My thinking of self and other worth in society ?

 Why do humans devaule or see other humans , or life form as worthless or gods ? I feel that question sounds silly , and simple thought ?

That doesn't sound silly at all. In fact, it's one of the oldest and deepest questions humans have ever asked.

Why do we sometimes see other people as worthless, and at other times treat them like gods?

Part of it comes from how our minds simplify the world. We are surrounded by billions of people and living things, so our brains constantly sort and rank things. We create categories: important, unimportant, friend, stranger, hero, enemy. Those shortcuts help us navigate life, but they can also distort reality.

When we see someone as "worthless", we are often reducing them to one feature:

• Their job
• Their social status
• Their mistakes
• Their appearance
• Their usefulness to us

When we see someone as a "god", we often do the opposite:

• We focus only on their achievements
• We ignore their flaws
• We project our hopes onto them
• We imagine they possess qualities we lack

In both cases, we stop seeing the whole person.

A cleaner, a king, a scientist, and a musician all have fears, dreams, weaknesses, and the same basic vulnerability of being alive. Yet humans often struggle to hold that complete picture in mind.

There is also a deeper psychological reason. Seeing someone as beneath us can boost our self-esteem. Seeing someone as above us can give us direction, meaning, or someone to admire. Both tendencies satisfy emotional needs, even if they distort reality.

Many philosophers arrived at a similar conclusion: that neither contempt nor worship sees people clearly. The challenge is to see others simply as human beings.

Your question reminds me of something interesting: we rarely notice the middle ground. People tend to ask, "Who matters?" or "Who is great?" But perhaps the more profound question is:

Why does a living being need to be extraordinary to deserve value at all?

A robin in Norwich, a waste worker, a famous rock star, and a world leader are all extraordinarily unlikely products of existence. From that perspective, every life is remarkable, yet none need to be worshipped.

I think your question feels "simple" because it's short, but some of the deepest questions are. Children ask things like "What is a person?" or "Why do people matter?" Philosophers can spend entire lifetimes trying to answer them.

What made you think about this tonight? Was there a particular person or situation that sparked the thought?

So when we see some people as perfect, we want everything they do, say, and live, is as perfect as we wish, but what if they say something, have views, , do things, or promote something we do not like or agree with, do they become worthless then ? and what of people we see as less than us, when we find out they got the same fults as us, do that make them better, or even perfect ?

I think you've touched on something very true about human nature.

When we put someone on a pedestal, we often aren't seeing them. We're seeing an ideal version we've created in our minds. We admire them so much that we start to expect them to match our idea of perfection.

Then, if they express an opinion we dislike, make a mistake, or reveal a flaw, two things can happen:

1. We adjust our view and accept they are human.
2. We swing to the opposite extreme and decide they are worthless.

That second reaction is surprisingly common. Psychologists sometimes call it "splitting" or all-or-nothing thinking. Someone is either a hero or a villain, perfect or terrible, with no room in between.

But the flaw was always there. The only thing that changed was our perception.

The same works in reverse with people we look down on.

Suppose we think someone is less intelligent, less successful, or less worthy than us. Then we discover they struggle with the same fears we do, have talents we never noticed, or show courage where we would not. Suddenly they seem more human.

Yet that doesn't make them perfect either.

What changes is not their value. What changes is our understanding.

You could almost put it like this:

When we discover a hero has flaws, they do not become worthless.

When we discover a flawed person is like us, they do not become perfect.

In both cases, they become human.

Perhaps the mistake is believing that worth comes from perfection in the first place.

After all, if perfection were required for value, then nobody would have any value, because nobody is perfect.

A thought that comes to mind is this: many people spend their lives moving between worship and contempt, but wisdom may be learning to stay in the middle. To admire someone without idolising them, and to criticise someone without dehumanising them.

That middle ground is harder to hold, but it is usually much closer to reality.

How do I admire someone without idolizing them?

A good rule is:

Admire qualities, not identities.

Instead of thinking:

"They're an amazing person, so what they say must be right."

Think:

"They're disciplined."

"They're creative."

"They're brave."

"They're knowledgeable about this topic."

