Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile

I have to admit that I have always had trouble with arguments. I dislike confrontation, and whenever it occurs, I seem to get backed into a corner from which I am forced to lash out. Often, I feel that my very identity is at risk: how could any thinking person who was in tune with reality, believe what I do? And if my argument is, in fact, wrong then what does that say about my other opinions that we haven’t yet touched on? Disagreements suggest as much about me as they do about the positions I espouse.

I have had a life-long passion for Philosophy, and I know many of the drills. An argument is seen less as combat or an attempt to disparage the opponent, but more as an exercise in clarification and a search, perhaps, for common ground. So, one hears the opponent’s position and attempts to reword it to show it has been understood. If the opponent agrees that their opinion has been correctly grasped, then ideally, they can state why they disagree with what they’ve heard from me. And so it goes, back and forth -each position clarified and understood before either moves on. Not infrequently, commonalities emerge, and hopefully, the ability to reach some form of compromise begins to materialize.

The problem in most of our encounters, of course, is proceeding without one side being forced to lose face -without feeling that only one side is correct -or, in the case of being proven incorrect, not feeling heard. Why, in other words, did the side espousing Fake News, let us say, come to believe it? Shouting at them, or belittling them is pretty well guaranteed to further intrench them in their views. We all do it, though -okay, I do, anyway.

Sometimes my way of seeing things seems so… obvious to me, that I become infuriated with the expression on the other person’s face, or when they shrug, sigh, or even roll their eyes at my opinion. I suppose I don’t feel heard -no, I don’t feel respected

I was dreading phoning a dear friend of mine who lives on the other side of the country. I hadn’t heard from her for a couple of months, and I wondered if there was something wrong. Since university, we’d always found ourselves on opposite sides of the political and ecological spectrum -we disagreed about almost everything, and so our Emails had to be carefully worded; even with phone calls we had to tip-toe around many of the issues. Skype was especially problematic because I could read the frustration in her eyes, and the way she wrinkled her forehead, or clenched her teeth. I realize I probably did the same and that just amplified the conflict. And yet, each time, despite my determination to change, I usually found myself rerouted along the same trail we always seemed to travel.

I’m always looking for helpful hints and so I was drawn to an essay from Australia by Hugh Breakey, a research fellow at Griffith University in Queensland. I wondered if they did things differently in the antipodes. https://theconversation.com/actually-its-ok-to-disagree-here-are-5-ways-we-can-argue-better-121178

Argument is everywhere, he writes, but ‘Unfortunately, we often fail to consider the ethics of arguing. This makes it perilously easy to mistreat others.’ So, there are certain norms we should follow in an argument: ‘we should be open to their views. We should listen carefully and try to understand their reasoning. And while we can’t all be Socrates, we should do our best to respond to their thoughts with clear, rational and relevant arguments… norms are valuable because they promote knowledge, insight and self-understanding… being reasonable and open-minded ensures we treat our partners in argument in a consensual and reciprocal way. During arguments, people open themselves up to attaining worthwhile benefits, like understanding and truth.’ And, ‘obeying the norms of argument shows respect for our partners in argument as intelligent, rational individuals. It acknowledges they can change their minds based on reason.’

It was also encouraging to find that Breakey and I were on the same track. ‘Two arguers, over time, can collectively achieve a shared intellectual creation. As partners in argument, they define terms, acknowledge areas of shared agreement, and mutually explore each other’s reasons. They do something together.’

All fine and good, but sticking to that in the heat of battle has always been my problem. My heart may be in the right place, but my mouth is not. My mind tricks me into thinking my opponent is being illogical -it’s them, and not me, who’s failing to argue properly. So, to counter this, Breakey offers a few tips. Like, trying not to think I’m being attacked, and remembering that I don’t want to lose my opponent as a friend. I should treat them with respect, and not judge their argument (and hence them) as faulty; they may well be open to changing their views -I shouldn’t assume otherwise -and let’s face it, we may both be wrong…

I don’t know why, but I suddenly felt equipped to phone my friend. I can do this, I told myself when she answered.

