I was standing by with a friend and both of us were initially unsure of how to respond.
The reflect reaction, I believe, would be to say her original argument was incorrect; countering that she did, in fact, know something.
To add some analysis that wasn’t originally considering in the seconds following her statement, let’s break down what such an approach entails.
With this method you have to argue two things: one, that her outlook is wrong and two, you have a better way of looking at the situation. Here if you can’t convince the person of the first fact, you’ll have no chance to argue the second half, and success on one doesn’t automatically mean you’ll win it all. Even with simple arguments, where you pit “something vs. nothing,” the framework is inherently complex.
As I said, I did not ponder the inborn challenges of this tact when faced with this question. I had already chosen a simpler coarse that avoided the battle between viewpoints.
For the sake of her argument, I decided to buck the conventional approach and act as if the first statement was true.
I pulled an ink pen out of my pocket, held it out perpendicular for a few seconds, and then dropped it. The eyes of the girl, and my friend, watched as the pen clattered onto the ground, and then looked up at me incredulously.
“There,” I replied. “You now know which way is down.”
And I wasn’t done being a wiseacre.
“And if you work backward you know which way is up, so there are two things you now know.
You can imagine the briefly bug-eyed stares I got in response.
This technique has an advantage over the first approach submitted in that it the arguer doesn’t have to be convinced that they are wrong in order to proceed to the next step, which is convincing them that there is something new to consider.
Let’s consider the two methods in terms of optimists and pessimists arguing over a water glass.
Using approach one, an optimist combatively tries to convince the pessimist that the glass is half full without changing the water level.
In approach two, the person starts out by saying, I agree with you about the volume of the water, and when you add my contribution, you have more than how you started.
The first is all about arguing while the second is about sharing. The second offers something were the first gave nothing.
In acting in agreement with the stated views of the person, the argument was settled by the time I put the pen back in my pocket. I have no doubt I could have won the debate arguing the “logical” response to the illogical, but it would have taken longer, and not have been half as fun.
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Now that the approach has been exhaustively examined, let’s get back to the lesson. Sometimes we can get so caught up moralizing that we forget which problem we were originally addressing. So now that my soap box is put back where it belongs – in the bathroom, holding my soap – I want to go back to the initial complaint.
I feel like I don’t know anything.
Since that night, I have more than once echoed the lament made in the parking lot. And in every instance in which I make the same foolish statement, in my mind’s eye I can see the image of a dropping pen.
I blame this on God; and his sometimes twisted divine sense of humor. The accompanying message is clear:
You want to play by those rules? Really? Okay... Have it your way; but I’m going to hold you to them. You thought you knew nothing? Fine. You didn’t know Bo Diddly – but now you do know something more. Now stop moping and get on with it.
I think God finds it funny to have our own “wise” words of counsel echo in our ears when faced with situations similar to those who we advised. Those words, originally considered “‘clever’ if I didn’t say so myself,” don’t always come off the same way when one is on the receiving end.
The challenge is twofold. First, it is to consider how you treat people in times of personal crisis. Second, you must consider, in re-weighing your words, if you are willing to take the same medicine you prescribed. If they have substance, one should stop complaining and act on their own advice.
When it comes to feelings, it is a different matter to be told what to do, rather than tell someone what to do. It makes no consequence whether you are predominately a shepherd or a sheep; it simply feels different on the inside.
And when those commands are old words you once voiced and forgot, it’s a third category separate (and stranger) than the previous two.
I know what I need to do. I’ve heard myself give the same suggestions to others facing the situation. I’ve reconsidered their worth and still found it to be substantial, bankable.
They do taste a bit bitter in the mouth the second time around. Of course, vitamins never seem to taste good. I kinda miss the old orange-flavored Flintstones chewables. You know the kind that tasted so good parents had to remind us we weren’t supposed to eat them like candy since they could burn a hole in your stomach if you ate too many? Good stuff.
But they’re only so strong, you know. I think it has something to do with the fact you’re allowed to chew children’s vitamins. Adult ones you’re supposed to swallow whole, as if they lose their potency if they all ride down separate rather than as a group. I’ve never really figured out why. Either the “children’s” dosage is too soft or there is simply more packaged into the “adult” dosage (I guess they saved room when they didn’t have to put in the orange flavoring).
But for whatever reason, children’s vitamins eventually get to the point where they don’t do the job anymore. The same is true for the advice we parroted back in elementary school. The little platitudes that “fixed” everything when I was younger – don’t eat paste, don’t burp my name, don’t throw rocks at girls, when in doubt – tell an adult – don’t fly anymore.
Shoot! I’m the adult now. I have to take more responsibility for myself. I have to make the important decisions even when I don’t have a single clue on what to do next…
What’s that God…?
If I drop a pen, the rest will come back to me?
. . .
Funny.
If there weren’t so many people here, I’d smack myself in the head. Of course, that would probably kill a number of brain cells I’m going to need to hold on to so I can better face the next challenge.
So between you and me, and the blog audience that I’ve shared this mini-existential debate with, can we save the head smacking and move on from the lesson to the decision?
Thanks.
Clatter. Swallow. Change.
