Sure

The thought of “should I tell? or argue? or point out some inconsistency?” has bothered me whenever it has arisen. I used to feel a strong need to correct others. “Where’s the ethical consistency if someone said this?” I had to point out. “Your empathy only goes so far as to sustain your gender-based arguments”, “your kindness is partial”, “your ethics are loose when they are onto you”, “you are wrong here”, “you said this”, “you did this but not that, and so and so”.

It was a compulsion until I realized. In lieu of “arguing”, I wrapped the demon of “intellectual win”; “win” often obscures the porous boundaries between truth and ego. I was embarrassed to admit it, but I knew what it was; I never lied to myself.

So one day, nearly a month ago, I just decided to not do it.

The shift from compulsive correction to deliberate silence was not a surrender to complacency but an epistemic humility. Maybe ignorance is bliss, but I would rather understand it. Hanlon’s Razor had been my gateway for sometime, but wasn’t needed; to withhold correction is not a habit anymore, but a natural instinct.

This liberation lies in disentangling self-worth from intellectual conquest. I do entertain ideas, of course. But I feel no need to correct anyone. I’m no savior, neither am I a judge. My ego is detached from opinions, and my kindness is impartial; I listen not to dismantle anymore.