A Fight by Any Other Name.... (1 March)
In his classic book on relationships, How to Win Friends and Influence People, Dale Carnegie rightly said that the only argument you can win is the one you don't have. Most arguments are about pretty petty stuff. If you're old enough, you may recall an ongoing "discussion" in Ann Landers' columns (the original Ann, so you know that it really was a while ago) about the right way to put toilet paper on the holder. Some favored rolling from the top, while others insisted that rolling from the bottom was the correct way. For a long time I thought that was the most ridiculous argument possible. And then I heard Richard Bandler's story about the husband who became furious when his wife buttered the toast on the wrong side.
When it comes to toast, other than the heels, which have definite sides, the sides of a piece of toast look pretty much the same to me. How would you know whether the butter was on the "right" side? And, as is also true for rolls of toilet paper, what difference does it make? That's one of the things about most arguments: the reality is that "it"—whatever "it" might be—it doesn't make any difference because the argument isn't about "reality"; it's about differences in opinion. I find it interesting that people can be so invested in their opinions that they are willing to ignore reality in their defense of them.
The three general categories of observation are the following:
- Fact: Facts can be measured in one way or another: That car has four wheels. That car is red. That car weighs 2000 pounds.
- Inference: Inferences are assumptions based on facts: Although I can see only the two wheels on this side of the car, I assume [an inference] that it has two corresponding wheels on the other side. That red car will appeal to younger drivers. That car would be difficult to push.
- Value judgment: Value judgments provide an evaluation of the object: The wheels on that car are too large. That car is an ugly shade of red. That car wastes fuel.
Note that some inferences are safer—more likely to prove true—than others. The assumption that the car has four wheels when only two can be seen is supported by a lot of evidence: Most (perhaps all) the other cars the observer has seen have had four wheels; the car would be leaning at an awkward angle if the wheels on the other side were missing; and so on. Some younger drivers might find the car appealing, while others might not. The only way to determine whether the car would be difficult to push would be to push it, and then how difficult pushing it might be would be a function of who or what was doing the pushing. You might find it difficult to push, but pushing it might be easy for an elephant.
Value judgments are opinions that would vary from person to person. Even if a group of people agreed that the wheels were too large or that the shade of red was "ugly" doesn't make their their opinions "facts." Although fuel consumption can be measured, what constitutes wasting fuel is a matter of opinion. Not that long ago in the grand scheme of things, most people believed the world to be flat. That belief (an opinion) didn't make it so.
The principal difference between (1) facts and (2) inferences and value judgments is that facts belong to the realm of territory, whereas both inferences and value judgments are maps. Facts are on the "outside." Maps are on the "inside." If John says, "Coke tastes better than Pepsi," he hasn't actually said anything about Coke or Pepsi. He has told you something about himself. Much of the time people (you, me, and everyone you know) think they are talking about something on the outside (the "territory"), they are actually telling you about the inside (their "mental maps"). This is only problematic when neither you nor they understand that.
In Gulliver's Travels, Jonathan Swift has two countries go to war over which end of soft-boiled eggs should be opened first, the "Big End" or the "Little End." Swift was using the differences between the Big Enders and the Little Enders as a metaphor for the differences between Protestants and Catholics. Had Swift known Richard Bandler, he might have used which side of a piece of toast to butter as his metaphor. Or perhaps not. I don't know how often people in eighteenth-century England buttered toast.
Insistence on a particular value judgment can, however, have dire consequences. Swift undoubtedly had such conflicts as the "Hundred Years' War" between England (Protestant) and France (Catholic) in mind in writing about the Big Enders and the Little Enders. It seems silly now, but not so long ago the U.S. went to war in SE Asia because one group believed in a "domino theory" that expressed the fear that Communism would take over all of SE Asia, one country after another. More recently, the U.S. and a few (very few) allies went to war in Iraq because another group of people in power believed that Iraq possessed weapons of mass destruction.
Those of you old enough to remember Detective Joe Friday from the TV show, "Dragnet," may remember his standard approach to questioning witnesses: "Just the facts, ma'am...." It is, however, difficult (perhaps impossible) to go through life without making inferences and without having opinions. If we couldn't make inferences, we would have to check the "facts" of every door we wanted to open rather than assuming that new and different doors would open in about the same way as doors we were familiar with. If we couldn't make value judgments, we'd have a difficult time choosing between Coke and Pepsi—or between a sugar-laden soft drink and water. Or beer. Preferences are, after all, value judgments, and people have a right to value judgments. In general, I prefer my eggs scrambled.
The main thing is to be aware of the differences among facts, inferences, and value judgments and to know when you are "doing" which. I would be in trouble if I assumed [an inference] that eggs should always be scrambled and that people who wanted their eggs fixed a different way ignorant or evil [value judgments]. If you absolutely must have the toast buttered on a specific side, make sure that you clearly distinguish between the two in a way that others beside yourself (especially your spouse and the servers in the various restaurants you visit) know for sure what to look for.
The only way to be sure that you are focused on the "territory" rather than on your "mental maps" is to find external evidence that others can confirm. If you are the only one who sees angels on one side of the toast and devils on the other, you're probably in the realm of mental maps, however "real" the images seem to you. And that's the "rub," as Shakespeare would say. It's not always easy to distinguish our mental maps from the territory. We can feel a little more secure when others share our view, but—as the "flat earth" theory demonstrates—even huge numbers of people can have inaccurate mental maps.
In many cases, of course, it doesn't make a difference whether people think of their mental maps as territory. It's fine for me to prefer scrambled eggs as long as I am content to allow others their own preferences. In other cases, such as going to war, it is important to ask one of NLP's favorite questions: "How do you know?" Richard Bandler likes to ask the question, "Are you sure enough to be unsure?" When you really are sure enough to be unsure, you are willing to explore an evidence procedure that helps you focus on the territory. That's the only way you can comply with Joe Friday's rule of providing "just the facts."
joel@scs-matters.com
www.scs-matters.com
