The Dance of Listening

Three years ago, I was introduced to an intellectual named Jordan B. Peterson. My friend wanted me to see his ability to stand up under pressure, despite being yelled at by several students on a college campus. Impressed as I was, I did not find myself inclined to look into him any further. Sometime later, I purchased his book, 12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos. Not having ever built a discipline of reading, I found myself reluctant to make the time to do so. After several months of failing to complete even a single chapter, I admitted defeat and purchased the audiobook.

The essays gripped me both intellectually and spiritually. It had been a long time since a book had so enthralled me. I was stung by Rule II: Treat Yourself Like Someone You are Responsible for Helping. Dr. Peterson carefully relayed our proneness to neglect our own well-being, despite knowing better or having the means to do so. People are more likely to take care of their pets—taking them to the vet and administering medications—more diligently than they do so for themselves. I solemnly resonated.

Rule IX: Assume That the Person You are Listening to Might Know Something You Don't. This is a pill I still find myself reluctant to swallow (more evidence of my need to live up to Rule II, I suppose). For several years, I had tried to master the craft of my speech. Though this journey was necessary, had I missed something along the way?

Over time, I noticed I would have "conversations" with people and feel as though I neither connected with them, made my point adequately, or—more shockingly—remembered anything about them. I caught myself having spoken to people for 30 minutes, and after the fact, not remembering if I had looked that person in the eyes. Did they have any interest in the subject? Time after time, I found that I did not know. I began to realize how I conversed with people was disconnected and unaware of their interests, needs, or desires. Simultaneously, I began to recognize my insufficiency in speaking about topics I had little interest in. It was as though the lights were off until someone mentioned philosophy, politics, or Obi-Wan Kenobi. And once the lights came on, I would become blind to the social cues of those around me. As time went on, I began questioning my values and my ability as a speaker.

Listening - actual listening - comes with a risk. If I expose myself to your ideas, I may be called to defend my own and lose. If I show an interest in you, won't I cease to matter? Hearing what you have to say puts me in the position of caring for you, which is dangerous, because it is very close to being somewhere I could be cared for. No wonder I do not listen. Such is the power of words among men. Tohu Va-Vohu; it was words that created the world. "And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light" (Genesis 1:2–3, KJV).

But wait. Is it not speech that has power? Is not listening simply the absence of speech? Isn't the emphasis on listening putting the cart before the horse? Isn't our culture demanding the silencing—the required listening—of others? Years ago, I was on a date. In a rather hasty fashion, we both decided to get our first tattoos. Given my virginity to the ink, I was nervous about having a permanent symbol on my body. My parents were going through a divorce at the time, and the tragedy of feeling caught in the middle weighed heavily. I believed I could identify the cracks in their relationship, and I decided to take it upon myself to restore them. But this would require something that I was always afraid to do: tell my father he was wrong. I decided on a symbol that matched my predicament, placing "I will speak" in Hebrew on my outer-right forearm. (While on the subject. Given my past and present agnosticism and atheism, I have yet to understand why I chose Hebrew. I have been confounded by the irony of my conscious lack of belief contrasted with this evident tribute to the Hebrew God. I was certain that I must avoid the cliché of Chinese at all costs. Yet some deep form of respect called me to choose Hebrew. Strange, I know. I digress.) My date chose a fox with a tail of fire because "it looked cool."

Thanks to the newfound courage of being permanently inked, I faced my father (if only things were that simple). While I was positive at the time that what I was doing was proper, I must admit that the conversations were primarily counterproductive. However, I do not regret this. There was little chance that my first time facing that which I feared most would be done well. And I needed to learn that I could face such a terror.

As time went on, I became less fearful of sharing my views. I enjoyed controversy. Debate was an adrenal rush I lived for. But all good things can be overindulged, and Dr. Peterson's essay on listening made me realize that my speaking—as necessary as it was—was not a tool I utilized well. My bravery had turned into a hammer out of balance - in constant search for a nail. The pendulum had swung too far; it became time to attempt a reversal of force.

"There is that speaketh like the piercings of a sword: but the tongue of the wise is health" (Proverbs 12:18, KJV).

"For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart" (Hebrews 4:12, KJV).

"And the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God" (Ephesians 6:17b, KJV).

"Never give a sword to a man who cannot dance" (Confucious).

What is the purpose of speaking? If I may dare to speak for Confucious, I would say it may be to dance with one's friends and enemies. You relay a pattern, an idea, a feeling. Your partner may feel the same way; they may not. If not, hope is not lost. Not all foreign music is the sound of an enemy, and not every offensive beat should be silenced. If you let them, your partner will share their world with you—stepping to the beat of the drum as they hear it. What should you do when you disagree? I see but four options. You could demand your partner's silence—you become their tyrant. Conversely, your partner could do the same—you become their slave. You could walk away—avoiding a resolution in the name of "peace." Alternatively, you could act under the assumption that your partner has something of value, while negotiating your own views, giving and taking where necessary - you create a new dance.

The miracle that the West brought to the world was the restraint of the tyrant/slave dichotomy. They built their societies on the premise that no man could tread over another—that no one could be forced to end their dance.

To listen is to risk learning that you are wrong. At any given moment, it is unlikely that I possess an absolute truth—if such a thing exists. I am most likely missing something. I may not find a lifelong epiphany in my next conversation. You may bore me. But man does not live on entertainment alone. And if I do not learn to give and take, the entertainment I find will be alone.

I deeply fear being misunderstood; being unconvincing despite my best arguments; being alone, bored, dull, or despised; being someone nobody wants around or wants to join. Jiminy Cricket keeps telling me that I should try listening.

In an attempt to bring balance back to the force, I addended my first tattoo. Below the original are now the words "I will listen." Though experience has taught that tattoos do not bring about immediate sainthood, I can say, when the reminder is noticed, it is a valuable mirror to have at hand.

—GCF, October 3, 2022