The Interests Of Others And The Art Of Conversation
There are many kinds of art in this world, and all of them speak to us in different ways. One of the most powerful art forms I know of is usually not recognised as a form of art at all, but it should be: it is the art of conversation. Complex communication between two conscious humans would be considered a miracle if it didn’t happen constantly. The ability to exchange thoughts and ideas and feelings with other people—to hear what is happening in the hidden realm of another soul and share what is happening in your own—this is one of the great gifts of humanity. To do it well is the great art of humanity.
If you meet a great artist on the street, you probably won’t realise it. They look like everyone else. But if you talk to a true master of conversation, you’ll know it. You’ll leave with a mind freshly sharpened and a soul rekindled. Their goal is not bare efficiency, like a game of verbal Pictionary. Instead, they layer their language with care, and with an artist’s eye to see and bring our attention to important realities and ideas we so easily, and so often, overlook. Isn’t that what great art ought to do?
If you meet such an artist, pay attention. Conversation is a skill that can be learned, so watch their methods. Growing up, I always looked forward to talking to my grandfather. He was a master conversationalist. Looking back at his example now, I can see his method more clearly—it was not his high intellect, clever jokes, or interesting stories that made his conversation so powerful, although he had all of those things and he used them well. The real power of his words was underneath the words themselves—but it came out in every one of them. The art of his conversation was driven by this: his genuine interest.
When I talked to him, he was interested in what I said. More than that, he was interested in what I thought, interested in what I did, interested in me. I was just a child, or later a young adult, doing ordinary young adult things, and he was a global expert on quality control, changing the international world of business. He had lived through WWII, travelled the world, and achieved a tremendous amount of professional success. And yet whenever we talked, he wanted to know the details of my life—what I was doing and learning and thinking about.
In Philippians 2, Paul writes about how you can imitate Christ by “putting the interests of others ahead of your own.” This was my grandfather’s artistic method. When I spoke to him, he put my interests ahead of his own. He became interested in what I was interested in. And through his interest, and his thoughtful questions, I began to see my own interests differently. Through his eyes, I began to glimpse meaning and possibility in my life that I had never noticed before. He listened so well that he heard things I hadn’t even said. He highlighted what I was overlooking, and reminded me of its importance. He pointed me ahead and painted a vision of what could be, and thought with me about how I could get there. Like any great art, his words did not change the realities of my life, but they did change my perspective. I left with a sharper mind, a kindled soul, and a clearer vision. Isn’t that what great art ought to do?
