MIND READERS DICTIONARY : Mind Readers Dictionary

Moral* principles do more harm than good. We apply them self-servingly and selectively. They operate at the wrong level of abstraction, distracting us from the right level. I'm deeply committed to morality but I've never met a moral principle I could trust. I can illustrate this best by example. Consider these two moral principles: Don’t cling. Show commitment. What's the difference between clinging and commitment? From what I can tell, they are indistinguishable except that clinging is bad and should never occur and commitment is good and should always occur. Clinging and commitment both describe a preference for keeping something (a law, a policy, a belief, a system, a relationship, a habit etc.) the same rather than changing it. So far I've never found any way to objectively distinguish between an act of clinging and an act of commitment. I’m open to the possibility that I’m missing something so please challenge me: We’d need some litmus test by which observing a preference for keeping something the same, one could reliably sort out the bad (clinging) from the good (commitment). A Buddhist friend suggested that the difference is that clinging is desperate and commitment isn’t. This proposed litmus test pivots on the intensity (desperateness) of desire for something to stay the same, where the more intense, the more clingy, and the more bad, and the less intense, the less clingy, and the more good. The way to kick the tires on a litmus test is by looking for counter-examples. If they come readily it can’t be a reliable litmus test. Think of the parents who desperately want to save their child from a tyrannical government’s death squad. The parents’ desperation feels neither clingy nor bad. The powerful tyrants on the other hand, could intend to kill the child while experiencing a state of calm resolve, no desperation, but not a virtuous “commitment” to the assassination either. The desperation litmus test for distinguishing clinging from commitment doesn’t hold up. The distinctions we draw between clinging and commitment are based on subjective assessments. When we believe that keeping something is bad or will turn out bad, we call it clinging (or any of a number of other pejorative terms—attachment, stubbornness, pigheadedness, etc.) and when we believe that keeping something is good or will turn out good, we call it commitment (or any of a number of other terms with positive connotations—sticking to principle, steadfastness, tradition, etc.). Though in practice, clinging and staying committed amount to the same thing, their connotations are absolute opposites. Since clinging is supposedly always bad and showing commitment is supposedly always good, together they amount to the self-contradictory statement that you should never and always keep things the same. You’ve been in a partnership a long time but lately it’s not feeling good anymore. You wonder whether you should stay in the partnership. One friend says, “Leave. Trying to make it work is just clinging to the past.” Another friend says, “Stay. Just demonstrate commitment.” Both friends imply that they’re reading the situation objectively in a way that dictates a morally principled response. The word “just,” as in “just clinging” or “just demonstrate commitment.” is a powerful word. It means, “ignore all other possibilities.” “Just” implies that the decision is a no-brainer, a decision as easy to make as “should I call this spade a spade?” When I want you to let go of something I can say “don’t cling.” When I want you to hold onto to something, I can say, “stay committed.” I can convincingly cloak my subjective opinion in the garb of objectivity. I can give my confidence levels (my assessment of the probability that I’m right about something) a hi

Moral* principles do more harm than good. We apply them self-servingly and selectively. They operate at the wrong level of abstraction, distracting us from the right level. I'm deeply committed to morality but I've never met a moral principle I could trust. I can illustrate this best by example. Consider these two moral principles: Don’t cling. Show commitment. What's the difference between clinging and commitment? From what I can tell, they are indistinguishable except that clinging is bad and should never occur and commitment is good and should always occur. Clinging and commitment both describe a preference for keeping something (a law, a policy, a belief, a system, a relationship, a habit etc.) the same rather than changing it. So far I've never found any way to objectively distinguish between an act of clinging and an act of commitment. I’m open to the possibility that I’m missing something so please challenge me: We’d need some litmus test by which observing a preference for keeping something the same, one could reliably sort out the bad (clinging) from the good (commitment). A Buddhist friend suggested that the difference is that clinging is desperate and commitment isn’t. This proposed litmus test pivots on the intensity (desperateness) of desire for something to stay the same, where the more intense, the more clingy, and the more bad, and the less intense, the less clingy, and the more good. The way to kick the tires on a litmus test is by looking for counter-examples. If they come readily it can’t be a reliable litmus test. Think of the parents who desperately want to save their child from a tyrannical government’s death squad. The parents’ desperation feels neither clingy nor bad. The powerful tyrants on the other hand, could intend to kill the child while experiencing a state of calm resolve, no desperation, but not a virtuous “commitment” to the assassination either. The desperation litmus test for distinguishing clinging from commitment doesn’t hold up. The distinctions we draw between clinging and commitment are based on subjective assessments. When we believe that keeping something is bad or will turn out bad, we call it clinging (or any of a number of other pejorative terms—attachment, stubbornness, pigheadedness, etc.) and when we believe that keeping something is good or will turn out good, we call it commitment (or any of a number of other terms with positive connotations—sticking to principle, steadfastness, tradition, etc.). Though in practice, clinging and staying committed amount to the same thing, their connotations are absolute opposites. Since clinging is supposedly always bad and showing commitment is supposedly always good, together they amount to the self-contradictory statement that you should never and always keep things the same. You’ve been in a partnership a long time but lately it’s not feeling good anymore. You wonder whether you should stay in the partnership. One friend says, “Leave. Trying to make it work is just clinging to the past.” Another friend says, “Stay. Just demonstrate commitment.” Both friends imply that they’re reading the situation objectively in a way that dictates a morally principled response. The word “just,” as in “just clinging” or “just demonstrate commitment.” is a powerful word. It means, “ignore all other possibilities.” “Just” implies that the decision is a no-brainer, a decision as easy to make as “should I call this spade a spade?” When I want you to let go of something I can say “don’t cling.” When I want you to hold onto to something, I can say, “stay committed.” I can convincingly cloak my subjective opinion in the garb of objectivity. I can give my confidence levels (my assessment of the probability that I’m right about something) a hi

