a case for not being too sure of yourself
Witnessing an argument between your loved ones feels like being a (bilingual) person stuck between two people who don’t speak each other’s…
Witnessing an argument between your loved ones feels like being a (bilingual) person stuck between two people who don’t speak each other’s language. It’s almost like one of them is speaking in Kannada and the other in Spanish. To their own self they are making a lot of sense, obviously, but to the other it’s all plain gibberish. And in between them, there’s the helpless you who is carrying the burden of understanding both sides.
Broadly, there are two ways in which people tend to argue. You can either be too sure of yourself, hearing what the other person is saying but only passively because you are obsessed with your own point of view and all you can think of is how to shove that down the throat of the other person. OR you can question and doubt yourself while knowing what you believe in, but still wonder if you have missed anything and if there’s a valid reason why the other person doesn’t align with you.
The first approach seems to be more confident and self-righteous. I would always choose the second one, though. To have a conversation with those who do not subscribe to my school of thought, I have to budge a little bit, right? Also, how can I ever think of building a community or a collective if my point of view is so precious to me that I am ready to diminish what others feel or say?
The arguments are magnified tenfold on social media because algorithms love and feed on polarisation. The more we disagree, the better it is. Disagreements are good, beautiful in fact, if they enhance our understanding of the world, if they show us something that we wouldn’t have seen otherwise. But at the moment, all they do is inflate our ego because no matter what our opinion is, there’s an echo chamber built by algorithms where we can comfortably reside in, no questions asked, and feel validated. It doesn’t matter if we know enough about the subject or even care to; social media rewards us for having an opinion and being ‘confident’ enough to put it out.
Every now and then, while talking to my parents, I realise that they have learnt a new fact today either from a YouTube short or an Instagram reel. And that new fact is outrageously ridiculous (think of: usage of microwave is bad for health or mental health issues can be fixed by thinking positively) but was so confidently said by a certain someone on the Internet that my parents, and many others like them, won’t even think twice before buying into it and relaying it further. I know there’s a lot to be said here about how a certain section of people believes everything that’s said on the internet, but that’s a whole other essay.
We live in a world where confidence and decisiveness are celebrated, and rightly so, but there is also some merit in being reflective and considerate and sometimes even indecisive. There is value in being able to accept and say, I don’t know or I don’t know enough about this to have an opinion or I am confused. The ability to be foolish, to laugh at one’s foolishness, and to not claim that we can always differentiate between what’s right or wrong needs to be appreciated too.
It is admirable to see when a 50-year-old person can accept that some of their ideas might be outdated and harmful, and there are things that they can learn from their kids too, who are probably half their age! If only we don’t get too comfortable sitting on our own high horses with blinders on, there are things to imbibe and learn from all kinds of people around us.
I love reading fiction and have always preferred it over self-help because fiction does not attempt to simplify the complexities of the human condition. It allows it to be. It pushes us to judge less and empathise and introspect more. Stories do not narrow things down to simplistic, despicable bulleted lists that leave no space for nuances or exceptions. Just because one’s morning routine or ways to be productive work for them should not mean that they can start prescribing it to anyone and everyone.
The fundamental aspect to consider while arguing is what are you arguing for. What do you want at the end of it? The answer to this question probably defines what kind of person you want to be in an argument. If your priority is to win, to exert power or control, or to show the other person that you are better than them, well then go in an argument believing that you are right. But if you want to build consensus, resolve the differences, or at least agree to disagree in a civil way, then you should go with the aim of listening more and listening actively. If nothing else, you might be able to see where the other person is coming from, and that’s some solace.
As a non-confrontational person, I would go to any length to avoid an argument. But a thought that keeps coming back to me these days — and maybe that’s where this essay came from — is what can be a bigger misfortune if we as people lose our knack to understand other people, who might or might not be like us. What will be left of us if we forget how to empathise with others?
There has to be a way for two people with completely different lived experiences to speak to each other, acknowledge the differences, even if they can’t fully understand them, right?
If you’ve read till here, I am so grateful. Thank you! This is the third essay in a series of 40 essays that I am going to publish this year, on Sundays. I hope you like them; if you do, share it with a friend?