Opportunities Today :- July 2006 Issue

The new art of Friendly persuasion

 

 
Libraries could be filled with the books written on how-to-get-along-with people. This fact is, perhaps, the best reason to add one more article to this monumental pile of literature. Another reason is, of course, that it is still the most important subject in the whole wide world. There may be nothing new under the sun as philosophers never tire of proclaiming. But there are, certainly, many different ways of treating the same subject. And I can state, with head unbowed, and no fear of exaggeration, that my approach to the art of friendly persuasion is exactly that it is different.

 

 
You will discover, as you read on, that several established and accepted principles of human conduct are dealt with explosively. In other words, you will find that they are nothing but `cozy myths' and we proceed, delightedly, to blow them to bits. From the charred remains we then retrieve one fact, hitherto hidden by the stifling masonry of dogmatic opinion. This fact, we return to its rightful position of supremacy and adopt as one of the rules in the art we are discussing.
Take this business of `the big bright smile'. Thousands of self-improvement books tell you that you must beam and smile broadly at people if you want to get along with them. You are strongly urged by the authors to radiate all the charm you can when you smile. And you must make it `sincere' . And you are expected to do this whether you are in the coils of acute physical agony, deep mental depression or impending financial disaster.
 
Naturally, this is nonsense. Only accomplished actors, crafty politicians and downright imbeciles are capable of producing big, bright smiles, at will. The genuine article must come naturally; if forced, it is immediately recognized for the counterfeit that it is.
 
The correct advice is that you should smile, by all means, but only to the extent that your immediate feelings prompt. Avoid the offensive habit of smiling perpetually at people for no reason at all, or else they will imagine that something about them amuses you. This can lead to unfortunate, even dire, consequences. Your smile should fit the occasion and no more. After all, you do not sharpen a pencil with an axe or eliminate a mosquito with a sledge hammer.
 
Next, consider the calculated subterfuge of claiming to be `interested' in other people's hobbies or pet obsessions. Here, we are told that if Mr. Jones is interested in deep-sea fishing, then it is imperative that you too should claim to be fascinated by the subject. You may even be advised to read a book on deep-sea fishing, before you tackle Mr. Jones.
 
To my mind this is sheer chicanery. If Mr. Jones is an astute individual he will be able to spot your motives in minutes. The correct way to use the art of friendly persuasion on Mr. Jones would be this. Say to him, “I understand Mr. Jones that you are an authority on deep-sea fishing. Now I must admit that I don't know the first thing about deep-sea fishing, so could you tell me a little about it?” The direct announcement of ignorance seldom fails. Perhaps its only drawback is that you may be bored to tears. But Mr. Jones will enjoy himself and you will have won a plea in his affections.
 
We are constantly cautioned, by experts in human relations, to `avoid arguments'. To engage in one, they tell us, is a sure and certain way to make an enemy.
We are also warned that we should never tell the other person he is wrong even if he insists that the Tower of London is in New Delhi. If you follow this rather spineless rule, you may retain the friendship of a large number of people, but it is debatable whether the quality of such friendships is worth having.
 
It is infinitely better to be straight forward about this - without, of course, being ungracious. My own method is to say, “One of us is wrong and it will be interesting to find out which.” To soften the process still further, you may even lay a wager. “If I'm wrong, I'll buy you a dinner.” This establishes the fact that the argument is a friendly one free from all acrimony.
 
Then, we have come to accept the rather odd notion that we should go around dispensing `good turns' with all the zeal of the Biblical Samaritan. This may be the right thing to do if you are seeking a way to solve your conscience for your past misdeeds, or if you are dealing with destitute, or if you are thinking of the rewards that will be yours in the hereafter. But it is quite offensive to bestow favours and kindnesses and good turns with indiscriminate abandon.
 
There are people who hate being helped. Dinners have been ruined by visitors who have insisted on helping the lady of the house with the cooking. Sales have been lost by company executives who have allowed themselves to be swayed by the unsought advice of colleagues or friends. Parents have made weaklings of their children by helping them far too much.
 
There is only one sensible way of ensuring that your good turns are really good. This is by convincing yourself, beyond doubt, that your assistance will help the other person to help himself. For example, do not lend a man money if you know he intends to dissipate it in drink. But lend it by all means if you have ascertained that he will use it to repair the electric-drill with which he earns his living. Favours, like seeds, are worthless if planted in the wrong soil.
 
 It is the necessary lie that oils the wheels of law, medicine and statesmanship. It is the necessary lie that smoothes the wrinkles in the home, the school and the office. There is no virtue whatsoever in telling the truth if it produces bitterness or misery in a fellow human being. It would serve you well to remember Mark Twain's advice. “Truth is such a precious commodity,” he said, “that we ought to economise in its use.
 
Getting along with people is an art that changes with each generation. The out-moded methods may have been of inestimable value thirty years ago. Today, most of them would be laughably ineffective. For we now live in an age which is more interested in the shortcuts to achaievement than the painfully plodding processes that our grandfathers favoured.