"I need a workable solution to this problem and I need it now. It has got to be realistic but it also has to spell relief and spell it soon." That's the subtext for all sorts of human endeavor from finishing that project that already has you underpaid, over-budget and behind schedule, to coming up with the best approach to addressing global warming: We need it right, and we need it right now. Just today, a friend said to me, "Yes, I would like your help thinking this project through, but on one condition. I'm already well along. I can't really afford to rethink it from scratch." I know the feeling well. I get it, for example when I notice, with aversion that an article I've written under deadline has a flaw that would require revisions I'd rather not have to make. So we cut corners. At the gym, I see people counting reps without employing good form. I read articles by other writers who, it seems to me, didn't follow their ideas all the way out. "All the way out" is part of the problem. It's much easier to measure quantity of articles than quantity of thought. But quantifiability isn't the only issue. Expediency is driven by an emotional aversion to the disappointment of facing unexpected hard work. I've written about "speed-reading our critics," reading a review or critical report with eyes that dance gingerly over the feedback like feet hoping across hot coals. All feedback--suggestions for improving things, ideas about more that could be done--feels like an obstacle thrown in your path, like you were rolling downhill toward your goal and suddenly there's a hill you hadn't counted on. I know this feeling most palpably as a sensation I've had when exercising. I'm doing push ups; a friend happens to be watching. I count 38 with a goal of 50 and my friend who has been counting silently says "36." My count is off his by two-two unexpected push ups more to do. There's this surge of overwhelm that runs through my body as I adjust my expectations. The overwhelm leads instantly to questions about my friend's intent. Is that his real count or is he taunting me? Judging only by that taxing sensation, the feedback feels like a put-down. His grin reminds me of the prankster's glee as he looks through the glass door he refuses to unlock when I need to come inside out of the rain. Straining, face down on the floor I look up at him. He's humiliating me on purpose. "I didn't count two of those reps," he says. "They weren't good form." We construct, "Nickel and Paradigms," lightweight, over-simplistic models of how systems work. A lot of our philosophical and spiritual theories seem to qualify as nickel and paradigms--hopefully-good-enough theories that often aren't. Where they don't match reality, we fudge or call it an exception to the rule without further refining our paradigms to include rules for when to expect these exceptions to the rules. We want to have become experts on how things work but that doesn't mean we necessarily want to do what it takes to become those experts. We want to be experts but since becoming one takes much more work than simulating the impression that we're experts, we often take the latter route. We are furious about corporate corner-cutting--BP on the Gulf, the banks, the auto companies. We have an analytical model of such expedience: Some people are just too greedy, too much in a hurry, and their problems always eventually come home to roost. That analytical model is itself a nickel and paradigm. Our analysis of the problem of expedience is itself too expedient. It's not just that some people are expedient; it's at least in part that thoroughness and productivity sometimes work at common purpose and sometimes at cross-purposes. For all of us--not just the greedy few--sometimes an emphasis on immediate productivity trumps thoroughness. And sometimes the lack of thoroughness

"I need a workable solution to this problem and I need it now. It has got to be realistic but it also has to spell relief and spell it soon." That's the subtext for all sorts of human endeavor from finishing that project that already has you underpaid, over-budget and behind schedule, to coming up with the best approach to addressing global warming: We need it right, and we need it right now. Just today, a friend said to me, "Yes, I would like your help thinking this project through, but on one condition. I'm already well along. I can't really afford to rethink it from scratch." I know the feeling well. I get it, for example when I notice, with aversion that an article I've written under deadline has a flaw that would require revisions I'd rather not have to make. So we cut corners. At the gym, I see people counting reps without employing good form. I read articles by other writers who, it seems to me, didn't follow their ideas all the way out. "All the way out" is part of the problem. It's much easier to measure quantity of articles than quantity of thought. But quantifiability isn't the only issue. Expediency is driven by an emotional aversion to the disappointment of facing unexpected hard work. I've written about "speed-reading our critics," reading a review or critical report with eyes that dance gingerly over the feedback like feet hoping across hot coals. All feedback--suggestions for improving things, ideas about more that could be done--feels like an obstacle thrown in your path, like you were rolling downhill toward your goal and suddenly there's a hill you hadn't counted on. I know this feeling most palpably as a sensation I've had when exercising. I'm doing push ups; a friend happens to be watching. I count 38 with a goal of 50 and my friend who has been counting silently says "36." My count is off his by two-two unexpected push ups more to do. There's this surge of overwhelm that runs through my body as I adjust my expectations. The overwhelm leads instantly to questions about my friend's intent. Is that his real count or is he taunting me? Judging only by that taxing sensation, the feedback feels like a put-down. His grin reminds me of the prankster's glee as he looks through the glass door he refuses to unlock when I need to come inside out of the rain. Straining, face down on the floor I look up at him. He's humiliating me on purpose. "I didn't count two of those reps," he says. "They weren't good form." We construct, "Nickel and Paradigms," lightweight, over-simplistic models of how systems work. A lot of our philosophical and spiritual theories seem to qualify as nickel and paradigms--hopefully-good-enough theories that often aren't. Where they don't match reality, we fudge or call it an exception to the rule without further refining our paradigms to include rules for when to expect these exceptions to the rules. We want to have become experts on how things work but that doesn't mean we necessarily want to do what it takes to become those experts. We want to be experts but since becoming one takes much more work than simulating the impression that we're experts, we often take the latter route. We are furious about corporate corner-cutting--BP on the Gulf, the banks, the auto companies. We have an analytical model of such expedience: Some people are just too greedy, too much in a hurry, and their problems always eventually come home to roost. That analytical model is itself a nickel and paradigm. Our analysis of the problem of expedience is itself too expedient. It's not just that some people are expedient; it's at least in part that thoroughness and productivity sometimes work at common purpose and sometimes at cross-purposes. For all of us--not just the greedy few--sometimes an emphasis on immediate productivity trumps thoroughness. And sometimes the lack of thoroughness

