The People We Think We Know
Ten Lessons in Living Well
A couple of years ago, a woman at my church taught me something about judging people. I doubt she intended to teach me anything that morning, but I’ve remembered the encounter ever since.
Not long before, I had organized our first social justice issues program, where community leaders came together to talk about challenges facing our neighbors. One of the speakers, a Black lesbian community leader, gave what I thought was the most powerful and inspiring talk of the night. She spoke with conviction and really understood the community, which left a strong impression on me.
The next Sunday, one of our church members came up to me. I’d always thought she was pretty conservative, though now I’m not sure why I believed that. She walked right over and mentioned the speaker by name. I braced myself for a complaint and started thinking about how to respond without turning our Sunday morning chat into an argument.
Then she said, “You tell her she needs to run for governor.”
I was stunned. Out of all the things I thought she might say, that wasn’t one of them. I had put her in a box, but here she was, showing real support for someone I assumed she wouldn’t like. She listened to the same speaker I did and was just as impressed. Meanwhile, I’d come up with a whole response to a complaint that never happened.
I have regarded that woman differently ever since. In fact, she’s become something of a hero to me. And I’m a little embarrassed to admit she probably never knew I’d underestimated her in the first place.
I’ve thought a lot about that moment, especially as I’ve gotten more involved in community work. We meet people, notice something about them, and start forming opinions right away. Sometimes those first impressions help. Experience teaches us to spot certain behaviors and react. The problem is when we forget how little we actually knew when we made that first judgment.
Epictetus talked about something like this in Section 45 of the Enchiridion. He gave the example of someone bathing quickly. We can see that the person bathes quickly, but it’s a separate step to decide he bathes badly. Some might have their own “conclusions” about Epictetus watching people bathe, but that’s a topic for another time. He says the same thing about someone who drinks a lot of wine. Before we decide whether the behavior is wrong, Epictetus wants us to consider whether we really understand the reason behind it.
It’s a simple lesson, but it’s easy to miss. We notice something about someone, then invent our own explanation. Over time, that story can become part of how we see them. Sometimes we even forget we made it up ourselves.
Modern psychology has looked at this habit a lot. One well-known idea is the fundamental attribution error, where we explain other people’s actions by their character and don’t think enough about their situation. Another is confirmation bias, which makes us pay more attention to things that fit what we already believe.
I can see both of these habits in myself. I had an idea about that woman at church and expected her to act a certain way. When she surprised me, I had to rethink what I thought I knew about her. I wonder how many times I’ve done the same thing without getting corrected.
Of course, sometimes our first impressions can also be favorable. And that presents its own difficulties.
Over the years, I’ve gotten to know some local elected officials through my community and social justice work. A few have become people I consider friends. I’ve had opportunities to see them outside the usual public settings, and those experiences have influenced how I see them.
One official especially earned my respect because he seemed careful in making decisions. He gathered information, looked at different sides, and tried to understand the facts before deciding. I admired that. In public life, where strong opinions often come before careful thought, that seemed worth valuing.
But lately, I’ve been disappointed by some of his appointments to positions of public trust.
One person he picked dropped out after some troubling campaign ads came up that unfairly targeted the LGBTQ community. Another choice worried me because she had professional ties to a well-known figure in the Moms for Liberty movement, and questions also arose about her living outside the community she was picked to serve.
These things matter to me. People in public positions can make decisions that affect our neighbors, who deserve fair and thoughtful representation. I expected more care in choosing them, especially from someone whose judgment I’d come to respect.
I have my suspicions about why those appointments were made. But I haven’t discussed them with my friend yet. I intend to do that, both to express my concerns and to allow him to explain his reasoning.
That conversation is important to me because I care about our relationship, and I think public officials should answer reasonable questions about their choices. I might understand things better afterward, or I might still be disappointed. Right now, I don’t know.
It’s uncomfortable to realize that the same habit of judging can affect both people we admire and people we don’t understand. I let an assumption about the woman at church shape what I expected from her. With my friend in office, years of good experiences may have made me less likely to question his choices. In both cases, I had to take a closer look at what I thought I knew.
I think this is where the Stoic idea of wisdom really matters. Epictetus told his students to look closely at what they saw before deciding what it meant. That takes some humility about what we know, especially when we care about the people involved.
Justice is important here, too. Fairness means taking people’s actions seriously and looking at the facts carefully. It also means remembering that we never know everything about someone else. We can hold people responsible for their choices and still admit we might have more to learn about them.
So how do we put that into practice? I’ve been thinking that a useful place to begin is with a simple question whenever we find ourselves forming an opinion about someone: What do I really know about this person, and what am I just assuming? It might help to think about what would make us change our mind. And when we can, we should ask a question and listen to the answer before deciding we know everything.
This is especially important with people who see things differently than we do. We might find out about an experience that explains their point of view, or a shared concern we didn’t expect. Even if we still disagree, we may realize the person is much more complex than we thought. Most of us would like that same consideration.
I suspect I’ll continue making quick judgments about people. After nearly seven decades of living, the habit is fairly well established, and I’m not expecting a sudden transformation. But that Sunday morning encounter has stayed with me because it exposed how confidently I’d anticipated a reaction that never came.
I still smile when I think of what that woman said. She had every right to her own opinions, whatever they were, and I had no reason to decide ahead of time what those opinions would be. I guess I should also be glad she never knew about the imaginary argument I was already losing in my head.
As for my friend, we still need to have that conversation. I hope we can talk with the same openness I’ve always valued in him. I owe him the chance to explain, and I owe myself the honesty to really think about what he says.
I’ve known people for years and still find new things about them. Some have surprised me with kindness and understanding. Others have made choices I have trouble making sense of. I’m sure I’ve surprised and disappointed people along the way, too.
Maybe next time I think I’ve figured someone out, I’ll remember that Sunday morning at church and give them a little more room to surprise me.
