Conference-splaining and the raft of beliefs

At a recent conference, a conversation with another participant shifted when he began speaking at length about what it meant to be human on the spiritual path. The exchange soon felt less like a dialogue and more like a one-person audience.

About 10 minutes in, attention drifted to thoughts of lunch and the train home. In the past, such a lapse might have prompted self-criticism, but the quality of the interaction made that response feel unnecessary. It seemed instead like a justifiable moment of countertransference, an unconscious reaction shaped partly by the other person.

A friend later described the episode as an example of what they jokingly called “conference-splaining,” a pattern in which conviction takes over and the conversation becomes one-way. The friend noted that the habit is not limited to conferences. The writer admitted to doing something similar only days earlier.

The irony is that the beliefs being presented are often interesting to the listener. The difficulty lies not in the content but in the rigidity and indignation that can close off the possibility of surprise or shared discovery. Conversations lose their reciprocal quality when beliefs are treated as final and settled rather than open to other viewpoints.

Beliefs are better understood as constructions that shape what people notice and who they take themselves to be. The late Buddhist teacher Rob Burbea suggested that attached views influence perception. When those views harden, they can narrow perception and produce an unproductive sense of righteousness. Even skilful views can become limiting when clung to.

The writer recalled moving through several belief systems with commitment. At 14, they became a card-carrying communist, drawn more by hope for equal wealth than by politics. They later became a Wiccan feminist and then a Buddhist. Each shift changed not only what they took to be true but also what mattered to them and how they imagined their future.

Beliefs provide a necessary working blueprint of the world. The Buddha taught that skilful views, or right view, can deepen insight into reality and lessen suffering. Yet beliefs are rarely seen as temporary tools. The Buddha offered a metaphor of a person facing a large deluge with no bridge or ferry. They build a raft from grass, sticks, branches and leaves, cross safely, and then leave the raft behind rather than carrying it onward.

Many people instead cling to the raft out of loyalty or fear, even when conditions have changed. What began as a useful structure becomes a burden. Beliefs, like everything else, are prone to losing their pull. Questions that once felt urgent in the writer’s 20s about cosmology and realms beyond the human have faded, yet the work they did remains.

The psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott described play as a space for exploration and flexible revision of position. The writer asked whether beliefs could be held with similar curiosity, admired for their support while remaining open to re-examination through exchange with others.

When held with curiosity, beliefs can remain productive. When treated as fixed, they can close down life itself. The risk arises when people forget that beliefs were only ever a raft to be appreciated and then set down.