It started out well. You and a friend were talking about a topic of interest to you both, sharing your opinions, listening and collaborating on thinking things through. But something went wrong; you don't know exactly what. Now you're arguing, the tension is thick and the stakes are high. He thinks you turned it into a power struggle over who's right and--well, frankly you think he did. What exactly happened? Simplifying a lot, try picturing thinking as travel through a maze comprised of branching options. Throughout your life you’ve been walking down corridors coming to intersections and choosing consciously and unconsciously the paths you’ll take. At a fork in the maze a question presents itself. For a while you wonder what to choose, but then you decide, taking one branch or another and the question is behind you. Picture conversation as relating to someone else within the maze. Sometimes you’re conversing over the walls, talking to people who made different choices at the forks and ended up somewhere else: Dana: Hey over there. Ryan: Hi. Dana: I see you became Mormon. Ryan: Yes, I took the religious fork, tried a few options and ended up here. Dana: Cool. What’s it like? Ryan: Pretty satisfying so far. Nice people, great rituals, a sense of purpose. And you? You’re an atheist, right? Dana: Yep, I bypassed the whole religious branch. Ryan: What’s it like down that path? Dana: It’s good. You don’t get the purpose delivered, you have to roll your own, but that suits me fine. Ryan: Cool. Well happy trails. Dana: You too. I wish you the best. I’ll call this Shoptalk. It’s like a conversation between two car lovers comparing notes on their rides without feeling a need to agree that they should have the same cars or tastes. There’s a warmth and respect even at a distance within the maze. You could call it “agreeing to disagree,” but that emphasizes the disagreement. The warmth comes from appreciating that we each get a life and a quest through this maze. We start out in different places and see different parts of the maze. It’s fun to watch other lives and appreciate the varied paths we take. With Shoptalk it’s all good, like running into someone you met on the train to Rome now that you’re in Paris. Dana: Hey, there you are again! Ryan: Zo we meet again my leetle French friend! Dana: I got here Tuesday. You? Ryan: Just today. I stopped in Florence. Dana: There’s great pizza at that place over there on the square. And I loved the Musee D’Orsay. Ryan: I’m only here a day and I’m planning to relax and just hit the Louvre. Dana: Cool, well have a great trip. No pressure to agree on the D’Orsay. It’s sharing notes--not even comparing notes. There’s another kind of conversation I’ll call Affinity and Beyond. You meet someone in the maze, someone who, by whatever paths has ended up in the same corridor as you, facing the same forks and choices: Pat: Hi. Nice to find you here. Casey: You too. Are you doing well? Pat: Yeah, my path seems good so far. And you? Casey: Happy to be here too. So what are you thinking about these options we face? Pat: That is the question, isn’t it? Interested in exploring a little together? Casey: Sure. I’d love some company. I’m leaning toward Path A here. Pat: I’ve thought about that one. We could try it together. My intuitions lead me to think it’s Path B. Casey: Great. We’ll try one and then the other and see which we like best. Pat: I’m really glad we can do this together. Nice to get a second pair of eyes on it and nice also to have your company. Casey: I agree. This will be fun. In this kind of conversation you meet on common ground with common goals and a common quest. The affinities are strong

It started out well. You and a friend were talking about a topic of interest to you both, sharing your opinions, listening and collaborating on thinking things through. But something went wrong; you don't know exactly what. Now you're arguing, the tension is thick and the stakes are high. He thinks you turned it into a power struggle over who's right and--well, frankly you think he did. What exactly happened? Simplifying a lot, try picturing thinking as travel through a maze comprised of branching options. Throughout your life you’ve been walking down corridors coming to intersections and choosing consciously and unconsciously the paths you’ll take. At a fork in the maze a question presents itself. For a while you wonder what to choose, but then you decide, taking one branch or another and the question is behind you. Picture conversation as relating to someone else within the maze. Sometimes you’re conversing over the walls, talking to people who made different choices at the forks and ended up somewhere else: Dana: Hey over there. Ryan: Hi. Dana: I see you became Mormon. Ryan: Yes, I took the religious fork, tried a few options and ended up here. Dana: Cool. What’s it like? Ryan: Pretty satisfying so far. Nice people, great rituals, a sense of purpose. And you? You’re an atheist, right? Dana: Yep, I bypassed the whole religious branch. Ryan: What’s it like down that path? Dana: It’s good. You don’t get the purpose delivered, you have to roll your own, but that suits me fine. Ryan: Cool. Well happy trails. Dana: You too. I wish you the best. I’ll call this Shoptalk. It’s like a conversation between two car lovers comparing notes on their rides without feeling a need to agree that they should have the same cars or tastes. There’s a warmth and respect even at a distance within the maze. You could call it “agreeing to disagree,” but that emphasizes the disagreement. The warmth comes from appreciating that we each get a life and a quest through this maze. We start out in different places and see different parts of the maze. It’s fun to watch other lives and appreciate the varied paths we take. With Shoptalk it’s all good, like running into someone you met on the train to Rome now that you’re in Paris. Dana: Hey, there you are again! Ryan: Zo we meet again my leetle French friend! Dana: I got here Tuesday. You? Ryan: Just today. I stopped in Florence. Dana: There’s great pizza at that place over there on the square. And I loved the Musee D’Orsay. Ryan: I’m only here a day and I’m planning to relax and just hit the Louvre. Dana: Cool, well have a great trip. No pressure to agree on the D’Orsay. It’s sharing notes--not even comparing notes. There’s another kind of conversation I’ll call Affinity and Beyond. You meet someone in the maze, someone who, by whatever paths has ended up in the same corridor as you, facing the same forks and choices: Pat: Hi. Nice to find you here. Casey: You too. Are you doing well? Pat: Yeah, my path seems good so far. And you? Casey: Happy to be here too. So what are you thinking about these options we face? Pat: That is the question, isn’t it? Interested in exploring a little together? Casey: Sure. I’d love some company. I’m leaning toward Path A here. Pat: I’ve thought about that one. We could try it together. My intuitions lead me to think it’s Path B. Casey: Great. We’ll try one and then the other and see which we like best. Pat: I’m really glad we can do this together. Nice to get a second pair of eyes on it and nice also to have your company. Casey: I agree. This will be fun. In this kind of conversation you meet on common ground with common goals and a common quest. The affinities are strong

