We love and hate to argue. Among the three words often lumped together—discussion, debate, argument—the last one, “argument,” is perceived most negatively, yet I’d argue that without it, life would be meaningless.
The word “discussion” is commonly used in situations where logic dictates the outcome, such as the best way to clean a frying pan. No one takes a stand. In a “debate,” both sides take positions but not personally, as in lawyers taking positions they don’t personally endorse. An argument is personal, where the stakes are highest because your very self is on the line.
When we express our individuality, we are necessarily arguing for something. For instance, Andy Warhol’s Campbell’s Soup Can was a provocation on the nature of art itself, challenging the air of piety and sanctity inherited from the historical association of art with religion. Warhol argued that even the banal and the vulgar could be sublime.
The drive to argue stems from our differences from others. If your worldview mirrored everyone else’s, why bother expressing it at all? If there’s no unique perspective to defend, individuality collapses. But when you possess a thought or conviction that feels singular, you feel compelled to test it, to see if others share it or if they can be swayed. This process forces our society to evolve and adapt to the changing environments. But change is always painful, so we hate to be on the receiving end of arguments, especially if we feel we cannot defend ourselves.
As we age, our appetite for conflict wanes. Time grows short, and we become less invested in the fate of the world. But it feels more like a defense mechanism than maturity. A song that gradually fades at the end suggests continuity, a fantasy that it could play on forever, like denial of death. Most songwriters consider it a crutch, a way to avoid dealing with the ending. We tend to remember only the beginning and the end of any event. Ending is our best opportunity to make an argument.
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