I See You III: On lenses and persuasion

I've been loathe to do this next post because I'm wary of turning this into a social psychology blog, or even worse, a blog on lenses. I am very much aware that by no stretch of the imagination could I be considered a psychologist. The more I talk about lenses the more I feel like our contemporary glitterati who seem to think that a soap box (whether it come in the form of an Oscar nomination, a hit pop record or God-forbid, yet another reality show) gives them license to punditry. I still adhere to the old school notion that "expert" is not a title one may give oneself and yet by waxing on about psychology I fear I am betraying that belief. And yet, in true irrational fashion, I will proceed to give one more uninvited thought on the issue and hope that the real psychologists out there will grant me pardon.

My last post debated the merits of communicating your own lens versus trying to apply others'. However, I didn't touch the logical preceding question of the feasibility of changing lenses in the first place (which the former question assumes).

I See You II: On lenses and conflict

In response to my last post on lenses and rationality I received an excellent follow-up question: Is it more productive to learn how to effectively communicate my lens or to apply others? I began to compose some knee-jerk response tweet, but as my fingers hovered uncomfortably above the keyboard, I realized I had misunderstood the question. What was actually being asked was much more complicated than I had appreciated (a statement repeated so many times on this blog that the fact that I needed to be re-"struck" by it doesn't speak too kindly to my skills of cognition. But I digress).

I See You: On lenses, rationality and argument

In graduate school, my social psychology professor began our first class with a real-time experiment. He asked us to get into pairs and then designate one person in the group A and the other B. He then instructed all the As to think about what it took for them to get into undergraduate schools with a focus on the role of circumstance and other people. After a moment's thought my partner delivered a stirring tale. Fate, the generosity of mentors, family and strangers and an impressive legacy weaving together a veritable Cinderella story, with her Stanford degree as the prized glass slipper. The professor then invited the Bs to share their stories but to take a moment to think about the role that hard work and perseverance had played in our stories. I described numerous extracurriculars, honors classes and the late nights that they required; independent research and hours on the Internet daily researching colleges on continents I had never set foot on; hunting down recommendations from teachers who had never written them and guidance counselors who knew nothing about University in the United States. When I was done, I had the strange feeling of telling someone else's story. I wanted to find him and congratulate him on a job well done!