Last week I wrote critiquing a vaguely-held but nonetheless influential counter-culture faith in win-win solutions solving everything. Today I want to talk about its equivalent in economics and hint at a parallel between new-age niceness and Tea Party libertarianism that will be the subject of a later article. Free-market capitalism is a system that generates win-wins until there are no more win-wins to be had, until a market reaches what's called Pareto-optimality, a state in which there is "no more room for a deal," no more transactions that would be seen by both parties as to their advantage. Beyond Pareto-optimality any transaction that would be to one party's advantage would be to another party's disadvantage-in other words, a win-lose. A market is deemed "efficient" when there are no constraints that would hinder reaching this state of maximum win-win fulfillment. A regulated market that restricts the sale of certain unsafe products is called "inefficient." From this free-market perspective, if there's one party that wants to sell heroin, and there's another party that wants to party and is willing to part with money for that heroin, there's room for a win-win deal and it's inefficient to constrain the parties by preventing the transaction. Except for libertarians (free-market extremists), economists are quick to point out that efficiency isn't everything. Society has goals that can't be met by exclusive reliance on win-wins. Though there's a win-win deal in that heroin sale, it's a loss to society overall. Likewise, though the destitute can't pay for food and therefore can't engage in a win-win with the food vendor, society prefers not to have the destitute die of starvation. The incompatibilities between market efficiency and society's goals are called "market imperfections." Governments step in discouraging some activities (heroin sales between consenting adults) and encouraging others (food sales to the destitute) to actually create market inefficiencies that compensate for market imperfections. Governments, in effect, put their thumbs on the scales, discouraging some win-wins and encouraging some win-loses. They have a number of tools at their disposal for doing so. Laws banning the sale of heroin, taxes discouraging the sale of tobacco, laws forcing the sale of medical services to the poor, subsidies like food stamps that give the destitute the wherewithal to purchase food when otherwise they couldn't. One way to think about this is that there aren't really any two party deals. There are always three parties: the two who do the business deal and society. What we really want is win-win-wins, where everyone is happy. There are lots of those. We buy products from folks who want to sell them and society benefits overall. But since not all deals are win-win-win someone has to make sacrifices. I pay taxes--a loss to me--but a win to society. Companies selling dangerous products lose sales because of taxes on their products (sin taxes they're called), a loss to them but again a win to society. I dream of solving everything with win-win-win solutions but in practice there have to be some losses. Another way to think about it is that society is, in part, you and me, representing our better judgment. I want to do deals that benefit me today, but my better judgment doesn't want me to do deals today that hurt me tomorrow even if they'd be wins for me today. So I win when society wins, or rather my better judgment wins even though my immediate preferences lose. In passing I'll note that this is a compromise to the Golden Rule. What I'd have done unto me is that I could win always and following the Golden Rule I wish the same for you. But sometimes we lose anyway. To make the Golden Rule work we have to break the Golden rule sometimes. I call this the Golden Paradox. Government, at its best, can serve as th

