How to disagree with grace

How many of us are any good at disagreeing?

Most of us find no pleasure in voicing disagreement, and those of us who do usually aren’t up to much good–ha!  Sadly, when it comes to disagreeing, we either avoid it like the plague or we do it disastrously:  the result is injury and exhaustion with little else achieved.

Especially now in this election season.  Who of us hasn’t been a participant or spectator in an ideological bloodbath on social media over some hot button issue?  And we vow, “Never again.” 

So why bother disagreeing? 

It’s a fair question.  Undoubtedly, there are times when it really is best to bite our lip.  However, there is a very real, if hidden, cost to avoiding disagreement, and it’s this:  disagreement, when done with grace, is desperately needed if two (or more) parties are to grow in real insight, as well as true unity and intimacy. 

That may seem strange, so let me briefly explain.

Some of the toughest counseling cases I’ve ever had as a minister have involved married couples who rarely ever disagreed.  Wait, what?!  Yep.  Similarly, some of the most ineffective and pseudo-unified church leadership teams I’ve seen rarely, if ever, disagreed either. 

The result for both the marriages and ministries isn’t that surprising:  as the inevitable differences and offenses mount, as all parties ignore the 800-lb gorillas in the room, spouses or leaders drift apart; no one develops in maturity; and nothing (meaningful) is ever accomplished.

Unavoidably, growth in a true understanding of, well, just about anything—from something as easy as a family’s routine to something as intricate and invasive as racism—requires persons coming together to share their perspectives in order to form a shared perspective. 

And this will inevitably involve disagreement. So if we want to grow in insight and in greater unity, and even intimacy, with others, so that we can attain to a greater shared perspective, we need to learn to disagree.

With grace. 

Here are some suggestions for how to do that, using the word grace as an acronym. To disagree with grace, we must:

1. Grasp that truth is a gift (Grace)
2. Really listen (Research)
3. Ask honest questions (Affirmation and Accountability)
4. Consider all that’s in common (Commonality)
5. Embrace/engage holistically (Empathy)

Let’s look at each one of these:

1. Grasp that truth is a gift (Grace): To whatever extent we actually are right, we should first ask why. No one enters this world knowing any more than anybody else. Rather, so much of what we know has been given to us, and even when we’ve taken the opportunity to apply ourselves as learners, that “opportunity” has quite probably been in some sense given to us.

So assuming I really do know something, why is it that I know it?

Within the Christian tradition, all of life is understood to be a gift from above, but especially truth: we humans are masters of self-deception–both individually and collectively, and the New Testament declares that, left to ourselves, humans inevitably act like the stereotypical teenager: “Although claiming to be wise, they became fools,” says the Apostle Paul. In similar fashion, Jesus prophetically describes many in his own generation with precision, if pessimism, as “though ever hearing yet never perceiving”; profoundly, he warns his listeners to “consider carefully how you hear.” In so doing, Jesus unsurprisingly anticipates the modern concept of “confirmation bias”–viz., our “tendency to interpret new evidence as confirmation of one’s existing theories or beliefs” (so the OED).

That is, we’re all very good at seeing only what we want to see. Yikes.

And so it is that Paul can ask the following very penetrating question to some very belligerent (and boastful) Corinthian Christians who thought they knew everything: “What do you have that you did not receive? And if you did receive it, why do you boast as though you did not?”

In short, if we are to disagree with grace, we must recognize our intellectual “privilege.” If we do so, it undercuts any sense of intellectual superiority and, with it, any right to hold another in contempt. In short, if truth is a gift, then it’s not a given. That is, what we’ve come to see as a given has indeed been given.

But if truth is a gift, how are we to see others who haven’t yet received it? 

No longer with criticism or condemnation but with compassion and concern; no longer with cynicism but sadness.  Scripture would describe them in at least two ways:  First, they are “blind”—and who would ever belittle a blind person?  Second, they are “bound”—viz., held captive by spiritual forces of darkness, by the one whom Jesus calls the Father of lies. Who would humiliate a prisoner of war?    

2. Really Listen (Research):  Here “listening” entails not only listening well to whomever we may be talking (as essential as that is), but listening to those who have most knowledgeably and skillfully made an opposing argument. That is, really listening–especially when it comes to the most polarizing issues of our time–requires that we actually read experts who’ve spent their lives researching a topic and disagree with us.

Yes, I said that we might actually need to read a book. I’m sorry, but how can we possibly say that we “care deeply” about some social, political or theological issue, if we’ve only and ever read articles from CNN or Fox News and/or rely on our own personal “lived experience.”

That doesn’t cut it. At all.

But how can we know when we’ve really listened?

