Friends, not enemies, are best judges of your character

A word of preface: Enemies are not the same as not-friends, though certainly the former is a subset of the latter. Thankfully, I have only a small handful of enemies known to me as such. And it's really OK. You gotta have a few of those to have a rich, full life.

That clarified . . .

My not-friends and enemies will tell you I need to be right, that I always think I'm right, and from these "facts" build a quick and easy argument that my most pernicious character flaw is arrogance.

I used to be very vulnerable to this little ruse. Vulnerable in the sense that saying it to me would often make me "play nice" (read: stop talking about the reality I believed or knew myself to be observing).

Not anymore. Today I see my not-friends' argument as no argument at all, rather as an odd, panicky petulance. It frustrates me, but no longer thwarts my passion for serious inquiry. I'm reminded of my days on the debate team: You don't get any points for sticking out your chin and protesting, "Yeah? You're not always right, you know!"

My friends, on the other hand, will tell you that, more than most people they know, I dig it when proved wrong, the way some people dig the rush of roller coasters. It's delicious. Come to me with the goods. Put your finger on how and why my argument is specious. A fallacy of extension. Incomplete data. Factually wrong. Question begging.

Serious debate turns me on. So bring it. Rock my world. Afterward, I'll say, "Was it good for you?"

And when you're right, my eyes will go deep blue. I'll freeze. Nod my head with a dazed respect and say in an earthy low voice, "Whoa." Then I'll lapse into silence as my brain and my soul begin to reconfigure reality. A better, deeper reality.

And I'll want to hang out with you even more. Maybe even become a pest.

How to explain this apparent contradiction between my friends and not-friends? The answer is in the very definition of friends and not-friends. That's why we have words to make those distinctions.

In "The Road Less Traveled," M. Scott Peck said, "To say 'I'm right' is to say 'I'm God.' " Which is not to say you should never say you're right. Only to say that, when you do say it, you should say it with all fear and trembling, ready in a moment's notice to recant in the face of new evidence or new experience.

Taking the risk of being right does not preclude the possibility of humility. In the end, it requires it.

"Who are you to judge?" demands the man who is really sick of listening to my questions.

Does he mean the Greek "krino," meaning "to distinguish"? This is the word used in the biblical Christian idea "Judge not, lest you be judged." Meaning, it's a bad idea to start distinguishing yourself from others based on the presumption of moral superiority, because if we look deeply, we begin to notice that everybody is pretty much full of it and everybody has been mean and small and everybody has blood on their hands, whether in the first person or once removed.

Or does my antagonist mean the Latin "judicare," meaning "to render an opinion"? No arrogance in observing carefully, thinking critically and then rendering an opinion, right? Or at least I hope not. Because the day we stop rendering well-reasoned opinions is the day evil wins. We become moral mutes.

A random example: If paying money to go on South Asian "sex tours" staffed by 13-year-old girls sold by their families into sexual slavery isn't evil, well, it will do until evil gets here. I'm right about that. If you disagree with me, you're wrong.

(Am I arrogant yet?)

See, if we care about truth at all, we eventually have to take the risk of believing we're right. And we do ourselves and others no favor if we demur for the sake of decorum and our culture's preferred flight into relativism disguised as moral enlightenment and critical thinking.

And for the record, my most pernicious character flaw IS arrogance. But the not-friends mentioned in this column aren't railing against my arrogance. They are railing against themselves.

And why, in any case, would I ever avail myself to my not-friends' alleged "feedback" about my character flaws? Would be sorta like George Bailey going to Mr. Potter to ask for help with his money problems in the movie "It's a Wonderful Life." Like asking an IRS employee to help you with your taxes.

When I need my bee-hind booted, I ask my friends. More often, I don't even need to ask. My friends hunt me down and find me.

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling and Wellness Center in Las Vegas. His columns appear on Tuesdays and Sundays. Questions for the Asking Human Matters column or comments can be e-mailed to skalas@ reviewjournal.com.