Why do people say mean things to old Uncle Barry? I'm very sensitive, you know. In particular, why do people say such mean things to me - and everyone else - in e-mail? Why does the Internet make people say things that would get them punched out in a bar, thrown out of a restaurant or booked as a guest on "Politically Incorrect"?

I don't just mean the usual, editorial writers' remark of "Anybody who says this is an idiot." I'm talking about, personal, confrontational charges that "You, elflord@sheepdips.net, are missing a chromosome."

The latest such item in my own virtual mailbag (there have been so many - remember the guy who told me to hold my breath for five minutes? Good times, good times ...) criticized a column I wrote at the end of last year. And the thing is that, for most of the note, the guy seemed to be making some reasonable points. He felt I should have done more research before I wrote about Mohammed Mossadegh, the premier of Iran in 1951. I know, the topic sounds a little dry. But the more obscure the subject, the nastier people get about it. For, all of a sudden, he dropped his reasonable tone and did this:

"The title of your Web site, `Barry Lank's Teeny Tiny Brain,' is a good explanation for the level of thought you put into your article."

What did he gain from that remark (among others)? I know what I gained - an excuse for deleting his note and ignoring the rest of what he said. "Oh. It's just hostility. I can ignore it."

Yet people constantly indulge themselves with this on the Internet, as if it were required. Just a random sample of remarks from various news groups on Google, misspellings included. None of these remarks furthered their respective arguments, of course. How could they?

"Poor Chapman, this is why I ignore his pityful attempts at reasoning, he always lies about everything."

"Tempest you blathering IDIOT!"

"I'm gonna give you and your rightwingnut Repugnant hacks a little tip!"

When we write these things, we are forgoing one of the functions of communication - actually changing someone's mind. We're saying, "You know what? I've had such a bad day that I do not actually care if you listen to my point. I didn't get to go to the prom. Dinner was late. You are little and I am big. Fear me."

We do more of this than ever because, on the Internet, we don't have to look each other in the eye.

I don't just mean we avoid the physical dangers of calling someone a "sad little man." (In any case, I imagine a fight between Tempest and Chapman being a flailing slap match, in which the combatants stand five feet apart with their heads turned and their eyes closed).

I mean that when you look right at someone, a sense of empathy kicks in for most of us. We're tactful, despite ourselves. And when you shake people's hands, hear their voices and otherwise get a sense of them, it's harder to write them off entirely. It's easy enough to call people "part of the corporate conspiracy," until you actually see how sincere they are and how badly they dress. It's a breeze to call them stupid, until you find out how well they actually do listen. It's cathartic to call them pure evil, but not as satisfying when you see how nice they are to their kids.

None of that is a problem in cyberspace.

In and of itself, that wouldn't be such a big deal. But we also don't have to look each other in the eye when we leave messages on voice mail, buy things on eBay and deposit money through bank machines. More and more of our relationships are with people we never see. Most of the people who run the United States government come from parts of the country we'll never visit. Sen. Tom Daschle has a huge impact on your life. Ever been to South Dakota?

So when things don't go our way, it's simple just to presume that all "those" people "out there" are just stupid.

But at the receiving end of all that catharsis is a real person, one who is almost as sensitive as I am. And we all must remember that, whoever that person is, if his screen name is Tempest, he is a blathering idiot.