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On Theological Arguments

A hermit advised, “If someone speaks to you about a controversy, do not argue with him. If what he says makes sense, say, ‘Yes,’ If his comments are misguided, say, ‘I don’t know anything about that.’ If you refuse to dispute with his ideas, your mind will be at peace.” —Sayings of the Desert Fathers

When I was an undergraduate, there were 24 of us majoring in philosophy. But only three of us were observant Christians. Of our four full-time faculty, two were atheists, one was a Roman Catholic, one was a Platonist “theist of sorts.” I have wonderfully fond memories of arguing points of metaphysics and ethics in the Philosophy Forum with people who often were diametrically opposed to my positions. Then we’d all go down to Maxfield’s Pub arm-in-arm to drink pints of Guinness and shoot darts.

A year later, when I started my seminary work, I was rather shocked to note that the arguments would often be harsher and more judgmental than anything I’d experienced in my (admittedly idyllic) secular philosophy department. Here were people who agreed on the vast majority of their theology, who would nonetheless fight dirty regarding predestination, or women in ministry, or the church’s proper authority structures. People who all agreed that Jesus is the Son of God and salvation is found only through his blood, who agreed that the gospel needs to be preached to a broken and suffering world, would fracture friendships or judge each other harshly over fine points of theology that would be irrelevant to the people they would someday serve.

From that point on, most of my adult life has been spent in Christian higher education and seminary work. I’ve recently moved into full-time parish ministry. And while the context and presenting issues may look different, the human condition — alas — remains the same. I think part of the issue may be that, when we discuss our theology, we are often not simply giving our opinions, but our convictions. And it is sometimes hard to delineate between ourselves and what we believe. To have my conviction critiqued feels like being critiqued myself. And it doesn’t help that we often confuse our opponents’ personhood with their views, too.

Several years ago, while working as a seminary dean of students, I began keeping a list of maxims for disagreeing about theological questions. Occasionally I would bring them out in student discussions. Once I even presented them in an orientation talk. St. Paul instructed the Roman Christians, “If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all” (Rom. 12:18). And he advised Timothy, “Have nothing to do with stupid and senseless controversies; you know that they breed quarrels” (2 Tim. 2:23). To that end, I’d like to suggest a few maxims that may help us all keep our fellowship and charity intact while we engage in theological disagreements.

First, remember who you are talking to. Your interlocutor is a person and, as such, bears the image of God. In The Weight of Glory, C.S. Lewis writes that “the dullest, most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship.” This goes also for the people one disagrees with. Remember, too, that the person you are disagreeing with is not simply a collection of beliefs. The person you are at odds with is not reducible to any given question.

Second, remember who you are. You are fallible. You are not the final arbiter of what is right or wrong. The fact that you’ve been wrong about something before and changed your mind should provide epistemological humility. Remember, too, that you are (probably) not the smartest person nor the holiest person who has ever thought about the problem about which you are disagreeing.

Third, remember what an argument is. Chances are, you are not sitting on a tribunal. An argument is, at best, just that: an argument. This means that the outcome doesn’t solve much of anything. You gain nothing if you win an argument. You lose nothing if you lose one. Some people think quickly on their feet and thus debate rather well. Others need time and quiet to reason things out. Winning the argument doesn’t mean you are right. Losing doesn’t mean you are wrong.

An argument, at its best, should be two people trying to arrive at the truth, not two people trying to convince the other to think as they do. You both might be wrong, after all. And few people change their minds based on pure rationality anyway. We often don’t even listen to our opponents well, unless we feel that they have our best interests in mind. In other words, love changes people more than argument does.

Fourth, remember that you don’t have to argue at all. Unless justice demands it because someone’s life is in immediate danger, you don’t have to give your opinion. No one has a right to my opinion, nor do they need it. Christian charity demands that we argue about difficult things only if we are able to do so in love. It is quite possible to win an argument and prove nothing other than you are unkind. One must be especially sensitive when arguing about a position or issue that calls into question people’s deeply held beliefs or one which has to do with their life, livelihood, or vocational identity.

If you do decide to engage in an argument, love your interlocutor more than you love being right. This means being hospitable to that person. Listen. Seek common ground whenever possible. Seek to understand your opponent’s position, rationale, and interests. If you can’t see why someone would believe certain ideas, you probably have some more work. Don’t listen only to respond and refute. Listen to love.

I have often wondered why arguments seem so important to us, as human beings and as Christians. And why, if I’m not careful, I can so easily lose my temper in a theological argument. I turn again to St. Paul, who often spoke of the need for gentleness as a Christian virtue, especially for Christian leaders. And I wonder why we are so willing — when we believe we are right — to dispense with gentleness. The Church is a diverse and complex fellowship. In such a communion — which comes from “every family, language, people, and nation” — disagreements are inevitable. But the call is to love.  ’“”

The Rev. Geoffrey Mackey is the Rector of Trinity Episcopal Church, Parkersburg, WV. Prior to his current call, he spent over twenty years in Christian college and seminary contexts in administration, teaching, and student pastoral care. He studied at evangelical, Catholic, and Anglican seminaries and previously served as a parish priest in the Catholic Church’s Byzantine Rite.

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