Quite often, when I say something controversial, I notice that the person to whom I am speaking suddenly starts acting as if I had made a completely different assertion. They place statements in my mouth that I haven't made; they respond to points no-one in the room is making, and which are completely different from what I have said. And, as I mentioned, this happens frequently, and the people doing it are otherwise fairly intelligent, smart people.

What's going on?

My belief is that the person to whom I am thinking is suddenly experiencing cognitive dissonance — they wish to think one thing, new information shows quite another, and a tension and discomfort results. Some part of the brain is sending the signal: "YOU MIGHT BE WRONG", which, for some people, on some subjects, can be nearly intolerable.

The basic idea behind cognitive dissonance theory is that people do not like to have dissonant cognitions. In fact, many people argue that the desire to have consonant cognitions is as strong as our basic desires for food and shelter. As a result, when someone does experience two or more dissonant cognitions (or conflicting thoughts), they will attempt to do away with the dissonance.

There's more at stake here than merely desiring "consonant" (harmonious, matching) thoughts. If one person tells me a restaurant has good food, and another tells me it doesn't, I, and most people, aren't going to feel severely conflicted. The relevant underlying desire, I believe, is the need some have to view themselves as good people. So dissonance tends to occur on cherished, foundational issues which affect that perception.

Resolving dissonance: People often try to resolve cognitive dissonance by reframing. If an uncomfortable observation is made, a person may creatively try to come up with some new way of looking at things where that uncomfortable thought can GO AWAY. I don't record my personal conversations, but examples appear in the media every day. To cite two:

In a copy of Time magazine that someone left at my apartment recently, in the sidebar of an article about a new Ken Burns documentary on National Parks, the author (or editor) works out, in bold print, his discomfort over the protests against recent government takeovers:

The film makes a simple case for an idea that is wildly controversial in the year of the tea party: That we need government to do the things the private sector can't or won't

The contention such an idea is "wildly controversial" is, of course, a complete fantasy: protesters aren't protesting things the government does best — police, fire departments, roads, parks. They're protesting something entirely different: government trying to take over or do things the private sector has already been doing. The private sector already provides healthcare and health insurance — the debate is instead about whether the government can do it better or not. That is no small distinction.

But I suspect the author doesn't like that debate. Lots of icky counter evidence, and gray areas where he isn't clearly superior to his opponents. So instead it becomes: "Those people think the government has no legitimate role! How stupid! If only they'd open their mind to this idea!" As I said, it's a fantasy, but a very flattering one. (And right there in the pages of Time magazine, indicating some portion of the editorial staff also shared his tension and factual flexibility.)

Here's another example, concerning the recent vote in Maine in which voters (as they have everywhere else) kept the traditional definition of "marriage":

"I'm ready to start crying," said [Cecelia] Burnett, a 58-year-old massage therapist, walking out of the ballroom with [Ann] Swanson at her side. "I don't understand what the fear is, why people are so afraid of this change. It hurts. It hurts personally," she said. "It's a personal rejection of us and our relationship, and I don't understand what the fear is."

One side wishes "marriage" to continue to mean what it has in the past: a union of man and woman; the other side wishes to redefine it to mean a union of two people, of any combination of sexes. Whatever it was to the voters, it was certainly not a "personal rejection" of these two women. But, paradoxically, she probably finds more comfort in that view (it can be nice to be a living martyr) than the accurate one: that she, in fact, is attempting to change, through the power of law, the way other people talk and think about a very old tradition. She should be honest about that, rather than reframing a vote about a shared, societal institution as a referendum on her personal feelings.

Portland resident Sarah Holman said she was torn, but decided — despite her conservative upbringing — to vote in favor of letting gays marry. "They love and they have the right to love. And we can't tell somebody how to love," said Holman, 26.

Is "marriage" and "love" now synonymous? It wouldn't seem so: many people who are "in love" don't get married (some choosing to live unmarried for their entire lives), and many people who are married aren't "in love." But that equation apparently helps Ms Holman reframe the debate. She isn't voting to change the definition of marriage, no — she's taking a bold stance against those who are trying to "tell somebody how to love."

Why this matters: Reframing is an understandable reaction — we all do it, at one time or another, to varying degrees. We do it because we want to feel better. The downside, however, is that we can end up believing and acting upon falsehoods. The couple above is feeling unnecessarily heartbroken: because someone else is hesitant to redefine an ancient institution, they are choosing to feel personally assaulted, as if the validity or quality of their relationship depends on having a majority of voters agree with them. (That can't be healthy for their relationship.) Similarly, the Time author wound up writing some patently stupid statements in a national publication. Impact on others aside, these people are aiding and abetting their own self-delusion.

The question to ask yourself is: Do I want to believe the truth?

If the answer is "yes", then learn to watch for "reframing"; learn to detect that uncomfortable feeling of being confronted by something unpleasant, and catch yourself before you try to change statement or fact A into statement B. Ask yourself why you're feeling uncomfortable, and why you're willing to, basically, lie to yourself? Why does that bother you so?

The end result will be, sadly, a lowered (but more honest) view of yourself. You'll begin to realize you, like all of us (myself certainly included) pull some rather dishonest tricks to prop up our self-image. But, really: so what if you're wrong on an issue? What is wrong with admitting we sin or make mistakes? It's painful, but also helpful and very freeing, to admit one has been wrong and then come up with a better view or approach. And the other big, big upside is that you will then be free to know the truth on any given matter.