The pleasure of telling somebody they're wrong

Corpsey

bandz ahoy
I sometimes catch myself fantasising about knowing absolutely everything – but only with the object of being able to win every argument and never get caught out.

When it comes to becoming conscious of the world, politically engaged, etc. I'm afraid to say the first motive that springs to mind is that I would be Mr Clever Clogs.

(And sure I fantasise about the other stuff like being sexually irresistible, immortal and imperturbable.)

The sometime impurity of "intellectual" pursuits – reading literary critics you often feel that what they're really into is telling people they're wrong...
 

Clinamenic

Binary & Tweed
Personally I derive greater pleasure from completely ignoring people who are wrong, or perhaps a wicked combination of humblebragging and gaslighting them.
 

WashYourHands

Cat Malogen

at work you have to go through the rigmarole of politely outlining how people might be wrong

this is my strongest English voice, not authoritative, more “do you see *consideration x too now?”, draw out their empathy (although this is dissensus and perhaps only forceful evisceration/beheadings are acceptable operating principles)
 

Corpsey

bandz ahoy
This must be related to the thrill of falling on an enemy from the ceiling where you've clung for three hours, knife between your teeth, and feeling the blade cut through their throat

Or something
 

version

Well-known member
Sometimes it's better not to catch someone out lest they turn out to be one of those nutters who won't let it go.
 

WashYourHands

Cat Malogen
This is why you should embrace football hooliganism, just swap the ceiling for a pub full of urchins. Every other team and their fans are wrong and it’s your job to correct them, to misquote the janitor in The Shining

Telling people they’re wrong has the potential to go pear shaped too, as this fascinating documentary on London pub life illustrates

 

Clinamenic

Binary & Tweed
This must be related to the thrill of falling on an enemy from the ceiling where you've clung for three hours, knife between your teeth, and feeling the blade cut through their throat

Or something
Exactly, hence the neuroscientific term of art for this small area of the prefrontal cortex, the Intellectual Superiority / Ceiling Ambush lobe (ISCA).
 
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