Posted by Jason on: 12.08.2008 /
Like everyone else I get to be wrong almost every day in some way. Something I thought was true turns out to be false. Some action I make is based on false assumptions. No matter how I try to be consistent or accurate with the information I have sometimes I get it mixed up or concentrate on the wrong thing and miss the whole point. In the process I, like anyone else, sometimes appear irresponsible, inconsiderate or just plain flawed. As a member of a social species I have certain traits both learned and inherited that make me concerned that I will be judged on my mistakes. I, like anyone else, sometimes go to great lengths to explain how a mistake wasn’t really my fault or wasn’t really a mistake at all. Sometimes I might go as far as getting defensive and attacking the person blaming me for my mistake in an effort to distract from the error.
Of course, such worry and effort to hide mistakes is counter productive. Instead of making us happier and closer to others it creates a wall of interference that prevents us from being honest. Yet we don’t simply abandon the idea that being wrong is bad and admit to our mistakes with a jaunty laugh. We’ve learnt that mistakes are sometimes costly if we have to do over some work. We’ve learnt that other might be disappointed with us or irritated at our shortcomings. We reinforce in others our dislike of error and unconsciously encourage them to hide their mistakes.
We don’t account for the fact that nobody deliberately sets out to do anything wrong. We don’t praise mistakes as a way to learn yet some of the greatest scientific discoveries come off the back of a huge series of failures. Sometimes the very thing that scientists try to prove fails and that leads to new questions and new directions that teach us much more about the universe that we’d ever hoped before. We should embrace our mistakes so that we can understand where we went wrong and seek to correct our own actions.
My daughter, Caitlin, has expressed a desire to become a chef in later life. She enjoys the art of cooking, the blending of ingredients to bring out complementary flavours, the application of different techniques whether they be boiling, slow cooking, searing, frying, beating, whisking, whatever to create something greater than the ingredients. As you’d expect from any 11 year old she makes mistakes and is easily discouraged. During a cookery lesson at school she made something that went wrong. Her cake mix failed to make a cake. This simple mistake was nearly enough to put her off the idea of becoming a chef.
It’s my pleasure as a father to share my many mistakes with my family. I explained to Cait that I often make mistakes when I cook and very often when I try to cook something for the first time. Perhaps the technique isn’t clearly explained in the recipe or (more likely) I have taken a shortcut that I think will save me some effort and it turns out to be essential. Rather than get discouraged or angry we can try to salvage the recipe, turn it into something else or abandon it and cook something different. Cait got to laugh at her foolish old man and then helped me make some chocolate biscuits and some banana bread (which I’ve finally got right).
The effort and discussion reminded me that we don’t know the answer to every question but just muddle through as best we can. We make mistakes and learn from them. It’s OK to be wrong, even badly wrong as long as we set them right as best we can and try not to repeat them. Admitting our mistakes also helps others to learn as well and it doesn’t diminish our achievements or abilities at all.
Next time I make a mistake I’ll try to see it as something positive. I’m sure it won’t be long before I get the chance.
Comment by: Ir (Helen)
1Jason, way to go helping Caitlin move beyond her discouragement!
I would happily admit to making mistakes if I ever made any…
(Just kidding, of course :))
Comment by: Jason
2It can be a great relief when I admit to being wrong. Of course someone has to show me that I’m wrong or present some kind of evidence to contradict my earlier belief.
A thought has occurred to me, a rare enough occurrence that I should share it. The sense of relief that people claim when they deconvert might well feel the same as the relief I sometimes feel when I admit an error. As a deconverter yourself how does it compare? Does it feel like admitting to a big mistake in belief?
I wonder if the fear of being wrong could this be a reason why deconversion is so difficult a process. I don’t know the answer to this, I’m simply speculating but I wonder if anyone’s experiences do match the general idea.
