What gives you the idea that you know everything?
No, I don’t literally mean everything. I don’t think you’re that opaque, although I think you’d surprise yourself. Obviously there are facts you haven’t come across, books you haven’t read, TED talks you haven’t seen. I’m not talking about any of that.
Here’s what I am talking about: from the 7+ billion people currently alive, to the 100+ billion who’ve ever lived, to the masses of animals that your neighbors eat, to the trees you’ve never touched, to the towns you’ve never heard of, to the names…
What makes you think that your 20/30/40/50/60 years on Earth, living as one person—one very specific slice of humanity, in one very specific slice of history—gives you a handle on everything that’s ever going on? And by handle I mean something like this:
Other human: “This is my experience: I don’t feel safe around police. No one I know who looks like me feels safe around police.”
Or.
Another human: “This is my experience: I don’t like men because I’ve been abused by almost all of the ones closest to me, let alone harassed almost daily.”
You: “*instantly filters statement through personal experience* Whoa. It can’t be that bad. It’s never seemed that bad to me. I would have seen something like it, or heard of it, or felt it, or something. They must be over-reacting. They’re just angry, or emotional, or selfish, or [one of countless other rationalizations].”
Here’s the thing: filtering statements through personal experience is inevitable and natural. We as individuals have nothing but our subjectivities through which to experience life. No matter how closely we read or watch or listen to others, at the end of the day those moments go through our own eyes and ears and brains before they resolve to any meaning. This is both a blessing—how we get to participate as individuals in the world—and, in your case, a terrible curse.
Because you, my fellow human, whom I love deeply as another soul, you do not wait that crucial minute before you formulate what you think. That precious, blessed minute, where the words and life of another travel through the air, airwaves, or cosmos and firmly enter your very specific world. That minute where your own self and perspectives and opinions haven’t arrived yet. Because you are too busy listening.
You would be surprised at how much can change in that time. Beliefs you’ve harbored for years can come crashing down, or doubts in your heart finally displayed in sharp relief. For example: “holy shit, racism is still alive and thriving, subtle as hell, and wholly worse for women of color.” You learn of people suffering like you couldn’t believe. Beauty too, sometimes. It’s not always that drastic, but it is always that important. To not do so is to choose to live in fiction. Often a dangerous, violent fiction.
Your fiction. This is your problem.
“If, sometimes, you get a thorough scolding form me, you must take it very seriously, but you should not become angry. It was a blasphème d’amour, as the French put it.” — Béla Hamvas, The Philosophy Of Wine