St. Augustine famously prayed, “”Oh, Master, make me chaste and celebrate—but not yet!”
A lot of us feel that way about addictive consumables like junk food, alcohol, sex, drugs, tobacco. We know they’re bad for us. We plan to quit or cut back—but not yet because consuming them is so yummy, and stopping would be yucky.
People get addicted to assumables, too—assumptions, beliefs, convictions, ideas, beliefs, ideologies and the lifestyles that reinforce them. There’s a lot of that now as the culture wars escalate: people picking sides, digging in their heels, squaring off, and bingeing on reassurances that they’re right.
When we’re unchallenged and unthreatened, it’s easy to just hold or keep our faith like a keepsake. In culture wars, our assumptions are under constant threat. People therefore cling to and cultivate their assumptions, binging on comfort-words the way they might binge on comfort food to alleviate anxiety. For example, these days, many people spend their evenings binge-watching “news” that reassures them that their assumptions are correct. It’s as though such folk need to recite their mantra “keep the faith!” because without the mantra their faith could fade. Often, their faith has less to do with what they believe than that they believe. They’re hooked on being hooked, loyal to their loyalty.
Not just religious or spiritual beliefs either, but faith in whatever assumptions we cling to. Political tribes, social media cliques, fan clubs, and interest groups. We can get addicted to a life coach, friend, or therapist who encourages us to keep the faith that we’re doing just fine, nothing to rethink.
You likely remember clinging to some costly assumption you regret in retrospect. You might scorn your foolishness for having clung so long. But can you remember how yummy it was to binge on reassurances to avoid the yucky anxiety of abandoning that belief?
You might think you were a fathead for believing what you did. Perhaps it’s harder to admit that you were addicted to reasons why you should stay the fathead you became, filling your mind with empty calories that kept the faith alive but killed your ability to rethink your beliefs.
I’ve written lots of articles about how to avoid regrettable mistakes in the future. I’ve written them on the assumption that, having sobered out of a regrettable decision, people would want to never repeat that mistake.
Here, I’m talking about bad assumptions we might currently hold because they’re yummy and giving them up would be yucky. We might suspect that they’re bad assumptions we’ll have to abandon eventually. But please, not yet.
The word “diet” can mean opposite things: An all-donut diet, or a diet for weaning oneself off donuts. Likewise, “fathead diet” can mean the diet that keeps one a fathead or the diet for losing that fathead weight. Here I’m pointing to both the bingeing and the weaning, because to wean, one must recognize and understand the binge.
Since it’s a sensitive subject (yucky to wonder if you’re bingeing) let’s talk instead about fatheads you might know, present company excluded (though not really, because like anyone, you and I could be fathead bingeing too.)
Think about someone you know who there’s just no talking to, a relative or friend who seems devoted to fathead assumptions. You pose challenges and they automatically swat them away with the mantras they recite to keep themselves entrenched. Do they ever doubt their assumptions when they’re alone?
Think about the folks you know who can’t do without their broken-record pundits whose pandering core message sounds to you like nothing more than “you’re right, and everyone who disagrees with you is wrong.” Or the people who belong to religious or spiritual groups you don’t trust, people who are addicted to the fix of self-reassurance and spiritual uplift without which they’d feel lost and disoriented.
You think these folks are filling their heads with fat, empty calories of self-assurance. You think their beliefs are domed. But they insist that they’ve seen the light and that you’re a lost soul for not agreeing with them.
We look at such bingers in awe. How can they believe such nonsense? Do they really believe it? Are they choosing moment by moment to stick with their convictions? Did they actively choose to become know-it-all egomaniacs?
Chances are, they didn’t chose any more than an alcoholic chooses to become one. Rather, they were gradually seduced into it by incremental self-flattery. Now they’re in a hole and can’t stop digging. They’ll say up is down to pretend they’re not sinking but ascending.
Some bingers wean themselves eventually, but often half-heartedly. They’ll reject their old assumptions but replace them with new ones—same BS bingeing, different branding. They’ll give up their old ideas but not the self-certainty.
The truly heroic fathead dieters wean themselves back into human fallibility. They become humble and receptive. They stop acting like the learned know-it-alls and return to the fold of human learners. They replace their pandering leaders with a diverse range of opinions.
It can be unsettling at first, but people are often surprised at how stable they remain when they remove the scaffolds of self-certainty. Ultimately they breathe easier, like a smoker weaned off the addiction or the donut dieter who feels lighter without carrying around all that fat.