appropriate phrase on the lips of a Sonlight backpacker.
But “I feel like . . .” has come into usage as a preface to a considered position or analysis of a person or situation. When I ask folks for their reasoned opinion on a matter or their thoughtfully balanced perspective, they will often begin with “I feel like . . .”
Do you think lowering taxes across the board will benefit society overall? “I feel like people would spend more money on charity and conscientious purchasing if they had more disposable income.”
Do you think stem cell research is morally acceptable? “I feel like it’s a slippery slope towards devoting entire human embryos to research and destruction.”
Do you think the Avalanche will win the next Stanley Cup? “I feel like they have a really good chance.”
Now, to be fair, perhaps what I hear is a generation of people (from all age brackets, by the way) who really are articulating responses to difficult issues based only on emotion. But I am not yet convinced. More likely, I think, is the possibility that in our opinions and dialogue we are becoming risk-avoidant. To state an opinion as a “feeling” avoids the risk of debate. We are taught by teachers, counselors, and parents that feelings are universally valid. A feeling can’t be wrong. No one can tell me that I’m wrong because I feel angry, happy, sad, or anxious. Feelings are immune to debate.
Therefore—so my hypothesis goes—if I want to avoid debate or conflict, then I present all of my perspectives as feelings. “I think that waiting periods before purchases of AR-15s will reduce gun violence” is subject to analysis. I can ask for your reasons why you think that. We can examine your logic and debate elements of it. On the other hand, introducing the same assertion with “I feel like . . .” makes it unassailable. Feelings can’t be wrong.
Folks may have done a great deal of thinking about the matter at hand. They may have evaluated evidence, experience, science, and the logic around an issue. Their opinions may come from well-formed analysis of a problem and consideration of multiple possible solutions. So the problem is not a lack of thoughtfulness, per se. The problem is (I hypothesize) an irrational fear of scrutiny—expressed currently by the increasingly pandemic warning, “Don’t judge me.”
I will not infringe on people’s right to be conflict-avoidant. I will even concede (with some sadness) that we have the right to avoid all debate in our lives. What I would not like to leave unnoticed is how this use of “I feel like” (if my hypothesis is correct) can turn around upon its users. I think the tail may end up wagging the dog. If we become accustomed to expressing our thoughtful analyses in terms of “feelings,” then eventually we will—perhaps unwittingly—convince ourselves that all matters of import are in fact decided by feelings. Without the exercise of scrutiny, reason will atrophy. Without the bright light of debate, thoughtfulness will wither. We will become a society full of corks bumping into each other on the erratic waves of individualism, unable to understand why we are different from each other or how we might connect in community.
As co-director of a community devoted to faith development, I want youth to feel good about following Jesus. I want individual emotions to receive honor, respect, and responses that will help boys and girls grow into good men and women. But I also want Sonlight to support thoughtful faith and ethics. I want our staff members—in the investigative prime of their college years—to reason and dialogue within the Christian faith. And I want them to help our campers wrestle meaningfully with big questions. This outcome requires testing thoughts, debating ideas, and listening to speakers who bring wisdom garnered from experience. It means risking an assertion that could be wrong. It means being free to change when we discover deeper truth.
I hope that when we experience an emotion or a preference, we can be free to say, “I feel like . . . having another piece of peanut butter pie.” (You may warn me, though, that a fourth piece will make me feel ill.)
I also hope that we can say, “I think that . . . and here’s why.” And after the Spirit has given us such courage, we may also receive humility and readiness to learn.
~ emrys