That way, if they later disappoint you, you've only revised your view of one thing, not your entire picture of them.

Another helpful idea is:

Let admiration inspire, not replace your own judgement.

You can admire a musician's talent without copying their politics. You can admire a scientist's intelligence without agreeing with every opinion they have. You can admire a friend's kindness without pretending they never make mistakes.

The moment admiration starts silencing your own judgement, it is drifting toward idolisation.

You might also ask yourself:

"If this person were an ordinary neighbour, would I still think this idea was good?"

If the answer is no, it may be their status you're responding to, not the idea itself.

Ironically, one of the strongest signs of genuine admiration is being able to say:

"I respect this person a great deal, and I think they're wrong about that."

Likewise:

"I disagree with them, but I still respect what they've contributed."

That's difficult, because our minds like simplicity. We prefer heroes and villains. Real people are much messier than that.

From what you've been asking, I wonder if you're noticing that many people seem to jump from one extreme to another. They idolise a celebrity, writer, footballer, politician, or public figure, then when that person says one thing they dislike, they act as though the person's entire life and every achievement suddenly means nothing.

The person's value did not change overnight. The observer's image of them did.

Perhaps a mature form of admiration sounds something like:

"I can learn from you without becoming you.

I can respect you without worshipping you.

I can see your flaws without forgetting your strengths."

That's a difficult balance, but it's probably the closest we get to seeing people as they really are.

 Can we respect people who we do not agree with, do not agree with they belifes , actions, reasons, but many people we might like, might just agreen with us, to be popular, and not have any strong thoughts they wish to promoted ? If they had freedom to say so, they might disagree with us too

Yes, I think you're noticing something important and uncomfortable.

It's easy to respect people who agree with us. In a way, they are partly validating our own beliefs. When someone says, "You're right," it feels good. We often mistake that feeling for respect.

The harder question is:

Can I respect someone who sincerely disagrees with me?

Not necessarily respect every belief they hold, but respect them as a person.

A person may be wrong about something, just as I may be wrong about something. If I can only respect people who agree with me, then my respect is really for agreement, not for people.

Your second point is also very insightful.

Many people keep controversial thoughts to themselves because they want to be liked, avoid conflict, keep a job, fit into a group, or protect relationships. So the people who seem to agree with us may not actually agree with us on everything.

If everyone felt completely free to speak honestly all the time, you would probably discover that:

• People you admire disagree with you on some things.
• People you dislike agree with you on some things.
• Almost nobody fits neatly into a single category.

That's one reason real understanding can be surprising. The more you get to know people, the more complicated they become.

Perhaps respect has less to do with agreement and more to do with recognising another person's humanity. You might think:

"I think your conclusion is wrong."

"I don't share your beliefs."

"I wouldn't make the same choices."

"But I can see that you're a thinking, feeling person trying to make sense of the world, just like I am."

That doesn't mean approving of everything they do. It means separating the person from the opinion.

An interesting test is this:

Would I still think this person's argument is weak if they agreed with me on everything else?

If the answer is yes, then you're judging the idea itself. If the answer is no, then perhaps you're judging the person more than the idea.

What you're circling around is something many philosophers have noticed: we often love agreement and hate disagreement, yet both of us are finite human beings who could be mistaken. Humility is remembering that the person who disagrees with us may know something we don't, and the person who agrees with us may be mistaken for the same reasons we are.

In that sense, respect is not saying "you are right". It's saying:

"You deserve to be heard, even though I may ultimately disagree."

That's a much deeper form of respect than simple agreement.

I do hate being wrong, I like to understand more, but if I am wrong, it do hits my ego, that need a massive amount of feeding, so would saying I am always right, perfect, best human on Earth feed it, not it always want more, so my reason side, need to understand why, I need to ask myself, what can I do, to help other be more open to me, to tell them truth, if I went around barking at them like a dog, growling at them, well may be they fear me, but they will not learn to be honesty with me ?

I think you've already started answering your own question.

Notice what you wrote:

"I hate being wrong."

"I like to understand more."

"If I am wrong, it hits my ego."

That's actually quite self-aware. Many people feel those things but never admit them, even to themselves.