Last week I wrote critiquing a vaguely-held but nonetheless influential counter-culture faith in win-win solutions solving everything. Today I want to talk about its equivalent in economics and hint at a parallel between new-age niceness and Tea Party libertarianism that will be the subject of a later article. Free-market capitalism is a system that generates win-wins until there are no more win-wins to be had, until a market reaches what's called Pareto-optimality, a state in which there is "no more room for a deal," no more transactions that would be seen by both parties as to their advantage. Beyond Pareto-optimality any transaction that would be to one party's advantage would be to another party's disadvantage-in other words, a win-lose. A market is deemed "efficient" when there are no constraints that would hinder reaching this state of maximum win-win fulfillment. A regulated market that restricts the sale of certain unsafe products is called "inefficient." From this free-market perspective, if there's one party that wants to sell heroin, and there's another party that wants to party and is willing to part with money for that heroin, there's room for a win-win deal and it's inefficient to constrain the parties by preventing the transaction. Except for libertarians (free-market extremists), economists are quick to point out that efficiency isn't everything. Society has goals that can't be met by exclusive reliance on win-wins. Though there's a win-win deal in that heroin sale, it's a loss to society overall. Likewise, though the destitute can't pay for food and therefore can't engage in a win-win with the food vendor, society prefers not to have the destitute die of starvation. The incompatibilities between market efficiency and society's goals are called "market imperfections." Governments step in discouraging some activities (heroin sales between consenting adults) and encouraging others (food sales to the destitute) to actually create market inefficiencies that compensate for market imperfections. Governments, in effect, put their thumbs on the scales, discouraging some win-wins and encouraging some win-loses. They have a number of tools at their disposal for doing so. Laws banning the sale of heroin, taxes discouraging the sale of tobacco, laws forcing the sale of medical services to the poor, subsidies like food stamps that give the destitute the wherewithal to purchase food when otherwise they couldn't. One way to think about this is that there aren't really any two party deals. There are always three parties: the two who do the business deal and society. What we really want is win-win-wins, where everyone is happy. There are lots of those. We buy products from folks who want to sell them and society benefits overall. But since not all deals are win-win-win someone has to make sacrifices. I pay taxes--a loss to me--but a win to society. Companies selling dangerous products lose sales because of taxes on their products (sin taxes they're called), a loss to them but again a win to society. I dream of solving everything with win-win-win solutions but in practice there have to be some losses. Another way to think about it is that society is, in part, you and me, representing our better judgment. I want to do deals that benefit me today, but my better judgment doesn't want me to do deals today that hurt me tomorrow even if they'd be wins for me today. So I win when society wins, or rather my better judgment wins even though my immediate preferences lose. In passing I'll note that this is a compromise to the Golden Rule. What I'd have done unto me is that I could win always and following the Golden Rule I wish the same for you. But sometimes we lose anyway. To make the Golden Rule work we have to break the Golden rule sometimes. I call this the Golden Paradox. Government, at its best, can serve as th

What changed my mind was the gun under my 15-year-old son's bed. Loaded. Our son--who we raised on a commune where we believed that love was the way and that everyone could and would realize it if they were only educated in the dharma (spiritual teachings). He traded a prized possession of mine for that gun. When I confiscated it, he got right up in my face and yelled, "Give it back. I paid good money for that!" That's when we decided to hire the private police escorts to climb through his bedroom window at six AM and take him to a treatment center in Idaho. I already had plans to fly a few days later to a spiritual workshop led by Ram Dass, whom I had studied with for years. He began the workshop with a story I had heard many times before, Aikido master Terry Dobson's account of a time he nearly took down a thug on a subway. Just as Dobson was about to subdue the thug by force an old Japanese man in a kimono interrupted, distracting the thug with a cheerful account of how he and his old wife enjoyed tea in their garden together observing their persimmon tree. I reprint the story below. If you haven't read it, I recommend it. Dobson's Aikido teacher had taught that Aikido was the art of reconciliation. "Whoever has the mind to fight has broken his connection with the universe. If you try to dominate people, you are already defeated. " Dobson had always tried to follow that guidance, but only when he saw the little old Japanese man melt the thug's heart did he recognize that "the essence of Aikido is love." This time, having just packed my gun-toting 15-year old off to Idaho by police escort, I found the story hard to swallow. During a break I asked Ram Dass how it applied to my situation. Ram Dass said that the story doesn't mean that you should give everyone everything always. It meant that you should never put anyone out of your heart even though you may have to put him out of your living room. To my mind, that was a fine distinction, probably too fine to make with reliable clarity. Was my son in my heart when I put him out of my living room? My son certainly didn't think so, but then what did he know? But then if I discount his perspective, where's the love in that? But then, he was profoundly unreliable, so maybe the only question was whether I felt that I was banishing him with love in my heart. But then what about people who believe in their hearts that they're banishing you in a loving way when they aren't? What about when a sadist says "it hurts me more than it hurts you"? I mean, lots of questions. The story that had always warmed my heart now seemed slippery. The way I had always heard it, it implied that there was always a win-win option and so you never had to put anyone out of your living room. Statements like "Whoever has the mind to fight has broken his connection with the universe. If you try to dominate people, you are already defeated" seem to condemn me for forcibly evicting my son. Now I was scrutinizing these words more closely than before. What does "having a mind to fight," even mean? And just what are the consequences of breaking one's connection the universe? Does the universe have no fight in it? Had the soldiers who defeated Hitler's armies broken their connection with the universe? If not, did they somehow not have a mind to fight even as they shot and bombed their way through Europe? The story started to sound like gibberish, like nonsense on stilts. The thug's fists unclench as he listens to the old Japanese man's cheerful account about his persimmon tree back home. The thug says, "Yeah, I love persimmons too." Attending that same Ram Dass workshop was a high-ranking DC political insider. I overheard him whisper to his friend an alternative thug-response to the old man's story: "Yeah, well I hate persimmons. Pow!" He had to whisper because in the cozy, warm, smarmy context of