“Are you phoning to lecture me on climate change again, G?”

Wow, that started early, I thought. My first reaction was to feel hurt, but I caught myself in time. “Well, actually, I wanted to know how you were doing. I haven’t heard from you in a while…”

That seemed to soften her voice. “Oh, that’s nice of you,” she said tenderly. “I would have let you know if I was sick, you know…” I breathed a bit easier. “But you usually only phone when you’ve thought of a new argument to try out on me,” she continued, her voice noticeably harder.

I had to think. Do I argue with that point, or ignore it? I decided to clarify her assertion. “Do you really think that’s why I phone?”

There was a pause at the end of the line. “It seems that way, G.”

I wasn’t sure whether I should become defensive, or agree with her and apologize. I decided on the middle road. “I guess I do come on a bit strong sometimes, don’t I?”

Another pause -she was obviously having difficulty deciding how to reply as well. She finally settled on “I know you mean well…”

Not a victory, but a white flag of sorts I suppose.

Then, “But I don’t think you can convince me, you know…”

Was she trying to say I was incapable of convincing her, or just that I hadn’t approached her the right way? “Well, maybe I can suggest…” was all I could think of to say before she interrupted me.

“Although that article you sent me a while back was certainly worth thinking about…”

“The one on renewables, you mean?”

“Mmm Hmm…” I could hear her breathing into her phone. “I’ve even decided to ride my bike to work.”

It seemed like a turning point. “That’s great, Melissa!” I thought I’d share in her decision. “Maybe I should do the same, eh?”

A friendly chuckle echoed through my phone. “You’re retired G… But maybe you could at least ride down to the store…”

We were friends again; maybe they really have figured out how to argue in Australia.

Forked Tongues

“Suppose I were to tell you that I’m really disappointed in you,” she said, bending her head slightly and glaring at me over the tops of her glasses. The two of us were sitting in a little pub near her condo.

I have to say I don’t know Susan very well, but I’d seen her buying groceries in one of the local grocery stores that dot our little community and we began to talk about our various choices in vegetables. I have always confined myself to the more readily available frozen varieties –namely, the Big Three: peas, corn, and beans –with an occasional foray into carrots.

But Susan, it seemed, was into Fresh, and although I do wander into the produce section in summer, I have tended to avoid it in the off-seasons. “What do you do for salads?” she asked, when she saw me picking up a package of frozen broccoli which I only grabbed by mistake when she bumped into me in the aisle.

“Pardon me?” At first, I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me -it certainly wasn’t the salad bar.

Her eyes were mischievous, and pointed right at my face. There was no mistake. “Do you eat salads?” Her lips were smiling, but her eyes began burrowing into my cheeks… Or maybe I was blushing.

“I…”

“Because I’ve never seen you buying lettuce, or looking at the selections in the salad bar.”

It seemed a rather personal thing to say –something my mother might have done. I was forced to return her smile in self-defence and I couldn’t think of a clever reply. “Maybe I do that when you’re not around, Susan.” As soon as I’d said it, I regretted it –I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She’d always been friendly to me, always said hello and smiled in passing. It’s a small community, after all.

And yet, come to think of it, she always seemed to be smiling when she saw me. But I know that’s a very arrogant thing to think. A very undeserved, and probably unfounded, observation. I suppose I am fair game to someone who is also fair game, though -also divorced… But I keep to myself; I’m a rather private person. I do not invite relationships, or start random conversations –I would not even know how. People like me are happy just glancing through the window at the passing crowd.

But Susan appeared determined to engage me in dialogue. “Maybe you don’t eat as many salads as you should…”

She seemed to leave the thought open, but I just shrugged. To tell the truth, I was a little embarrassed at the attention.

“I tell you what, G, since I’m going to make one anyway…”

She left it open again -an obvious invitation- but I just blushed and stared at my feet in confusion.