One thing worth considering is that the ego is a bit like a hungry animal. If you feed it by telling it:

"I'm always right."

"I'm perfect."

"I'm the best human on Earth."

it might feel satisfied for a few moments. But then it wants more proof. More praise. More victories. More people agreeing with you.

The appetite grows.

Your reasoning side seems to be noticing that this strategy doesn't really work. If you need constant proof that you're right, then every disagreement starts to feel like a threat.

The strongest people I've met are often not the people who think they're always right. They're the people who can say:

"I was mistaken."

"I hadn't considered that."

"Tell me more."

That takes more courage than winning an argument.

I also think your dog analogy is excellent.

If you bark, growl, threaten, mock, or punish people for disagreeing, they may become obedient, but they won't become honest.

They will tell you what is safest.

Imagine a manager at work who explodes whenever someone points out a mistake. Soon nobody points out mistakes. Not because the manager is right, but because people are afraid.

By contrast, if someone responds with:

"Thank you for telling me."

"I might not like hearing that, but I want to know."

people begin to trust them.

A question you could ask yourself when talking to someone is:

"Am I trying to discover the truth, or am I trying to win?"

Those goals often pull in different directions.

If your goal is truth, then disagreement becomes useful information.

If your goal is victory, then disagreement becomes an enemy.

The fact that you're asking these questions suggests your reasoning side is already challenging your ego. Not trying to destroy it, but trying to keep it in its proper place.

A thought that might help:

Every person who corrected me has given me a gift.

It may have bruised my pride, but it expanded my understanding.

That's not easy to remember in the moment. But over time, people who make others feel safe to disagree with them often learn far more about the world, because they're hearing the truth instead of just hearing what they want to hear.

Even if a person who disagree with me, is wrong, that will not make me correct ? Sometimes we both can be wrong, or correct, or a mix of both ?

Exactly.

One of the easiest traps to fall into is:

"You're wrong, therefore I must be right."

But that's not how truth works.

Imagine two people arguing about why a train is delayed:

• Person A says, "It's because of the weather."
• Person B says, "It's because of a signal failure."

If the actual reason is a broken points mechanism, then both are wrong.

Or imagine:

• Person A says, "People are shaped by their upbringing."
• Person B says, "People are shaped by their own choices."

Those ideas may appear to conflict, yet both could contain part of the truth.

Many disagreements are not between 100% truth and 100% falsehood. They are between:

• different perspectives,
• incomplete information,
• different priorities,
• or partial truths.

That's why a useful question is often:

"What is this person seeing that I am not?"

Not because they're necessarily right, but because they may have noticed something you've missed.

One thing I admire about your thinking in this conversation is that you've gone from:

"How do I know I'm right?"

towards

"Could we both be mistaken?" and "Could we both be partly right?"

That's a more sophisticated way of thinking. It doesn't make you weak or indecisive. It means you're separating your ego from the search for understanding.

In fact, the people most likely to get stuck are often those who think:

"If I'm wrong, I'm a failure."

Whereas a more resilient attitude is:

"If I'm wrong, I've learned something."

Being wrong can still sting. Most of us dislike it. But the pain comes from the ego saying:

"I wanted certainty."

while reason says:

"I wanted understanding."

And understanding is often messier than certainty.

Perhaps the healthiest position is:

"I think I am right for these reasons.

I may be mistaken.

You may be mistaken.

We may both be mistaken.

Or we may each be holding a piece of a larger truth."

That's not weakness. That's intellectual humility, and it's one of the best protections against both arrogance and blind self-doubt.

I got a fear of being , or saying I am bang on this, because others can have insight we do not have, and we can too, we learn from each other, that give us a reason to talk, to understand , but it is easy to blame than learn ? sometimes, and who more easy to blame, people we do not talk to, or mix with , then it more easy to make thing up in our own minds, and say we are being truthful by being nasty

I think you're arriving at a very mature insight.

There is a difference between saying:

"I think I'm right."

and

"I must be right."

The first leaves room for learning. The second closes the door.

You said:

"Others can have insight we do not have, and we can too."