Comment by: Ir (Helen)
3Jason I feel privileged that you shared your thought with me :)
I think deconversion is difficult because any significant change in belief is difficult. I think the biggest fear involved in deconversion from conservative Christianity is that if you’re wrong in disbelieving, you’re displeasing God and maybe hell-bound. That’s hard to overcome. So it’s not the fear of being wrong but it’s the fear of the consequences of being wrong.
As for relief - I think there’s relief in being honest and saying “I don’t believe anymore”. I don’t know if that’s the same kind of relief as admitting an error. It might be if the relief from admitting an error comes from not having to hide and pretend anymore. I expect most people who deconvert take a while to share about it and go through a time when they feel they aren’t being honest. Being honest about mistakes or changes in belief does tend to be a relief.
Ok, that’s my best attempt at answering - and I could be wrong :)
Comment by: Jason
4Don’t they amount to the same thing? Isn’t the fear of being wrong really a fear of the consequences, social and personal of being seen as imperfect?
I can see that this might be a matter of scale. Forgetting to put out the trash is an error and blaming your partner for not asking you to is compounding the error. Admitting one or both errors (and apologizing) is a relief and the embarrassment can be dispelled. Saying that years of church going, conviction and action is wrong must be so much more difficult to admit to. I imagine that this would be similar to my suddenly finding religion and then having to admit to everyone that I were now a believer. I might be embarrassed at my former actions and try to ease into the idea before taking the plunge.
I appreciate it. It’s not easy to examine your own motivations and objectively report on them.
Extending the argument isn’t there something to be said for the way theists and atheists treat one another here in the idea of being wrong? I mean, I am convinced that the religious view of god existing is utterly false, that anyone of firm religious conviction is wrong to hold to this view. I dare say that they consider me in the same light.
If I “know” that someone is wrong I expect them to hide the fact to avoid embarrassment. I hope that they’ll admit to being wrong but don’t expect it because I know how difficult it can be. I wonder how much this expectation interferes with actually trying to understand where the other party is coming from…
Comment by: Seren
5Jason:
Yes, i’d say a large part of the relief comes from an end to the cognitive dissonance.
But in my case I think it was probably more similar to a young gay person admitting to conservative parents that they are homosexual. The difficulty is associated with a fear of ostracism, and the relief with a more coherent sense of self/identity.
Helen mentioned the hell thing, and it may not make sense to someone who has never been a believer. But many people i have spoken to about a loss of faith report a bizarre in-between time when they believe they are going to hell for not believing…
I’ll try and list it chronologically:
1. I believe and I will not go to hell because I believe.
2. I do not believe, therefore I will go to hell.
3. Hang on, I don’t believe, so why am I worried about going to a place I don’t believe exists?
Comment by: Ir (Helen)
6With (at least some forms of ) Christianity the consequence of being wrong is hell, which goes way beyond social embarrassment.
I don’t remember feeling embarrassed about being wrong per se; what does embarrass me is the times I let a belief system cause me to do things I wish I hadn’t done, or the ways in which it led me to be what I now see as prejudiced.
Again, I suppose it’s about the consequences, not being ‘wrong’ per se.
Are you that sure? I thought most atheists were of the opinion that the evidence points away from God/gods but is it really possible to be 100% sure no God/gods exist?
I think this would interfere because you’re not seeing things from their perspective if you think “they must know they’re wrong, deep down”. I don’t think that’s true of most theists. They might have doubts sometimes but it’s not the case that deep down they know they’re wrong. That would probably only apply to people whose beliefs are shifting from theism towards atheism.
Comment by: Seren
7Helen, do you find it difficult, because you were questioning and unhappy while you were a Christian, with assuming that is where other people, who are still Christians, are at?
I think that assumption gets me into trouble sometimes.
Comment by: Ir (Helen)
8Thanks for the question, Seren.
Actually I was happy most of the time I was a Christian so I tend to assume they are happy too.
What gets me into trouble most is that because I tended to be around a particular Christian subculture, I sometimes expect other Christians to be the same way, but many of them aren’t.
So, I do make wrong assumptions :) - but different ones from you perhaps!