Only when we can winsomely present an opposing perspective with all its logical, emotional and rhetorical force. We should be able to feel the “pull” of an opposing perspective: after all, there’s a reason people believe it. Until then, all we’re doing is arguing with caricatures–that is, with imaginary perspectives held by imaginary persons. When voicing disagreement with grace, it’s a really good idea to vocalize as winsomely and compellingly a summary of your conversation partner’s opposing perspective: “So I understand you to be saying that…”

Listening also requires that we recognize different kinds of knowledge. For example, consider the different kinds of knowledge that come from (1) writing a paper on Mexico in your high school Spanish class; (2) visiting Mexico on Spring break; (3) receiving multiple degrees in the Spanish language and history/culture of Mexico; (4) growing up in Mexico, etc. Each of these “kinds” of knowledge–even the last–has particular strengths and weaknesses in how it “knows” Mexico. Compelling arguments take into account these various kinds of knowledge: a wonderful example of this, as it relates to police brutality, can be found here.

Let me give a particular example: my wife Sarah and I have five adopted children. It’s fair to say that we have significant “lived experience” with our particular five children. Our particular “knowledge” is real and in some sense extensive, but it hardly makes us experts in (1) adoption in general, (2) the adoption process, (3) being an adopted child, (4) the common challenges of adopting, etc., etc. We would have so very much to learn before we could speak with any level of competency on these complex issues.

By contrast, having read–I don’t know–60-70 books on race and racism, of diverse genres, subjects, and ideological perspectives, along with numerous studies, journal articles, etc., and having interacted a fair amount with persons of other ethnicities with diverse opinions, I feel a measure of confidence regarding what I believe and why. I’m fairly equipped to disagree with grace in this regard, and I regularly do so as a pastor and professor, though rarely on social media platforms for a number of reasons.

But does this mean that no one should voice dissent until they’re “experts” on a given topic?

Hardly.

But it does mean is this: absolutely essential to disagreeing with grace is explicitly citing our sources when talking about a topic–e.g., “I read an article recently on CNN.com about adoption that said such-and-such” or “Based only on my experience as a parent of adopted children, I’m inclined to think such-and-such.” We then should announce our own assessment of the authority of the sources we’ve cited: “But that’s just my own experience as a parent of adopted children” or “But, hey, that’s just one article from Fox News / CNN” or “It was an article in USA Today, written by an epidemiologist from Stanford University.”

When we name our sources, it has the wonderful effect of distancing us from the debate–i.e., of depersonalizing the debate: it’s easier to disagree with an article on CNN or Fox News than it is with “you” or “me.” Further, naming our sources can be humbling: maybe we really can’t speak on a given topic with as much authority as we thought. Further still, disagreeing with grace encourages us to ask persons we’re disagreeing with, “What have you read that’s led you to believe this?”

Finally, as we listen to opposing arguments, we should listen not only for what is true and false but also for (1) what is good and evil, and (2) what is beautiful and ugly.  Why? Because quite often what “persuades” a person of a particular perspective is not simply (or even primarily) its veracity but its nobility and beauty (or the ignobility and ugliness of an opposing perspective).

A brief example: In the late 1940s a book called The God that Failed came out, giving six different autobiographical accounts of persons–most of them leading intellectuals from Europe and America–who came to believe wholeheartedly in the form of communism that swept Russia in 1917, only in time to become radically disillusioned with it. Intriguingly, the accounts speak not merely (or even primarily) of how communism was compelling logically but of how it enchanted them with its portrayal not only of the ugliness of human greed but of the beauty of its utopian vision, and the nobility of living one’s life in radical sacrifice for this vision. The introduction states that these intellectuals…

“saw [communism] at first from a long way off–just as their predecessors 130 years ago saw the French Revolution–as a vision of the Kingdom of God on earth; and, like Wordsworth and Shelley, they dedicated their talents to working humbly for its coming.”

The explicitly religious language here is noteworthy. One of the most thoughtful and nuanced authors on race and racism in America today is John McWhorter. A linguistics prof at Columbia University and a regular contributor to The Atlantic, he has described the anti-racism movement as operating much like a religion, as found in an article here or in this podcast with Sam Harris here).

In my opinion, many in America–especially the white middle- and upper-middle class, both religious and secular–are looking for a cause, eager to taste the significance that accompanies belonging to a mission bigger than they are. This is very understandable. But the question is: how grounded in truth and reality is this greater vision?

3. Ask honest questions (Affirmation and Accountability): An honest question simultaneously affirms the other person by truly seeking to learn something from them, while also earnestly asking them to give an account for their particular viewpoint. Unlike a self-confident declaration that announces one’s own views or a critiques another’s views, a sincere question opens up discussion, truly inviting correction while also actively illuminating the reasons for which an opposing view is held.

Here’s an example from a topic of contemporary social and political debate–namely, systemic racism:

One who contends that systemic racism is prolific within America today might ask skeptics, “What are we to make of the significant racial disparities found in (a) convictions of various forms of violent crime, (b) household income, (c) college admissions, (d) mortgage lending, (e) employment in various industries and at management levels, etc.?” Similarly, one who contends that systemic racism is minimal or absent within America today might ask opponents, “What specific public policy changes, whether executive or legislative, should we propose that would lead to a decline in systemic racism?”