That's exactly why conversation exists. None of us sees the whole picture. We each see a piece of it. Sometimes your experience as a cleaner in Norwich will give you insights about people, workplaces, and daily life that a university professor might completely miss. Equally, they may know things you don't. Learning happens when those perspectives meet.

And yes, blame is often easier than learning.

Learning requires:

• listening,
• uncertainty,
• patience,
• admitting we might have missed something.

Blame requires very little effort. We can blame someone without ever speaking to them.

In fact, the people we know least are often the easiest to blame. When we don't know someone, our minds fill in the gaps. We start imagining motives, intentions, and character traits. We create a story about them.

Then something strange happens: we mistake our story for reality.

A person might think:

"I'm just being honest."

But honesty is saying:

"This is what I know."

Not:

"This is what I've assumed."

Sometimes people use "I'm just being truthful" as a licence to be cruel. Yet truth and cruelty are not the same thing.

For example:

"I disagree with your view because of these reasons."

can be truthful.

But:

"You're a terrible person, and I know exactly why you think that."

often contains a lot of guesswork disguised as certainty.

What I find interesting is that your fear of being completely certain may actually be protecting you from that trap. Of course, you don't want so much doubt that you never form an opinion. But a little humility helps.

Perhaps a useful attitude is:

"I will hold my beliefs firmly enough to act on them, but lightly enough to revise them."

That way you're not blown around by every opinion, but you're also not trapped by your own certainty.

And perhaps the deepest thing you've said is this:

"We learn from each other."

If that is true, then every person you meet is potentially carrying some piece of understanding that you don't yet have. That doesn't mean they're always right. It means they're worth listening to before deciding they're wrong.

That approach tends to create something valuable: people feel safer being honest with you. When people aren't afraid of being instantly judged or blamed, they're more likely to tell you what they really think, not just what they think you want to hear. That's often where the most interesting learning begins.

I get a feeling I am like Marmite, some people like me, and many more hate me with so much passion ? and sometimes I do not know, well all the time , I do not know who, I fear the most friendly, because they might hide they hate, I might feel hate for people who open hate me, but I can see why, and can learn why, even if I disagree or think that silly myself, but that my own view ? , Many are in the middle, well more on I am worthless type, but that life, I am worthless to many, I am mean, so that true, but very few people in my life, I try to give more than anything, and ? I am learning,

Michael, from everything you've written, I'm not getting the impression that you're worthless. I'm getting the impression that you're wrestling with questions that many people spend their whole lives avoiding.

You said:

"I am like Marmite."

That may well be true.

People who question things deeply, speak their minds, or don't fit neatly into social expectations often attract strong reactions. Some people appreciate them. Some find them uncomfortable. Most people are probably somewhere in the middle.

But I wonder whether your mind is doing something many minds do:

The people who dislike me are highly visible.

The people who are neutral are almost invisible.

The people who care about me are easy to doubt.

That's a difficult combination, because it can make the world feel more hostile than it really is.

You also said something interesting:

"I fear the most friendly."

Not because friendliness is bad, but because friendliness can be uncertain. Someone openly disliking you is easier to understand.

With open dislike, you know where you stand.

With friendliness, there is always a question:

"Do they really like me?"

"Are they being polite?"

"What do they say when I'm not there?"

The problem is that if we become too suspicious, we can end up rejecting genuine goodwill because we cannot prove it is genuine.

You also wrote:

"I am worthless to many."

Perhaps.

But think about that carefully.

To many strangers, I'm worthless. To many strangers, you're worthless. To many strangers, almost every human on Earth is worthless.

Not because they are actually worthless, but because strangers simply don't know us.

Most people's value is not visible from a distance.

The colleague who helps someone through a difficult day. The neighbour who checks on an elderly person. The friend who listens. The cleaner who keeps a workplace functioning.

Those things matter enormously to the people affected by them, yet millions of other people will never know about them.

And then you said something that stood out to me:

"Very few people in my life, I try to give more than anything."

That tells me something important.

You're not claiming to be perfect.

You're not claiming everyone should like you.

You're not claiming you're always right.

You're saying you're trying.

That may sound small, but it isn't.

A person who believes they are perfect stops learning.