Comment by: Jason
9Helen wrote:
No. I’m not sure. I could be wrong. The evidence does not point away from gods, it just doesn’t point towards them. No evidence for gods isn’t evidence against gods. However I am convinced, on the evidence that we have, that there are no gods.
That’s true. It would be the same trap that some theists fall into of assuming that everyone really believes in God but denies it because they are angry at God. It is better to try to see the other point of view even when it seems odd to you.
Comment by: Mike O
10Maybe I can add a little different perspective. I’m in this environment where the existance of God cannot be assumed, where Christians are the minority and where everything I believe is out on the table, open for critique by myself as well as others. Yet, unlike Helen, Seren and others, I still believe.
I don’t mean that in any way other than just a statement of fact.
But as a believer who is still asking the same questions (how do I know there is a God? Why do I believe the bible is infallible? What if there is no hell? What if EVERYTHING?) I can tell you that the reason I still believe isn’t because I’m afraid to be wrong or admit I’m wrong. The reason I still believe is simply because I do.
When I ask myself the hard questions, there are times I scare myself by the way I think, actually questioning my faith. I think it’s healthy, but the interesting thing is that, for me, it doesn’t feel like I am afraid to admit I’m wrong … it’s more that I feel like it would be a betrayal. At the core of it, I think that’s because I really do believe in God, so it’s not a matter of right or wrong, it’s a matter of loyalty or betrayal. Does that make sense?
The closest think I can think of to feeling what it’s like to lose my faith is what happened recently in my faith experience. My wife used to be a pastor - I think most people here know that. I say ‘used to be’ because in October, she resigned. And now that we’re not a part of the “inner workings” of the church, the relief we feel at simply being normal people is actually kind of odd.
I started linking what I’m feeling with what deconverts must feel when they lose their faith - relief. Don’t get me wrong - we have since found a new church where nobody knows us and we can just be normal folks. We ARE believers, and I don’t see that part changing. But the relief we both feel simply not being a part of the machine is, I think, similar.
Were we “wrong” to be in church minstry? Absolutely not. But now that we’re on the outside, it’s a lot easier to see and admit the failures of the machine. Those are man’s failures, however, not God’s.
With all that said, I’m not afraid to be wrong, and I don’t believe in God simply because of community or peer pressure (we left our peers when we changed churches). I believe because I really think it’s true, and I’ve seen too much to disbelieve. This world just doesn’t make logical sense to me without Jesus.
Comment by: Seren
11Mike, thanks for that. I don’t know if you were deliberately explaining things patiently, but your writing made it much easier than usual for me to see things from another perspective.
Me too!!
That’s how it is for everyone, though, isn’t it?
In the end, you either trust your own experience, or live someone else’s fantasy.
xx s.
Comment by: Mike O
12I wasn’t trying to be deliberately patient … it’s just that it’s the first time I’ve put into words some of the thoughts I’ve had about no longer being in church ministry.
I’ve been intrigued (and saddened) by the fact that deconverts feel relief when they leave, when it’s supposed to be Christ who brings relief. I’ve been chewing on that conundrum (sp?) for quite some time, and now when this personal experience of leaving formal church ministry brought me relief, I think it helped me understand a little better what it’s like to be on the outside looking in at something that used to be a huge part of who I was.
Comment by: Jason
13Mike said:
That sounds great. Isn’t that how life should be? An environment where beliefs can be challenged and constantly reassessed. If you can maintain your faith in such a place then that must say something about how it makes sense to you, not just emotionally but logically.
It does make sense but only as long as you have that faith. If you were to lose it then there would be nothing to betray. I imagine that the fear of betrayal or lost loyalty would disappear if you lost your faith. I’m going to call it fear but I don’t really think that you are afraid, it’s just the best word I can think of. Apprehension, concern, hmm, not sure. I think that’s where the sense of relief comes from.
Of course, I could be wrong.
Comment by: Wrong | All Reason
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