The Delicate Art of Holding Opinions Lightly

A philosophical exploration of how our perspectives shape what we call real, and why our attachment to opinion may be our greatest barrier to wisdom

The Subjective Nature of Reality

That each of us perceives reality differently is both intuitive and profound. Consider the analogy of a game: a player on the field is immersed in the action, their attention narrowed to their immediate role—scoring a goal or defending a position. Their reality is visceral, intense, and focused on the moment. Meanwhile, a spectator in the stands sees the broader picture—the movement of all players, the strategy unfolding—but misses the sweat, pressure, and split-second decisions felt by those on the field. Neither perspective is "wrong," but neither is complete either.

 

Reality is actually a mosaic, not a monolith. There's no single, central reality that captures the entirety of an experience. Instead, reality emerges as a composite of individual viewpoints, each shaped by where we stand—literally and figuratively.

 

Context often defines perception. Our roles, experiences, and physical positions influence what we see and how we interpret it. A goalkeeper's reality during a penalty kick is vastly different from that of a fan cheering from the bleachers, yet both are valid slices of the same event.

 

This raises a key question: Is there a central reality, or is it all just versions of reality? The thought leans toward the latter, implying that what we call "reality" is a collection of subjective experiences rather than an objective truth waiting to be uncovered. But could there be a shared reality—a kind of overlapping ground where these perspectives intersect? Perhaps, but even that would be filtered through our individual lenses.

 

 

 

Opinions are shapers of our Ego

Our opinions layer onto our perceptions, solidifying our personal version of reality. For example, a player who misses a goal might see it as a fluke, while a spectator might judge it as incompetence. These opinions aren't facts—they're interpretations—but we cling to them because they give our world structure and meaning.

 

Opinions act as personal myths. They function like stories we tell ourselves to navigate the chaos of existence. They help us feel in control, providing a narrative that aligns with our identity or values. But like myths, they're not literal truths—they're tools, useful yet fallible.

 

Often there is no difference between one's ego and one's opinion. We identify so strongly with our opinions that challenging them feels like a personal attack. If I believe "the team lost because of bad refereeing" and you argue it was poor play, I might resist not because of evidence, but because my opinion is tied to my sense of self.

 

This attachment can trap us in cognitive rigidity. Psychologists talk about cognitive dissonance—when reality clashes with our beliefs, we often twist reality to fit our opinions rather than adjust our opinions to fit reality. It's more comfortable to wear those "rose-tinted opinion glasses" than to face an inconvenient truth.

 

We often prefer opinions because they soften reality's edges and bring us the comfort of denial of the truth. It's easier to blame the referee than to confront a team's flaws. This echoes the idea of confirmation bias: we seek out information that supports our views and ignore what doesn't.

 

Letting Go of Our Opinions

Pema Chodran mentions. "As human beings, not only do we seek resolution, but we also feel that we deserve resolution. However, not only do we not deserve resolution, we suffer from resolution. We don't deserve resolution; we deserve something better than that. We deserve our birthright, which is the middle way, an open state of mind that can relax with paradox and ambiguity.” Our hunger for certainty—for narratives with clear beginnings, middles, and ends—reflects our discomfort with the fundamentally ambiguous nature of existence. We crave the comfort of closure based on the opinions we have formed

 

Letting go of opinions allows us to see the "real truth," but truth isn't always pretty. This creates a compelling tension—truth can be liberating, but it's often uncomfortable. Truth is ugly and unappealing because it strips away our comforting illusions. The player might have to admit they choked under pressure; the spectator might realize their team wasn't as good as they thought. Truth doesn't care about our feelings—it just is.

 

In Zen Buddhism, there's a concept called "beginner's mind"—approaching situations with curiosity and no preconceptions. Dropping our opinions aligns with this, fostering a direct encounter with reality unclouded by past judgments. Imagine watching the game as if for the first time, free of team loyalty or expectations—what might you notice?

 

Understanding someone else's reality—like the player's or spectator's—requires stepping into their shoes. We often mix sympathy with empathy. In sympathy, we see others from our shoes, but empathy involves seeing through their eyes. Empathy doesn't erase our opinions, but it softens their grip, letting us see how others' truths differ from ours.

 

Dissolving our opinions isn't about becoming aimless or indifferent. It's about flexibility—holding our views lightly so we can adapt when new evidence or perspectives emerge. This openness can reveal a more nuanced reality, even if it's messy or unsettling.

 

I used to believe in the adage that "Strong opinions, weakly held". However having a strong opinion itself is a burden and the goal is to hold opinions lightly and not seek resolution for them. Opinions can be true, or they can be untrue, or they can be both.   

 

A new haiku emerges

"Opinions, like morning frost

Tread lightly

Never firmly held"