The Peaceful Pugilist: First steps in learning to love conflict

So what about this issue of conflict? And what about this notion that you could actually love conflict? What does that mean, going out and joyfully picking fights? Or relishing squabbling with colleagues? Or not doing the dishes at home in eager anticipation of our spouse getting home and flipping out? Is it actually possible to have anything but a, well, conflictual relationship to conflict?

First, I believe the answer is a definitive “yes!” but want to distinguish that optimism from any idea that loving conflict is an easy task. Also, what I mean by conflict needs to be defined.  Basically, conflict here is that state/situation where two or more forces come together disharmoniously. It’s not what we think about that meeting, or how we may habitually react, or how our family/culture/society tells us we should act. Those are actually all after-the-fact responses. What comes first is the contact that sparks; what we then do with it is another matter.

The reasons for not loving conflict are manifold, but what I want to stress is that we are actually reacting to the associations to conflict, not to the primal experience itself. In other words, our experiences of the “state/situation where two or more forces come together disharmoniously” are the real problem. Which actually is quite good, because given the state of the world, if we could not make peace with conflict because we had no choice about how to respond, then given how often things come into conflict, we’d be in pretty sorry straights.

Most people I’ve met, especially those struggling with the wild moods of anxiety and depression, do not have positive associations with “conflict.” Some have a cluster of memories from their childhood, of conflict between parents leading to violence or chaos or the breaking of the family. Others have a difficult-to-define sense that allowing conflict is either just wrong, or will lead to some deep destruction. Others, when meeting conflict, react with a fear that itself is so threatening, they overcompensate and come to look, from the outside, habitually aggressive and bullying.

But the short of it is: conflict means something terrible.

But does conflict have to be experienced this way? And if not, how do we develop a different, more accepting and loving, relationship to this ubiquitous experience?

And why would I want to do this?

Changing our relationship to the experience of conflict involves, first, simply recognizing the difference between the “primal” experience, and what we’ve learned to think about that experience. We can’t change the existence of conflict, but we can certainly reassess our beliefs and change them.

For instance, take a not-so-overwhelming conflict, say, a 3 on a scale of 1-10. Maybe that’s an office disagreement, or a tiff with your partner, whatever it might be in your life. The next time it happens, see if you can feel the actual signature of conflict as you experience it. Does it cause tension in your belly? Is there a surge of energy? Does your face flush? Whatever it may be (everyone will have different experiences), notice how the body registers conflict just as a pattern of sensations. Then see if you can catch the thoughts that arise about this embodied conflict. What is the interpretation of this event, for you, in the moment? Is it, “I need to win this no matter what.” Or, “This is going to get out of control if I don’t do something.” Or perhaps, “I need to throw this match in order to win the game.”

The point of this is not to process through the beliefs (that’s more the realm of your work with a therapist), but as just a small illustration of the difference between the core, embodied, experience of conflict, and what then comes after in the form of interpretation or belief.

This is the bedrock experience for beginning to love conflict, because as you deepen the experience of the “primal conflict,” you come to realize that there’s actually a gap between the body’s registering of the conflict, of “things clashing,” and what thoughts arise to explain it. And seeing this gap, this essential separation of these mental and physical events, you get to challenge your belief: “Well, ok, but is that true? If I don’t shut my opinions down in this conflict with my boss, will I really suffer something dire?”

And that is the breathing room that will expand over time, so that when conflict comes, you are not immediately thrown into reactive mode. Your mind gets to ponder the experience for a longer period of time before the fight-or-flight circuits get flipped on.

And it’s in this gap between the base experience and the reaction that lays the fertile soil for a love of conflict to arise.