What changed my mind was the gun under my 15-year-old son's bed. Loaded. Our son--who we raised on a commune where we believed that love was the way and that everyone could and would realize it if they were only educated in the dharma (spiritual teachings). He traded a prized possession of mine for that gun. When I confiscated it, he got right up in my face and yelled, "Give it back. I paid good money for that!" That's when we decided to hire the private police escorts to climb through his bedroom window at six AM and take him to a treatment center in Idaho. I already had plans to fly a few days later to a spiritual workshop led by Ram Dass, whom I had studied with for years. He began the workshop with a story I had heard many times before, Aikido master Terry Dobson's account of a time he nearly took down a thug on a subway. Just as Dobson was about to subdue the thug by force an old Japanese man in a kimono interrupted, distracting the thug with a cheerful account of how he and his old wife enjoyed tea in their garden together observing their persimmon tree. I reprint the story below. If you haven't read it, I recommend it. Dobson's Aikido teacher had taught that Aikido was the art of reconciliation. "Whoever has the mind to fight has broken his connection with the universe. If you try to dominate people, you are already defeated. " Dobson had always tried to follow that guidance, but only when he saw the little old Japanese man melt the thug's heart did he recognize that "the essence of Aikido is love." This time, having just packed my gun-toting 15-year old off to Idaho by police escort, I found the story hard to swallow. During a break I asked Ram Dass how it applied to my situation. Ram Dass said that the story doesn't mean that you should give everyone everything always. It meant that you should never put anyone out of your heart even though you may have to put him out of your living room. To my mind, that was a fine distinction, probably too fine to make with reliable clarity. Was my son in my heart when I put him out of my living room? My son certainly didn't think so, but then what did he know? But then if I discount his perspective, where's the love in that? But then, he was profoundly unreliable, so maybe the only question was whether I felt that I was banishing him with love in my heart. But then what about people who believe in their hearts that they're banishing you in a loving way when they aren't? What about when a sadist says "it hurts me more than it hurts you"? I mean, lots of questions. The story that had always warmed my heart now seemed slippery. The way I had always heard it, it implied that there was always a win-win option and so you never had to put anyone out of your living room. Statements like "Whoever has the mind to fight has broken his connection with the universe. If you try to dominate people, you are already defeated" seem to condemn me for forcibly evicting my son. Now I was scrutinizing these words more closely than before. What does "having a mind to fight," even mean? And just what are the consequences of breaking one's connection the universe? Does the universe have no fight in it? Had the soldiers who defeated Hitler's armies broken their connection with the universe? If not, did they somehow not have a mind to fight even as they shot and bombed their way through Europe? The story started to sound like gibberish, like nonsense on stilts. The thug's fists unclench as he listens to the old Japanese man's cheerful account about his persimmon tree back home. The thug says, "Yeah, I love persimmons too." Attending that same Ram Dass workshop was a high-ranking DC political insider. I overheard him whisper to his friend an alternative thug-response to the old man's story: "Yeah, well I hate persimmons. Pow!" He had to whisper because in the cozy, warm, smarmy context of

He just insulted you and you feel your blood pressure rise. For a minute, as your body floods with resentment, your chance of staying calm is slim. You take a deep breath. Turning away expressionless, you muster all the spiritual benevolence you can, and for once you don't counter-attack. You say something impressively forgiving and dignified. Do you mean it? Maybe not, but it works. He, braced for a fight, is thrown off balance, and suddenly you feel less threatened, safer in who you are and where you stand. Now, staying calm and forgiving in the encounter gets easier. Resisting that initial pull toward retaliation was hard. At first you were wobbly, but then it becomes effortless. From wobbly to stable--it's the ten-minute equivalent of learning to ride a bicycle. Scenarios like these are important to Cognitive Therapy. They demonstrate that your emotions aren't fixed facts; they're flexible. It's all in how you interpret your situation. Tell a different story and you'll automatically generate a different emotional response. Positive Psychology likewise advocates ways to limber up emotional response. It agrees with Cognitive Therapy; you can change your story to change your emotions. But you can also change your behavior to change your emotions. You can jump start emotions, fake it ‘til you make it, behave differently, and people will respond differently. If you play the calm one in a conflict, an opponent's response often makes it increasingly easy to continue to play the calm one. About this fluidity of interpretation and emotion, there has accumulated a bit of oversimplifying conventional wisdom: In any situation you have complete control and flexibility in how you respond. No matter what's going on, you can choose whether to be angry or calm, resentful or forgiving-it's all up to you. I'll call this the Total Control Theory of emotions. This theory usually comes bundled with an incriminating assumption that there's an obvious right way to be. If you have complete control over whether you're resentful or forgiving, and if forgiveness is the obvious right thing to feel, then, if you're resentful instead of forgiving, you've failed. I don't believe there is an obvious right way to feel. Sure, by word choice, one can give the false impression that there is, but there isn't. Should you be resentful (a negative sounding thing) or forgiving (a positive sounding thing) makes it sound obvious how you should feel. But if you reframe the same situation as a choice between upholding high standards (a positive sounding thing) and failing to respond to substandard behavior (a negative sounding thing) suddenly, it's not so obvious what is the right way to feel. Unlike the Positive Psychologists, I don't believe positivity is always the answer. If you want a thorough exploration of positivity's downside, try Brightsided: How the Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking Has Undermined America, by Barbara Ehrenreich. Still, we most often hear the "total control" theory of emotions accompanied by advocacy of a particular position: "Stop feeling X, and you can. It is within your power to do so." The Secret is another example. It argues for a supposedly appropriate positive attitude but it also assumes that you have a lot of choice about what you feel. Total Control Theory could also be called the jukebox theory of emotion. You get to pick the tune. And clearly, to some extent you do, or else in the scenario above you couldn't turn a low probability of calm into a high probability of calm. Competing with the Total Control Theory there is another bit of conventional wisdom about emotional control that is also quite prevalent. We could call this the No Control Theory: You feel what you feel and there's nothing you or anyone can do about it. No Control Theory doesn't seem to have proponents who advocate it explicitly. R