“Come over at six for salad and some wine.”

I had to think quickly. “That’s really sweet of you Susan, but I’m afraid I’ve already  thawed some meat for my dinner, and…”

It was her turn to look embarrassed. “I’m sorry, G, I didn’t mean to seem so aggressive.” She propped a large quivering smile on her face and fidgeted with her shopping basket.

I realized I had committed a major social gaffe, and I touched her sleeve. “Look, why don’t we go for a glass of wine later? I’ll have my dinner and meet you at the old pub by the park?” Her face perked up. “About, what, eight o’clock?” I added, now fully committed.

What had I got myself into? But, on the other hand, it was something to do –something different- so that evening after a rushed dinner, I hunted around in the closet to inspect my wardrobe. The choice was old, though -dated. The last time I had even thought about dressing up was four or five years ago when I was married, but I remembered my ex had always thought I looked good in black for some reason. Who was I to argue?

At least it was easy to find black in there. I chose a black turtle neck sweater and black jeans and stood in front of the mirror. I looked pretty good, I thought, and headed out the door.

And so I found myself sitting beside her at the pub, and eventually, the inescapable object of her gaze. I could tell she’d already had a glass or two before I arrived, but I figured that would make it easier for me to find something we could talk about. She was sitting at a little table in the corner where it was so dark I almost missed her. The place was pretty busy for a Thursday, though, so maybe it had been the only table she could find.

“You look really nice tonight, G,” she said as soon as I sat down. Fortunately, the shadows hid my embarrassment. “I’ve never seen you dressed up before.”

I wasn’t sure what she was getting at, and I didn’t know what to say. “Well, it would be wasted in the grocery store,” I finally mumbled, managing somehow to mispronounced ‘grocery’. She giggled at that, and I immediately dropped my eyes onto the table as if I couldn’t manage those either.

I could see her expression soften, and she reached across the table to clasp my hand. I think she was just trying to reassure me, to let me know that she knew I was nervous, but she didn’t let go for the longest time. For some reason, I felt trapped, although I knew she was simply being friendly. It’s hard to describe, actually -it should have felt comforting, but when she leaned across the table to look into my eyes, I felt I had to close them. I moved back. I tried to do it slowly, so she wouldn’t notice, but she did. And when I opened my eyes again, she was smiling.

“For god’s sake, G, I wasn’t trying to kiss you.” She shook her head slowly and sighed. “Let’s have some wine.”

She ordered a litre carafe of white, but I have to say that she polished off most of it herself. Despite that, she wanted to order another carafe. She had decided to tell me more about why her marriage had failed, I think.

I shook my head and checked my watch. The conversation had been pretty one-sided, and I was tired of sitting there politely listening to her. And anyway, she was beginning to slur her words, so I thought she’d probably had enough. I offered to walk her back to her condo.

“Good idea, G,” she said after thinking about it for a moment. “You can come up for a drink.”

I smiled and shook my head. “A wonderful idea, Susan, but I’ve got to travel into the city early tomorrow.”

She leaned across the table again, grasped both my hands and kissed me on the lips.

I was so surprised, I jerked my head back rather suddenly. I realized it was rude, but I thought I’d already made it abundantly clear that I wasn’t interested in that kind of thing. Well, not yet, anyway. I have to get to know somebody first. She was rushing it.

That was when she told me she was disappointed and glared angrily at me as if I had let her down, or something. After all, I’d asked her out for a drink. She grabbed her coat and stood up unsteadily.

I was about to join her, when she waved at a friend at another table and, after turning to wink at me, sat down beside him and rubbed his shoulder.

Maybe I am meant to live alone. Maybe I just don’t have the social skills to understand other people in the way they expect. And maybe there is something wrong with me, but I felt coerced that night. Exploited. And, although disrespected describes it best, I don’t think anybody would understand. Even worse, I don’t think anybody would believe me…