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Arguing on the Internet: The Dwarves are for the Dwarves

If you’re familiar with C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia, you may know what I’m quoting in the title. In the final book of the series, The Last Battle, there is a group of dwarves who believe in their cause so strongly that they cannot perceive reality. There are multiple interpretations of the dwarves, particularly given how prone to Christian allegory Lewis’s work is, but I think they hold a lesson for those of us witnessing and/or participating in arguments on the Internet.

Here’s the thing. Everyone believes their own worldview. It may not totally jibe with the one they project to the world, a la Stephen Colbert. But deep inside, everyone is the champion in their own narrative, or at least that’s the impression that everyone I’ve ever met or read about gives me.

And because they’re the main character in their story, people like to believe that they are good or at least mostly good. But that definition of good can vary wildly from individual to individual. It often is a combination of definitions associated with a particular religion along with whatever personal modifications one requires. Their attitude and behavior toward other beings are shaped by those definitions.

So, the dwarves are being good according to their own dwarvish standards, which, depending on our own internal definitions may or may not seem incorrect to us. That’s worth taking a moment to think about.

It’s a point that often gets overlooked, particularly in arguments on the Internet. As is an accompanying point, that in arguments it is much more common for every participant to believe themselves fully in the right than it is for any of them to believe themselves in the wrong.

Am I saying bad faith arguments are never made, that no one enjoys playing devil’s advocate or creating an elaborate chain of logic one could slip around an opponent’s neck? No, those exist but should be saved for another time. What I’d like to focus on is how one person who’s convinced they’re right can listen to another person who is also convinced that they’re right and end up at a meaningful conversation.

We get angry when people disagree with us. We become defensive when we feel we are under attack. That is a normal response that goes back to our early days of being human. But one of the cool things about human beings is that we can recognize that impulse in ourselves, and take it into account, and then move on to a more considered response which by no coincidence is usually a more courteous response.

To me, part of my definition of being good is questioning assumptions as well as what I’m told by my surroundings, particularly popular culture, and my own biases and filters. It seems to me more meaningful to be good in a way that I know to be correct because I have spent time thinking about it than to accept a definition pre-created for me. I can conceive of a world view, however, where that is not true.

And part of that definition is being willing to listen, to try to find common ground and agreement. To take a little time for give and take, rather than worrying about who’s the most rightest of all. Passionate anger can be a great motivator. But what it’s best at is creating more passionate anger.

Am I saying I am never offended ever? Holy smokies, no. But I am saying that I try to be willing to listen. That I try to extend the person I am listening to the courtesy of assuming they speak in good faith. If they don’t, eventually that will come out, at least in my opinion. Yes, I may feel that they should be listening to me first and that viewpoint may be justified. But what is more important, being right or achieving communication that may enable change of that worldview, or even mine?

I’m aware mileage as far as agreement goes will vary wildly among readers of this blog. And I will save how one reacts to bad faith arguments for some other post. But to me, operating by these guidelines is more effective than not, and gives me the satisfaction of knowing that at least I tried.

4 Responses

  1. I think people are equally familiar with the scorpion and frog parable; in other words, I’m far less likely to be willing to enter a “discussion” with someone whose past words and actions have consistently belonged in certain categories. For example, if someone says “The sun goes around the earth” and someone else says “The earth goes around the sun” the correct answer, contra Faux News’ “fair and balanced” fig leaf, is not “in the middle”. Also, if someone says “All humans are equally human” and someone else says “Some humans are more so than others” the solution is not (as it once was, de jure, and still is for non-males in many parts of the world) that some humans are half-human.

    1. I think I’ve addressed both those points in the blog post, or at least indicated that they’re cases that require a separate post of their own.

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http://www.kittywumpus.net/blog/2012/01/04/online-classes-and-workshops-for-2012/

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WIP: Doctor Fantastik

(from the current story in progress, which is set in Tabat)

“This craze for exorcisms is a harmful fad,” Dr. Fantastik said to the man at his left. His tone was severe in a way that seemed at odds with the addressed man’s mien, for the lefthand man was wholely engaged in his newspaper, turning over the yellow sheets with an attention utterly untouched by Dr. Fantastik’s presence.

“A harmful fad!” Doctor Fantastik said, a trifle louder, and this time the man looked up, then left and right, as though trying to determine who the Doctor might be speaking to. Seeing an empty seat to his left and the Doctor to his right, he raised his eyebrows in a gently interrogatory fashion.

The Doctor nodded, and continued speaking as though the question of who his interlocutor was had never been in question. “It is a result of inflammatory and showy performers, whose “patients” are often accomplices and actors.”

This time the man outright shrugged. His attention dropped back to his newspaper, whose headline read (something clever to come).

Doctor Fantastik considered him. The Doctor himself was dressed in an out of heels velvet coat, of a style popular a decade or so ago. Although in neat repair, the hems were worn and shabby, and a darn spidered its way up one side. He wore ivory-framed spectacles that glinted in the tavern’s light. Like his vestments, his hair was neatly kept but had seen better days. Spots of wear shone on his scalp, uncloaked by the wisps of white hair that remained.

He seemed about to speak when his attention was caught by a young woman entering. He watched as she paused to cast an appraising glance over the clientele, which was sparse for an afternoon in Tabat, when most took to tea-shops and taverns to drink the spiced fish-tea that was the city’s favorite drink. Doctor Fantastik was not himself drinking such a thing; rather a mug of lemon and water sat before him as she picked her way across the uneven planking of the floor to sit down on his right side.

The newspaper man at first barely spared her a glance, but then he took her in more fully and began stealing admiring looks. She was worthy of such, her skin as fashionably pale as that of any upper-class maiden, her hair immaculate and well-brushed, shining as it fell over her slightly antiquated but quality silk clothes. Her doe-soft eyes were dark and lustrous, but they did not return the newspaper reader’s glance, but rather remained fixed upon Doctor Fantastik.

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