He just insulted you and you feel your blood pressure rise. For a minute, as your body floods with resentment, your chance of staying calm is slim. You take a deep breath. Turning away expressionless, you muster all the spiritual benevolence you can, and for once you don't counter-attack. You say something impressively forgiving and dignified. Do you mean it? Maybe not, but it works. He, braced for a fight, is thrown off balance, and suddenly you feel less threatened, safer in who you are and where you stand. Now, staying calm and forgiving in the encounter gets easier. Resisting that initial pull toward retaliation was hard. At first you were wobbly, but then it becomes effortless. From wobbly to stable--it's the ten-minute equivalent of learning to ride a bicycle. Scenarios like these are important to Cognitive Therapy. They demonstrate that your emotions aren't fixed facts; they're flexible. It's all in how you interpret your situation. Tell a different story and you'll automatically generate a different emotional response. Positive Psychology likewise advocates ways to limber up emotional response. It agrees with Cognitive Therapy; you can change your story to change your emotions. But you can also change your behavior to change your emotions. You can jump start emotions, fake it ‘til you make it, behave differently, and people will respond differently. If you play the calm one in a conflict, an opponent's response often makes it increasingly easy to continue to play the calm one. About this fluidity of interpretation and emotion, there has accumulated a bit of oversimplifying conventional wisdom: In any situation you have complete control and flexibility in how you respond. No matter what's going on, you can choose whether to be angry or calm, resentful or forgiving-it's all up to you. I'll call this the Total Control Theory of emotions. This theory usually comes bundled with an incriminating assumption that there's an obvious right way to be. If you have complete control over whether you're resentful or forgiving, and if forgiveness is the obvious right thing to feel, then, if you're resentful instead of forgiving, you've failed. I don't believe there is an obvious right way to feel. Sure, by word choice, one can give the false impression that there is, but there isn't. Should you be resentful (a negative sounding thing) or forgiving (a positive sounding thing) makes it sound obvious how you should feel. But if you reframe the same situation as a choice between upholding high standards (a positive sounding thing) and failing to respond to substandard behavior (a negative sounding thing) suddenly, it's not so obvious what is the right way to feel. Unlike the Positive Psychologists, I don't believe positivity is always the answer. If you want a thorough exploration of positivity's downside, try Brightsided: How the Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking Has Undermined America, by Barbara Ehrenreich. Still, we most often hear the "total control" theory of emotions accompanied by advocacy of a particular position: "Stop feeling X, and you can. It is within your power to do so." The Secret is another example. It argues for a supposedly appropriate positive attitude but it also assumes that you have a lot of choice about what you feel. Total Control Theory could also be called the jukebox theory of emotion. You get to pick the tune. And clearly, to some extent you do, or else in the scenario above you couldn't turn a low probability of calm into a high probability of calm. Competing with the Total Control Theory there is another bit of conventional wisdom about emotional control that is also quite prevalent. We could call this the No Control Theory: You feel what you feel and there's nothing you or anyone can do about it. No Control Theory doesn't seem to have proponents who advocate it explicitly. R

Conflict is like a high-strung game of hot potato in which what you're shoving back and forth at each other is self-doubt. In conflict, we don't agree about something and, whether by necessity or sheer doggedness, we can't simply agree to disagree. Something has got to give, preferably our opponent's insistence, and so we go at each other trying to erode each other's confidence, questioning each other's plans, interpretations, motives, character, and intelligence-anything to get that stinging doubt out of our hands and into our opponent's. It's a vicious cycle, a doubting-match, as we and our opponents pass the doubt potato ever more aggressively. Naturally there are some standard doubt-deflecting rhetorical moves we can make. I've started to catalog them and list eighteen of them below. By rhetorical I mean they're generic, or content-independent. One can apply them to deflect self-doubt no matter what topic is on the table or what position you take on that topic. Many are meta-moves, ways to act as though you're above the fight, even while continuing to fight. They're the equivalent of saying "I'm done playing," just as you shove the potato into your opponent's hand. They tend have a moral tone, like saying "One shouldn't try to win at hot potato," just as you pass the self-doubt to your opponent, the double-down, doubt-inflicting equivalent of "only losers like you care about winning and losing and, oh, by the way, haha, you lose." Though you might think I don't have a lot of respect for these techniques, in two ways I actually do. First, they are quite formidable. I respect them in that if I were to name the one aspect of human nature most likely to cause our failure as a species (taking down a great many other species with us) it would be our alacrity and fluency at employing these and other techniques for deflecting self-doubt, setting off self-certainty wars. And the second way I respect them I'll save for after the list. Here it is with links to related articles: "But My Intentions Are Good. Don't They Count For Everything?" When criticized for our actions we can change the subject to our intentions, which are un-measurable, and unassailable, and, if not connected to our actions, irrelevant. Nicessism: Imply a moral imperative that one should never say anything disappointing and thereby treat all criticism, constructive or otherwise as a moral violation. "Your Challenge Hurt, Therefore You Must Have Delivered It Wrong." Claim receptivity, but only to those challenges well delivered by one's unattainably high standards. Smugging: Calmly refuse to budge and then when one's challenger gets frustrated change the subject to his hotheaded reaction. This will make him more hotheaded making it easy to call even more attention to his reaction. Youjustifications and Onetruesations: Deny all but one ignominious motive behind a challenger's criticism. For example "You're just trying to put me down." Reciprocally, explain your own behavior as being singly and virtuously motivated. For example, "Look, I was only trying to help." Exempt By Contempt: Claim that since you find a trait disgusting, you must not have that trait. For example: "Me selfish?! Impossible! I hate selfish people!" "How Dare You Compare Me To..." If challenged for behaving as badly as some known manipulators, rather than considering the comparison on its merits, act as though there could be no parallel because there's some assumed world of difference between the behaviors of good people like you, and bad people like them. Litmus Paper Tiger: Profess loudly and actively to holding an absolute moral standard, then ignore it and do anything you like. Selective Literalism: Attack others for their tone, but when you talk, deny tone has anything to do with it. For example, saying, "Look, I merely said..." Freedom of Speech As Subte