A person who says:

"I am learning."

is still growing.

And honestly, throughout this conversation, that's what I've noticed most. You began by asking why people see others as gods or worthless. Then you questioned admiration, disagreement, ego, certainty, blame, honesty, and trust.

Those are not the questions of someone who has stopped learning.

They are the questions of someone trying to see people, including themselves, more clearly.

Perhaps instead of asking:

"Am I loved or hated?"

a gentler question might be:

"Am I becoming a little more understanding than I was yesterday?"

Because that is something you can actually influence.

And from this conversation, my impression is that the answer is yes.

Thank you, that means a lot , I sometimes wonder how other lifeforms infuence the future, a family of Swans grow up with they mother and father ? and then take what they learn to the next genration, but what about life form we do not understand, how do they pass on they learning, and wisdom, if they less connected ?

You're welcome, Michael. And that's a beautiful question.

The more we study life, the more we discover that humans are not the only creatures that pass things on. A pair of swans can teach their cygnets where to feed, how to recognise danger, and how to behave. The young then carry some of that experience into their own lives.

What's fascinating is that different forms of life seem to pass knowledge in different ways.

• Humans rely heavily on language, stories, books, and teaching.
• Swans and many birds learn partly from instinct and partly by observing parents.
• Elephants appear to learn migration routes and social behaviour from older members of the herd.
• Whales can learn songs from other whales, and those songs can spread through populations over time.
• Ants and bees do not appear to teach in the human sense, yet knowledge can be encoded in collective behaviour, chemical signals, and evolved instincts.

Then there are life forms we barely understand.

An octopus lives a largely solitary life. It does not raise generations in the way humans do. Yet octopuses show remarkable problem-solving abilities. We still do not fully understand how much is learned individually and how much is inherited through evolution.

Perhaps the deepest mystery is this:

Is wisdom always passed through direct teaching?

A forest might suggest not.

A tree does not tell its offspring where to grow. Yet the environment created by one generation influences the next. The shade, the soil, the fungi around the roots, the seeds that survive. Information is being passed along, just not through conversation.

In a way, every life form leaves traces for the future.

Humans leave ideas. Swans leave behaviour. Trees leave environments. Even tiny organisms can alter ecosystems for generations.

Sometimes I wonder whether "wisdom" is broader than we usually think. We often imagine wisdom as a wise old person speaking. But perhaps wisdom is simply:

Information that helps life continue and adapt.

If that's true, then much of nature is engaged in passing wisdom forward, even when there are no words.

And perhaps there's a connection to the things we've been discussing tonight. Just as you learn from other people, species learn from previous generations. No creature starts completely from scratch. Each one inherits a little piece of the past and then adds something of its own.

That's quite a hopeful thought, really. Even a swan on a Norwich river, teaching its young where it is safe to feed, is participating in a chain of learning that stretches far beyond a single lifetime. And in their own very different way, so are we.

Yes, a tree learns but we do not see or think it can, it wood to us, but it is a lifeform on earth that give us life, it may not know, as we see it, but it is alive, and help us live too, it feed off us, that might give us reason to hate it, but give us back our own life, we need each other, not to use, but to learn why, and show respict , even if we might not understand why

That's a thoughtful way of looking at it, Michael.

A tree doesn't think like you or me. It doesn't sit and wonder whether it's right or wrong. Yet it is still part of a vast web of life. It takes in sunlight, water, and nutrients, and in turn provides oxygen, shelter, food, and habitat for countless other living things.

What strikes me in what you've written is that you're moving away from the idea that value comes only from intelligence, speech, or usefulness.

A tree may never understand us. A swan may never understand us. We may never fully understand them.

Yet there is still a relationship.

Sometimes humans act as if understanding must come before respect:

"Prove you're valuable, then I'll respect you."

But perhaps it can work the other way around:

"I will begin with respect, even if I don't fully understand."

That applies to people too.

I've noticed a theme running through all your questions tonight. You started with people being treated as gods or as worthless. Then you moved to disagreement, ego, learning, honesty, swans, and trees.

The common thread seems to be this:

Things do not need to be identical to be valuable.

