We are alone in our ideas

Nowadays, it seems very fashionable to express one’s opinion not to offer a different perspective, but to demolish that of others.

Speaking with many people, I have realized that often the goal is not to understand what you have to say nor to build a sensible discussion. On the contrary, what matters is identifying the weak point of your reasoning, invalidating it, and implicitly declaring victory. Dialogue thus turns into a sterile competition, where the search for truth gives way to the desire to prevail.

It is a mistake that I make too. It would be hypocritical to pretend otherwise.

The difference, however, perhaps lies in the fact that, once a discussion is over, I often find myself going back to it in my mind. Perhaps late at night, when the noise of the day has finally died down and I am left alone with my thoughts. In those moments, I wonder if I was right, if I missed something, if my position was really as solid as I believed. And sometimes the answer is no.

I am not perfect, but at least I try to subject my convictions to constant examination. I wonder how many are truly willing to do the same.

In recent years, I have also realized another thing: talking about deeply personal aspects is almost always a risk. Tastes, fragilities, lived experiences, ideas matured over time. Unless the person in front of you is someone you trust blindly, everything you share can turn, sooner or later, into a weapon to be used against you.

I have happened to address topics important to me with people I thought were capable of listening. I believed I would find curiosity, discussion, or at least respect. What I received, instead, was often misunderstanding, superficiality, and a few smiles held halfway between sarcasm and condescension.

What strikes me most is that, even when one possesses evidence, data, or solid reasoning, these are easily ignored if they conflict with what the other wishes to believe. I could go as far as writing an entire thesis on certain topics, gathering sources, studies, and testimonies. Yet the result would probably be the same: misrepresentation, downplaying, simplification.

From this realization comes a conclusion that, however bitter, continues to seem true to me:

We are irremediably alone in our convictions.

We can try to explain, argue, persuade. We can spend hours, days, or years perfecting an idea. But in the end, everyone observes the world through the filter of their own experience, their own prejudices, and their own ego.

And the ego, very often, is stronger than any reasoning.

The issues

There are many things I believe in deeply. Some seem obvious to me, others require more complex reflection. Some are debatable, others simply appear to me as a natural consequence of common sense.

If I had to summarize the main obstacles I encounter in discussions, I would divide them into three archetypes.

Political discourse

For many people, politics has become an identity even before being a set of ideas. It is no longer a tool to interpret reality, but a faith through which to judge others.

If you do not share their position, you are not simply in disagreement: you are ignorant, naive, or morally inferior.

I have always thought that something is right because the facts prove it is, not because it comes from the right or the left. The validity of an idea should depend on the evidence that supports it, not on the flag under which it is presented.

On this, I have an almost absolute conviction:

A true thing remains true regardless of who says it.

If even the worst individual in the world stated that the sky is blue, the sky would not turn red simply because it was he who said it.

Yet many people seem incapable of separating the message from the messenger. I have known individuals who reasoned exactly this way. With them, I stopped talking about politics and moral issues. Not because there was a lack of arguments, but because the very possibility of a civil conversation was missing.

Every discussion inevitably ended up turning into an attack on ideas and, often, also on the person.

Dogmatic discourse

Let’s imagine something absolutely logical, demonstrable, and universally accepted.

Now let’s imagine another thing just as logical, just as studied, and supported by an impressive amount of testimonies and observations. The only difference is that the latter has not yet received the approval of the general public or dominant institutions.

What happens?

It happens that, as long as an idea does not become mainstream, for many it is as if it does not exist.

Its truthfulness takes a back seat to its popularity.

The same phenomenon occurs in reverse with lies. If a lie is repeated long enough and by a sufficient number of people, it will end up taking on the appearance of truth.

I could cite dozens of examples, but the mechanism is always the same. Someone states something with confidence, others nod, the conviction spreads and even stops being questioned. It becomes a sort of unassailable collective heritage.

The uncle at the bar tells nonsense. Everyone laughs and agrees. From that moment, that nonsense acquires a respectability it does not deserve.

For a long time, I tried to enter into these discussions convinced that on the other side there was at least a minimum of open-mindedness. Almost always, I obtained disbelief, mockery, or accusations of arrogance.

In the end, I stopped.

Perhaps, in the future, I will write more thoroughly about what I mean when I talk about these things.

Logical discourse

Bringing logic into a conversation is surprisingly risky.

Often it is not perceived as a tool to better understand reality, but as a personal challenge. Instead of analyzing the reasoning, many feel accused and react accordingly.

In the past, I have presented arguments that I considered extremely linear and shareable. Not perfect, certainly, but built on coherent premises. Yet I was misunderstood all the same.

Other times, I found myself in front of people who responded with logic that was only apparently rigorous. I am thinking, for example, of the abuse of principles like Occam’s razor, often invoked as a magic formula to dismiss any complex issue. As if the simplest explanation were necessarily the correct one, even when reality insists on being intricate, layered, and resistant to simplifications.

Or the superficial use of logical fallacies. Concepts born to improve the quality of reasoning are transformed into rhetorical tools to discredit the interlocutor. One no longer seeks to understand whether what is being said is true or false; one only looks for a label with which to file and discard it.

After many similar experiences, I understood that the effort spent trying to convince someone is rarely proportional to the results obtained.

People almost always change their minds on their own.

Not during a discussion, not in the moment of conflict, but long after, when no one is watching them and they can allow themselves the luxury of doubt.

Perhaps this is why today I feel less and less the need to persuade others. I prefer to understand, observe, and, when necessary, accept that certain distances are inevitable.

In the end…

we are truly alone, not only before death, but also before our deepest convictions. Everyone inhabits a mental universe that no one else will ever be able to visit completely.

We can open a window, describe the view, and invite someone to look. We can even point out what we see with the greatest possible precision. But we can never force them to see the same things.

And perhaps maturity consists precisely in accepting this limit: continuing to seek the truth without expecting others to recognize it along with us.