By Yasser Hassoun
Summary
Observing the dynamics of public discourse—whether in social circles or among high-profile individuals on television—it becomes evident that there is often a conflation between opinion and personal identity. This overlap leads to a fundamental problem: the inability to separate what is said from the individual who says it. Distinguishing between the two can significantly ease the reception of opposing views and reduce the psychological discomfort triggered by critique. In doing so, discourse is liberated from personal offense and redirected toward constructive engagement. But how can we learn to accept criticism or differing viewpoints? This paper addresses this issue through the following axes:
- Introduction
- What is the difference between argument and dialogue? Do conversations in our societies qualify as dialogue or argument?
- Is critical discourse possible—even among self-proclaimed intellectuals?
- Why do people feel shame or embarrassment when expressing criticism in front of others?
- Can linguistic patterns shed light on this dynamic?
- What do the Arabic words faḥm (char) and sakhm (soot) reveal about the psychology of disagreement?
- How do these words reflect the emotional state of those involved in a debate?
Introduction
Why do people in our society become agitated when confronted with opposing views? I have long been intrigued by the tension that erupts during discussions—even those on trivial topics. The flushed cheeks and flaring nostrils seen on participants in even the mildest disagreements suggest something more dramatic than a simple divergence of opinion. Astonishingly, many of these discussions leave lingering resentment—sometimes over nothing more than a favorite football team. In my observation, most debates in our communities resemble arguments, not dialogues.
Dialogue vs. Argument
The distinction between dialogue (taḥāwur) and argument (jidāl) is clearly illustrated in the Qur’an, particularly in the first verse of Surah Al-Mujādilah: “Indeed, Allah has heard the statement of the woman who argues with you [O Muhammad] concerning her husband and complains to Allah. And Allah hears your dialogue. Verily, Allah is All-Hearing, All-Seeing.”(Qur’an 58:1)
The scripture initially describes the conversation between the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) and Khawla bint Tha’laba as jidāl (argument), because she was seeking a legal reversal of her husband’s pronouncement of ẓihār (a pre-Islamic form of divorce), while the Prophet responded with a ruling that rendered her permanently forbidden to him. Only after she raised her complaint to God and divine legislation was revealed, did the term shift to taḥāwur (dialogue), signifying that a shared framework—i.e., a new legal ruling—had emerged. Thus, argument reflects a clash with no common ground, while dialogue implies discussion within shared parameters or a mutual goal.
Intellectuals and the Practice of Critique
In the late 1980s, I conducted a personal experiment to test my own capacity to accept opposing opinions. I invited a group of friends and colleagues to my home and asked each one to list what they believed were my negative traits—bluntly and without concern for my feelings. I insisted I would welcome their critiques, no matter how harsh or even offensive.
My motivation came from a growing awareness of how difficult it truly is to accept disagreement—beyond the slogans we often champion. Many of those around me espoused the virtues of freedom of expression and intellectual openness, decorating their notebooks and bookshelves with such mantras. Yet in practice, both they and I struggled to embody these values in our interactions.
Criticism and the Embarrassment of Expression
During that session, I noticed that each time someone began to share feedback, their face would redden with embarrassment and discomfort. My reassurances and constant smiling did little to relieve the tension. Even when I encouraged them to continue, some could barely disguise the anxiety in their voices—especially when their comments bordered on personal attacks rather than constructive critique.
I left that evening with two key insights. First, I had gained valuable practice in accepting critique—an experience that, while initially painful, helped me become more tolerant of disagreement. Second, I was left with a persistent question: Why do people feel such embarrassment when voicing a critical opinion—even to someone explicitly inviting it?
Searching for answers, I began to explore the linguistic choices we make in such settings. Certain words, I found, carry psychological weight that shapes how critique is perceived—often linking dissent to shame or social disgrace. Two words in particular stood out: faḥm and sakhm.
The Psychological Weight of “Faḥm” and “Sakhm”
The word faḥm (charcoal) is frequently used to describe a “victory” in a verbal exchange. In many debates, participants strive to be labeled as the _mufḥim_—the one who “shuts down” their opponent and wins the admiration of bystanders.
What does faḥm signify linguistically?According to classical Arabic dictionaries like Maqāyīs al-Lugha, faḥm connotes two meanings: darkness and silencing. It refers to blackness (like coal or the darkness of night) and also to the act of silencing another—rendering them speechless. A _shaʿir mufḥam (speechless poet) is one who can no longer produce verse. Thus, faḥm evokes both the symbolic defeat (blackened face) and the literal silencing of one’s opponent—a dual humiliation that confers triumph on the speaker and disgrace on the silenced.
The second word, sakhm (soot), carries an even more derogatory social meaning. Beyond its association with blackness, it has come to denote moral degradation and shame. In colloquial use, particularly in patriarchal contexts, to say “so-and-so was sakhm-ed” implies a humiliating act—often of a sexual or symbolic nature, that brings disgrace to the recipient and their family.
Blackness as a Metaphor for Defeat and Dishonor
In both faḥm and sakhm, blackness is associated with loss, humiliation, or moral corruption. This reveals why people in our society find it almost impossible to concede a point in debate—it would amount to public shaming. Admitting defeat, especially for men raised to equate masculinity with dominance, is tantamount to emasculation. To back down is to embody the mukhannath (effeminate), the one who has been metaphorically “blackened” and shamed.
Given the cultural framing of dishonor as something contagious—stigmatizing both the dominant and the dominated party in any act of submission—it becomes clear why the face of a critic flushes red at every sentence. Criticism, in this context, is not an act of goodwill or intellectual engagement; it is an assault. Even when invited, critique is culturally embedded in connotations of hostility. Language here becomes a battlefield, and critique, a strike meant to blacken the opponent.
A Story from the Field
In the mid-1990s, I witnessed a striking incident at an international organization operating in Syria. Two employees—one Irish, the other Swedish—were discussing the Maastricht Treaties. After the Irishman shared his thoughts, the Swede responded bluntly: “You’re absolutely wrong.” I was taken aback by the directness—it would have been deemed outright rude in many Arab settings. I braced for an argument. But the Irishman simply smiled and replied, “Really? What’s your take?”
After the Swede elaborated, the Irishman said, “Thanks a lot. I had the wrong information.”And that was it—no shouting, no accusations, no bruised egos.
I was left wondering: Will we ever reach a stage where we can accept disagreement without resentment?
Final Thoughts
Having observed countless debates in both social settings and televised forums, I’ve concluded that our societies often conflate ideas with identities. This is the heart of the problem. When criticism of an opinion is internalized as a personal attack, the emotional reaction becomes inevitable. The solution lies in decoupling our views from our sense of self-worth. Only then can opposing opinions be processed without psychological harm. In doing so, critique becomes a tool for growth, not a weapon for humiliation.