4. Consider all that’s in common (Commonality):  Voicing dissent highlights the differences that two or more parties have, and that’s a very good thing: it clarifies difference. And yet when we dwell on that difference, we can come to define the other party primarily in terms of that difference.

This is a whole different–and far more dangerous–ball game.

Our current social and political environment strongly emphasizes difference, especially along demographic and ideological lines: ethnicity, “race,” gender, generation, socio-economic level, political affiliation, etc., define us and, thus, largely divide us, leaving us to wonder, “What, if anything, do we have in common?”

This is a major question of our time.

Christianity’s answer surely gives weight to the above demographic differences, but it gives far greater weight to humanity’s shared dignity and depravity: every human, regardless of their demographic, is divinely designed and assigned an indelible common dignity; and yet every human, regardless of their demographic, is characterized by a common and comprehensive depravity.

At present, I’m reading the speeches of Fannie Lou Hamer, one of the great civil rights activists of 1960s. The daughter of a Mississippi Delta sharecropper and minister, she regularly cited the KJV of Acts 17.26: God “hath made of one blood all nations,” contending for the essential unity of humanity.

Within the context of a local church, considering all that’s in common might look like the leadership gathering to clarify what issues are worth (1) dying for, (2) dividing over, and (3) discussing. The first distinguishes a church from the world; the second distinguishes it from other denominations or traditions; and the third distinguishes it from any who would engage in “foolish controversies.” During this very vicious election season, which is but a particularly acute manifestation of our increasingly polarized culture, it can be an incredible testimony to both the congregation and the world when church leaders themselves (1) disagree on matters yet (2) are determined to discuss (vs. divide) over them and (3) direct their congregations to do the same, especially when those very social and political issues are dividing families and friends all around us. (For some thoughts on “Why Politics shouldn’t divide Christians,” see here. For some thoughts on the present “cancel culture,” click here.)

5. Embrace/engage holistically (Empathy): When we consider all that we have in common with those who hold an opposing perspective, it’s easy to go to this final step. Disagreeing with grace requires that our interaction with our “opponents” be but one facet of a holistic relationship with them (it’s one reason I rarely disagree with persons over social media).

For example, let’s say that I disagree with a fellow Christian (or a nonreligious neighbor) on politics: I’m going to make sure I know as much of their story as possible. Why? So often what another believes, whether right or wrong, makes more sense to us, if we know their story.

In addition to knowing their story, I’m going to go out of my way to love and serve them in other areas of life: our family might watch their kids, so they can have an evening out; I will seek advice from them in areas where they know far more than I do; I may go for a hike and talk about our marriages, parenting, movies or whatever. I may share a failure or struggle of mine. Most powerfully, we will pray together regularly.

Such a holistic interaction rightly marginalizes the topic of disagreement and will help break down any caricatures or oversimplifications that we’ve wrongly made.

A few final observations:

First, a major reason that we don’t voice disagreement is because, when we disagree, we lose (perceived) control: who knows what might happen now?! Most marriages or ministry leadership teams that have little/no disagreement are relationships where most/all parties prize control, even if they do so politely. Disagreeing with grace means believing that God really is in control and can bring unforeseen life, blessing, unity and even intimacy through our gracious disagreement.

Second, we will only disagree with grace when we believe that, in truth, there is very little at stake, at least with the overwhelming majority of our disagreements: what have I really gained by persuading someone to vote for my presidential candidate? One vote. Really?

Third, the only way to learn to disagree with grace is to actually do it. At first, we’ll almost certainly do it poorly–and that’s entirely okay. For when we do it poorly, we have the wonderful, if humbling, opportunity to point out to the other party exactly what we did wrong, apologize, and fix it:

“Wow, I really haven’t done my research. I thought I knew a lot more than I actually do.”

“I’m sorry, I keep making these grandiose declarations that aren’t helping things. Let me try to ask a good question instead.”

“I need to ask your forgiveness: I’ve let this disagreement over ____ come to define my relationship with you, and it’s really soured things–that’s completely my fault. What if we had lunch together and talked about everything else that’s going on in our lives?”

Here at last we arrive at the only true path to real unity and intimacy. As with so many marriages I’ve counseled or church leadership teams I’ve been a part of, I would urge that, over the long haul, it’s far, far better to disagree poorly (and strive to improve) than not to disagree at all, squelching any chance of both individual and collective growth in insight, unity and intimacy. Unavoidably, true insight and unity are hard-fought-for, won only by those who are willing to lose control and learn to disagree with grace. There’s a priceless sense of security, peace and confidence that comes from a relationship or team that has welcomed and weathered the inevitable storms of disagreement: they tread forth undaunted.

Finally, we must keep Paul’s declaration regarding spiritual warfare at the forefront of our minds: “Our struggle is not against flesh and blood.” Our fellow Christian, or coworker, or classmate, or Facebook “friend” is simply not our Enemy. And when it comes to the Evil One, we can boldly sing:

The prince of darkness grim
We tremble not for him.
His rage we can endure
For lo his doom is sure:
one little word shall fell him.