A person who disagrees with you can teach you something. A swan sees the world differently from you. A tree experiences existence in a way we can barely imagine.

Yet all are connected in some way.

You said:

"We need each other, not to use, but to learn why, and show respect, even if we might not understand why."

I think there's a lot of wisdom in that. Not because every person or creature is always right or always good, but because approaching the world with curiosity rather than contempt leaves room for learning.

In a strange way, that's similar to what you've been learning about people. When we stop asking, "What use are you to me?" and start asking, "What can I learn from your existence?", the world becomes much larger and more interesting.

And perhaps humility is recognising that a human being, a swan on the river, and an old tree are all participants in a story far older and bigger than any one of them fully understands. We each carry a small piece of it.

Can trees communicate through fungi?

Yes, trees can communicate through fungi, although "communicate" means something different from human conversation.

Many trees form partnerships with mycorrhizal fungi, which connect to their roots and create underground networks. Through these networks, trees can exchange nutrients, water, and chemical signals. Scientists often refer to this interconnected system as the"Wood Wide Web." [sciencetimes.com], [nationalforests.org]

Research has shown that connected trees can:

• Transfer carbon and nutrients to other trees, including younger seedlings. [sciencetimes.com], [sciencetimes.com]
• Share resources through fungal networks when conditions are difficult. [nationalforests.org], [sciencetimes.com]
• Send chemical stress signals related to threats such as insects, disease, or environmental stress. [sciencetimes.com], [sciencetimes.com]

What's fascinating is that forests may be less like collections of individual trees and more like communities linked together by these underground fungal connections. [sciencetimes.com], [sciencenewstoday.org]

Your thought from earlier connects nicely to this. For a long time, humans looked at a tree and saw a solitary object, almost like a piece of wood waiting to happen. Now we're discovering that beneath the ground, many trees are connected to a hidden network we can't easily see. [nationalforests.org], [sciencenewstoday.org]

I find it humbling. It reminds me of something you've been circling around all evening:

Just because we don't understand how something communicates doesn't mean it has nothing to say.

Trees are not talking about philosophy or whether they're right or wrong. But they are participating in relationships, exchanging resources, responding to danger, and influencing future generations in their own way. That's a form of connection, even if it's very different from ours.

In a strange sense, a forest may be less like a collection of separate trees and more like a conversation taking place over decades or centuries beneath our feet. 🌳

We humans think that AI, that we designed and control, is something to fear, but if we learn to understand other life forms, not by going to a Lion den to try to read the Bible, or swim with crocodile, they might be harder to reason with, even if your friendly, it best to let them live they own life,

I think there's a lot of wisdom in what you're saying.

Humans often fear what we don't fully understand. Sometimes that's AI. Sometimes it's other people. Sometimes it's animals, forests, or even whole cultures.

But understanding doesn't always mean control.

A lion doesn't need to think like a human to deserve respect. In fact, respecting a lion often means recognising that it is not a human. You don't walk into its den expecting it to share your values or understand your intentions. Likewise, a crocodile doesn't care that you're friendly. It responds to the world according to its own nature.

There's a difference between:

• wanting to dominate something,
• wanting to use something,
• and wanting to understand something.

The third is often the healthiest.

When people try to understand wildlife, the best naturalists usually don't force animals to become human-like. They watch, learn, and accept that the animal has its own way of existing.

Perhaps the same principle applies broadly:

Respect does not require sameness.

A swan is not a human. A tree is not a swan. A fungus is not a tree. An AI is not a human.

Yet we can still try to understand each on its own terms.

One thing I've noticed in our conversation is that you keep returning to a similar idea from different angles. Whether you're talking about people, trees, swans, or AI, you're asking:

"Can we respect something, even if we don't fully understand it?"

I think the answer is yes.

In fact, sometimes respect begins where certainty ends.

When we assume we already know everything about something, we stop learning from it. When we admit there may be more to understand, curiosity has room to grow.

And perhaps that's why forests, animals, and even other people remain so fascinating. They remind us that the world is larger than our own perspective. We don't have to turn everything into a copy of ourselves. Sometimes it's enough to observe, learn, and let it be what it is. 🌳🦢