Speaking and Listening

Henry David Thoreau, the 19th century American author and Transcendentalist, once wrote, "It takes two to speak the truth; one to speak and one to listen."

(image: Free SVG vector files)

Hmm, I'm not so sure about that. If one person is doing all the speaking and the other is doing all the listening, to me, it implies an inequality in the exchange. The one doing the listening must be free to question what the speaker is saying, to ask questions of their own, to tease the deeper meaning out of what the speaker is sharing. Or at the very least - for example if the recipient is listening to a public speaker (or a worship leader!) - the listener should be free to talk with others and / or with the speaker, afterwards, about what the speaker has said, if they have questions.

We are thinking beings. I believe we should rarely accept what another says as 'the truth' uncritically, without questioning it. We have been given brains to analyse received information and should use them. For me, this is most of the problem with social media today. The "listener" is the person who browses Facebook or X or whatever, and reads whatever is framed as 'the truth', by the "speaker", the person who doing the posting. Engaging with the post is not the same as true conversation. Complicated algorithms control which posts we see, which tend to confirm the views we hold already. It takes a positive effort to move past this (to me, quite sinister) control and work out the truth for ourselves. 

In Thoreau's day, conversation was face-to-face, or by letter, between people who knew each other (or at least, knew the reputation of the speaker if, for example, the listener was attending a lecture or a worship service). Today, we are offered a wide variety of "truths" from many sources, most of whom we do not know personally. 

Our saving grace is that we are still inclined to speak with other people, face-to-face, about what we have learned. And so move towards a more nuanced understanding of 'the truth'. 

That Darned 'Like' Icon!

Most of my readers will be aware that there is a very profitable sector called the attention economy. Human beings are social animals, whose brains and hearts thrive on social interaction. Social media platforms such as Facebook, Instagram, TikTok and all the rest, are marketed as a splendid way to keep in touch with all our friends and family, no matter where they are in the world. 

But since Facebook introduced the 'Like' button in 2009 (and all social media platforms followed suit), coupled with the development of smartphones through which we can access them 24/7, our relationship with social media has become addictive, sometimes even toxic. Or so Cal Newport and many others believe (including me).

In his wonderful book, Digital Minimalism, Newport asks the question, "What specifically makes new technologies well suited to foster behavioral addictions?" (in the form of feeling compelled to regularly check our feeds to see whether our posts have garnered any likes). And he zeros in on two aspects: "intermittent positive reinforcement and the drive for social approval." Newport quotes from Adam Alter's book Irresistible: "It's hard to exaggerate how much the 'like' button changed the psychology of Facebook use. What had begun as a passive way to track your friends' lives was now deeply interactive, and with exactly the sort of unpredictable feedback that motivated Zeiler's pigeons." (Michael Zeiler was a scientist who proved in the 1970s that "rewards delivered unpredictably are far more enticing than those delivered with a known pattern.")

So each time we post something on a social media platform, we are in some sense gambling that our post will garner likes, but cannot predict when or how this will happen. As Newport comments, "the outcome is hard to predict, which, as the psychology of addiction teaches us, makes the whole activity of posting and checking maddeningly appealing."

As I said earlier, human beings are social animals - our brains are wired that way. Social standing and approval have always been important to us. In a social media context, Newport explains, "If lots of people click the little heart icon under your latest Instagram post, it feels like the tribe is showing you approval - which we're adapted to strongly crave. The other side of this evolutionary bargain... is that a lack of positive feedback creates a sense of distress. This is serious business for the Paleolithic brain, and therefore it can develop an urgent need to continually monitor this 'vital' information."

So if we don't get the 'likes', don't get the interaction, we are conditioned to feel sad. Whereas actually, real, offline interactions, face-to-face with someone, are far more rewarding, psychologically. This kind of real world interaction is so much richer than the online variety.

Over the next few days, Unitarians from all over the UK will be gathering in Birmingham for our Annual Meetings. And I am feeling sad, because I am poorly, and so unable to attend. Which has meant that my one opportunity in the year to truly and deeply re-connect with friends from all over the country is gone. I will be missing out on hugs, deep conversations, fascinating new knowledge, and communal worship. All of which are far more rewarding than scrolling through social media feeds.

But I'll be back next year. Have a wonderful time, everyone!

[The irony that I will be posting this on Facebook, which is the only reliable method I know of sharing the post widely with my friends is not lost on me. But I will not be anxiously checking to see how many folk have liked it...]

The Clarity of Distance

Yesterday, I went to Wild, a new-ish film starring Reese Witherspoon as Cheryl Strayed. It is based on the latter's memoir, which tells how, following the death of her beloved mother and the breakdown of her marriage, she decided to just walk away from her everyday life and hike the Pacific Crest Trail, up through California and Oregon to Canada.

The Pacific Crest Trail

It was beautifully shot and very well put together.  The scenery was spectacular, and I'd like to bet that Reese Witherspoon will win awards for her acting. It reminded me a little of Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love although rather more raw. And I can remember thinking "That's the way to do it - to get away from it all, and walk it all out." I'm sure that distancing herself from the life she was entirely unable to deal with helped her to gain some clarity, and to think things through. And to bring back some balance into her life. Nature's rather good at giving us another perspective.

But of course most of us never get the chance to just walk out of our everyday lives, and move into a completely different situation. And those same everyday lives are made increasingly complicated by the demands of modern technology, and by today's social media. A few days ago, I came across a fascinating article by neuroscientist Daniel J. Levitin, which argues just this: that the constant switching of the attention from one thing to another - between e-mails, and Facebook, and Twitter, and Instagram, and whatever else bleeps to alert us - is damaging our efficiency, and making it hard for us to concentrate on just one thing when we are working, or to let go and properly relax when we're not.

I know myself that if I'm working on an address or a blogpost or an essay, and the phone goes, or an e-mail alert pops up, it takes some willpower not to switch my attention away from what I'm doing. But I'm beginning to realise how insidious this constant barrage of alerts can be. So I'm starting to let the ansaphone pick up phone calls and to ignore e-mail alerts, until I come to a natural break in what I'm doing. Facebook is the other great seducer, of course, the great time-waster, at least for me. I understand that you can get software which blocks social media programs for particular periods, to help you stay focussed for longer chunks of time.

It's about being entirely present, in a very uncomplicated way. About concentrating on one thing at a time, and giving our whole selves to it, and then going on to the next thing, and giving our whole selves to that. I know that this sounds hopelessly idealistic, but we can at least try. Because it is in the present moment, and only in the present, that the numinous lives.

I guess we have to do what we can, where we are, with what we've been given. And just do our best to be there, and to notice the moments going by.