Conflict is like a high-strung game of hot potato in which what you're shoving back and forth at each other is self-doubt. In conflict, we don't agree about something and, whether by necessity or sheer doggedness, we can't simply agree to disagree. Something has got to give, preferably our opponent's insistence, and so we go at each other trying to erode each other's confidence, questioning each other's plans, interpretations, motives, character, and intelligence-anything to get that stinging doubt out of our hands and into our opponent's. It's a vicious cycle, a doubting-match, as we and our opponents pass the doubt potato ever more aggressively. Naturally there are some standard doubt-deflecting rhetorical moves we can make. I've started to catalog them and list eighteen of them below. By rhetorical I mean they're generic, or content-independent. One can apply them to deflect self-doubt no matter what topic is on the table or what position you take on that topic. Many are meta-moves, ways to act as though you're above the fight, even while continuing to fight. They're the equivalent of saying "I'm done playing," just as you shove the potato into your opponent's hand. They tend have a moral tone, like saying "One shouldn't try to win at hot potato," just as you pass the self-doubt to your opponent, the double-down, doubt-inflicting equivalent of "only losers like you care about winning and losing and, oh, by the way, haha, you lose." Though you might think I don't have a lot of respect for these techniques, in two ways I actually do. First, they are quite formidable. I respect them in that if I were to name the one aspect of human nature most likely to cause our failure as a species (taking down a great many other species with us) it would be our alacrity and fluency at employing these and other techniques for deflecting self-doubt, setting off self-certainty wars. And the second way I respect them I'll save for after the list. Here it is with links to related articles: "But My Intentions Are Good. Don't They Count For Everything?" When criticized for our actions we can change the subject to our intentions, which are un-measurable, and unassailable, and, if not connected to our actions, irrelevant. Nicessism: Imply a moral imperative that one should never say anything disappointing and thereby treat all criticism, constructive or otherwise as a moral violation. "Your Challenge Hurt, Therefore You Must Have Delivered It Wrong." Claim receptivity, but only to those challenges well delivered by one's unattainably high standards. Smugging: Calmly refuse to budge and then when one's challenger gets frustrated change the subject to his hotheaded reaction. This will make him more hotheaded making it easy to call even more attention to his reaction. Youjustifications and Onetruesations: Deny all but one ignominious motive behind a challenger's criticism. For example "You're just trying to put me down." Reciprocally, explain your own behavior as being singly and virtuously motivated. For example, "Look, I was only trying to help." Exempt By Contempt: Claim that since you find a trait disgusting, you must not have that trait. For example: "Me selfish?! Impossible! I hate selfish people!" "How Dare You Compare Me To..." If challenged for behaving as badly as some known manipulators, rather than considering the comparison on its merits, act as though there could be no parallel because there's some assumed world of difference between the behaviors of good people like you, and bad people like them. Litmus Paper Tiger: Profess loudly and actively to holding an absolute moral standard, then ignore it and do anything you like. Selective Literalism: Attack others for their tone, but when you talk, deny tone has anything to do with it. For example, saying, "Look, I merely said..." Freedom of Speech As Subte

About a year ago I wrote an article seeking a non-subjective definition for butthead, an alternative to the subjective definition as anyone with whom I butt heads. This is a central research question for me, which translates to lofty yet practical conundrums about the alternative to buttheadedness: What is wisdom? What is rationality? And the great existential question: Now that we are forced to admit that there are inescapable differences of opinion about what God or the universe expect of us, how do we figure out who's right in any argument? If you've followed my articles, you'll know that I have particular people with whom I butt heads--Sarah Palin or the latest reincarnation of the right wing (I've called them the "Always Right" wing) for example. Readers who don't have my reaction to these targets challenge me to be more specific about what makes them buttheads. It's a great question, consistent with my quest for an objective definition of butthead, and I'll attempt to answer their question here broadly and in my next article to give some examples. I have a new definition of wisdom and rationality I'm trying out: The ability to actively embody alternative perspectives on a controversial or ambiguous situation, to conscientiously select the perspective to operate from, and to maintain the capacity to actively embody the alternative perspectives even after having selected. Let me unpack this: Actively embody: In practice this translates as the capacity to mirror alternative perspectives. Mirroring is the act of giving full, convincing voice to a perspective independent of whether you subscribe to it. It's like the lawyer's skill for making a case for any argument. A skillful lawyer could, on a dime switch to her opponent's argument, making a strong and compelling case against herself. Mirroring is the best test of empathy I know, the capacity to put yourself in another person's shoes, or to take on another person's perspective, not just giving it lip service, but actively embodying it. Perspective: A "take" on a situation. It could be some particular person's take (for example your opponent's in an argument) but it could also just be any alternative interpretation, story, explanation, or description of what's going on, and as a consequence, what to do about it. Select the perspective to operate from: This is the focus of most definitions of rationality and wisdom: The ability to choose the best alternative perspective. It's skillful "shopping" among perspectives, skillful "bet placing" on how to read a situation. My new definition of wisdom and rationality includes this central issue but shifts to include a focus on how to keep the alternatives in mind, as implied in the oft-quoted (at least by me) from F. Scott Fitzgerald: "The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function." Still retaining the ability to function means that you chose a perspective from which to operate even as you keep alternatives in mind. Alternative perspectives on a controversial or ambiguous situation: One can't see all possible alternative perspectives, and one can't always tell what's a controversial or ambiguous situation. Therefore, there will always be errors about which perspectives to keep in mind and which situations call for wise attention. Still, research into groupthink shows that decisions improve when even just one alternative perspective is given voice. Alternative perspectives generate doubt, so what I'm suggesting here all boils down to a question about doubt-management. To act with focus and productivity, we need to get doubt out of the way, but to act appropriately, producing what will prove to have been the right thing to produce and not the wrong thing