Arguments: Evidence Of Philosophy OR Signs of Manipulation?
Seeking truth can bear a narcissistic appeal.
I grew up in a family of doctors. By that, I mean “experts.” I knew about fallopian tubes, analgesics, and hypotension by the age of 10. I’m kidding, obviously, I knew about them by 7.
The problem of over-informing children is how my music teacher puts it best—“Inserting reality into their fantasy.”
A naïve child could grow up thinking that male and female bodies are alike with the exception of “like me” versus “grown-up.” Educating them about the overall anatomical differences “down there” doesn’t hurt either.
But when you let them know about pituitary glands and hormones, that information enters an exotic area. Children cannot spell or remember exactly what you told them.
But they can “recognize” the gist— that reality is boring.
Siblings make life more cumbersome as well. My brother and I used to argue about everything (we still do, but it’s better moderated.)
We argued on fairness (who got possession of the TV remote), on fairness (who got a larger share of rejuvenating coconut water,) on fairness (who should be petted to bed last by our lovely grandma,) and fairness (who needed to take up a bigger share of the housework.)
By our teens, we could have easily qualified for jury duty.
We argued about deeper, more hypothetical issues, like whether the existence of one sibling can alter the other’s consciousness.
If mom had not conceived my older brother, would I have carried his name, his personality, or his life choices? However, his absence would have meant that mom conceived me at 34. Given the increased risk of genetic disorders after 30, would I have been a different person altogether? Doesn’t such a risk make my brother’s existence as an only-child more probable?
We opposed our parents’ reminders of our elevated responsibility to be academically superior. Being born to doctors dictated our hobbies. While our friends enjoyed their time with each other, we were stuck either at home or in the dispensary studying for the next test. We were allotted playtime, but majorly, it was about upholding our family legacy. We found this quite unfair.
We argued over many such topics of import from an early age. This is in addition to the tumult caused by sickness and disability of our parents and grandparents that forced us to become adults.
So, it was no surprise that as I grew older, I preserved my argumentative nature. The points I would raise held enough water to convince a roomful of people with an opposing belief.
This caused concern for a lot of them who assumed that I would never back down. They would complain that I was egoistic, and would rather choose to die over my opinions than acknowledge another’s.
Also, the arguments I have at home were often marked with emotions. We shook hands furiously and struck a chord with our gestures. Thus, most of my conversations in the outer realm were cut short because people presumed I was sensitive, and thus, yielded prematurely.
Winning battles came at the cost of friendships. I would be silently excluded from meetups and general conversations as people perceived me as high maintenance.
I realize I am being mean to myself, so let me patch it up with some love.
Even with all the downsides to being argumentative, some of my closest friends still consider me as a buddy worth having. Note that, the more intelligent you are, the less you’d find me appealing.
I don’t mean “intelligence” as in the opposite of “dumb.” I mean, the ones who are proficient in their profession. They understand causality on a deeper level, but unfortunately confuse it with correlation.
The smarter they are, the more they become susceptible to social media soundbites. They start asserting them as being a treasure trove of gospels without fact-checks, usually when it’s unrelated to their field of professional expertise. Their stubborn nature stemming from their confidence in their intellect makes them poor at changing courses.
But my best friends are those who are aware of their inability to understand extremely complex ideas. They firmly accept that weighty philosophical arguments are beyond their comprehension, and more importantly, their interest.
The latter needs more focus. They don’t find loafing around to understand the meta-ethics of moral living any more useful than knowing more about the Hubble Telescope. Friends who stuck with me have made me understand that philosophies are only a by-product of the speaker’s life experiences.
If your father is a farmer tilling the field at 5 am, preaching to his son about work-life-balance makes no sense. Yes, farmers work far harder for a spit-worthy pay. Idle rambles on what someone like me would consider as “standard of living” is just bourgeoise.
A decade back, my friends and I would sit around to chat with an open packet of “chivda”— an Indian snack made from a flavorful consortium of grains, spices, and condiments. When I would deflect to the philosophy of living, they would listen to the whole thing munching on the snack.
At the conclusion of my lecture, they would adorn cheery smiles, compliment me for the profound depth, and tell me curtly that they don’t agree, and more importantly, don’t care about my feelings on their disagreement. They would then offer the open packet of snack as a peace offering which would make the experience humorous and wholesome.
I am disappointed to note that the academically prolific students are the ones who substantially lack the ability to disagree and still maintain a great friendship. Obviously, I consider myself to be among them. Friendship needs us to treat the friend as a person that you chose to be with. Making your friends feel important is more vital than most subjective ideas on improving life’s quality.
A couple of my friends have become parents. They got married early according to their community norms. They are far better humans who had the guts to choose a path, despite the consequences. They stuck with their choice to belong to the community.
NONE of us in my group, married or otherwise, ever questioned their life choices. Trust has always been a two-way street in my group.
Do I agree on getting married at the age of 25 and having a kid a year later? No.
But I know better than to proselytize my ideologies. My friends had the emotional intelligence to become a parent even a decade back. The ones I made in recent years don’t possess that virtue even today.
I always believed that the gravest circumstances make us better humans. Those in the military, first-responders, sanitation workers, and those who struggle (or have struggled) to put food on the table—all of them were in my “mature people’s” list. I considered them as humans, i.e., they behaved beyond their primal instincts to fight, freeze, flee, and fork. They were mature, i.e, they prioritized “life” against materials, and had the emotional intelligence to not get involved in another’s lives unless it directly affected theirs.
I was mistaken. There is a whole array of problems, not limited to PTSD, that could make this battle-hardened group substantially emotional and dysfunctional. But having encountered life’s morbidity, they are far more proficient in valuing human life, and inclined to be patient with those whom a layperson would readily label as “toxic.”
Every soundbite-y article or video on the internet would call my childhood as “toxic.” But such an environment made me more reflective. I am aware of my imperfections, and I always strive to make myself better. Most importantly, I know exactly what “better” looks like to me.
I am content with being argumentative. But I have decided to choose the people I wish to argue with. If someone’s claim makes little sense, my sub-conscious conversation simulator (it’s a real thing) would return diminishing returns with time and I would just back off.
I don’t need the approval of people who are a decade younger in emotional quotient. But, I am also pretty sure that my closest friends would tell me that I always have their approval.
They would tell me that being argumentative is what made me unique and valuable.
That it is something which made me worthy to be considered a friend.