Opinions

I gave opinions when I was 15, and then it took me until the age of 18 to realize it was ok to have an opinion.  Now, at 25, I still approach them warily, as if they were snares waiting to trap me.

How did that happen?  I would credit two things: debate and my extreme but natural desire to have everyone like me.

When I entered high school, I was already pretty decent at seeing both sides of an argument.  I'd read enough books to be able to know that there were other points of view than my own.  Not to mention I'd had four years of listening to my sister practice her debate speeches, which primed me for my own debate experience.  Debate taught me not only to see two sides of an issue, but to actively believe in both sides with equal fervor or passion.  Usually, when I'd first hear a debate topic, I'd have an opinion.  Then, I'd research both sides thoroughly in order to be able to debate both sides equally well.  I'd come up with arguments equally compelling for both sides, and when I would argue in a round, you could have no doubt that I passionately believed for what I was arguing.  Then, in less than ten minutes, I could be spouting the arguments for the other side, full of conviction.  I got into the habit of thinking that having an opinion on a controversial issue meant that you didn't understand it well.  If you did, you would obviously discover that both sides had equal merit.  Opinions were for the uninformed.

Second, I wanted to get along with anyone from any background or social group.  That meant I needed to be open-minded and flexible.  I couldn't be picky or judgmental; I needed to be able to empathize with whatever problem or passion the person in front of me.  When I read Ender's Game, I remember being struck by the quote,"In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat him, then in that very moment I also love him."  If I could understand why someone was upset or why they did what they did, I lost any feeling of condemnation toward them.  If I could understand it, that meant that I had the same capacity within myself.  Whoever I was with was highlighting different parts of my own nature; therefore, how could I not enjoy their company?  Not liking people was for the unempathetic.

This attitude toward opinions had some great advantages.  I did get along great with people, I wrote great essays, and I had a good feel for analysis from multiple perspectives.  Malcolm X wrote, "I have always kept an open mind, which is necessary to the flexibility that must go hand in hand with every form of intelligent search for truth" (The Autobiography of Malcolm X, p 454-455).  I had that.  I was beyond flexible.  New information rarely surprised me because I could within in seconds see how it could be plausible.  I could learn to love anyone and anything, and I began to approach life experiences and people with the idea that I was going to love them, because it was a forgone conclusion that I would eventually anyway.  Discontent was for for those foolish enough to want something specific from life.

What Malcolm X had that I have not, however, was opinions.  Strong ones.  Iron-clad, firm opinions which he spent every waking moment living and advancing.  He was willing to stay open and flexible when "new truth" presented itself, but in the mean time he took what he understood to be true and worked for it one hundred percent.  I do the opposite.  If I am only going to change my mind, habits, and perspective later, and it's almost certain that life's experiences will change me and them, why waste so much effort for them now?

When I was 18 I took a college class in which one day my professor was discussing some philosophies that I was already fairly well acquainted with.  He was describing the different merits of each, and why each side believed as they did.  He wasn't saying much I hadn't already thought of, but then he said something that made me sit up, stare, and think.  He quite casually let it roll out of his well-informed mouth that ONE SIDE WAS WRONG.  That day, as I listened to him justify his answer, I began to realize the great disadvantage of the mental habits I had developed.  If I continued to forever explore every opinion without ever claiming one for my own I would never advance any truth, in fact, if I gave all perspectives eternal equal weight, I would never believe any "truth" at all.  Truth implies that something is right.  That means that other things are wrong.  If I refused to rule things out as wrong, flawed, inferior, or unworthy of time, I would never get one step closer to what was right, perfect, and worth living for.

Now, years later, I still have to force myself to make up my mind on matters of judgement.  But I'm learning.  I'm learning the value of opinions, as well as the sting when one of my fledgling opinions turns out to be wrong.  It shouldn't surprise anyone that I have two contradictory fears.  First, what if I am doing wrong to begin chasing opinions?  What if I choose the wrong opinions, or what if my opinions offend others and make me less open-minded, accepting, and then fewer people like me (Aren't we all junior high school kids at heart?)?  Second, what if I'm not taking sides and making decisions enough?  What if I miss out on truths I should have pursued?  What if I have no spark, no life, no driving force because I taught myself to have all the independent personality of a bowl of yogurt?

Surprise. But I can't decide which way to go.