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War & peace
7 min read

How to disagree agreeably

How do we converse passionately about controversial topics without falling out or falling into war? Jörg Friedrichs shares his insights after a difficult conversation with a colleague.
Two 1950's men un suits sit at a table dominated by a large hanging microphone. One points a raise hand and finger into the air. The other listens.
A 1951 BBC debate between Iorwerth Thomas MP and Gwynfor Evans Teitl.
Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru / The National Library of Wales, vis Unsplash.

Last year in spring, I bumped into an academic colleague whom I had not seen for a long time. I mean, we had talked over screens but not seen each other in person. He is a valued colleague, yet we ended up having a difficult conversation about the Ukraine war where we could have easily fallen out. It was close but, fortunately, did not happen, so let me share how we had a productive discussion instead. Of course, we did not end up agreeing on everything, but we did let one another finish. Avoiding an escalation was not easy then and is never easy in situations of this kind, but it is worth trying because relationships are more important than asserting personal viewpoints. 

Differences of opinion escalate easily in so many situations, especially in war-like ones. We see this with the war in Ukraine, but also in the context of the so-called culture wars. How do we disagree agreeably when people hold strong and principled views about controversial issues? Gender and lifestyle? Religion and race? How do we express a nuanced view that might question strongly held opinions, without either being labelled as something nefarious - “racist”, “woke”. Or thus labelling somebody else? What I am going to share is applicable to many situations, from the culture wars to marital disputes, from conversations over football to a post-mortem between parents when their kids have had a meltdown in the playground.  

Difficult conversations

There is no question that conflict generates false moral certainties, and it is often good to question them. Just because Russia attacked Ukraine, is anything to punish Russia justified? Conversely, just because Ukraine has suffered an attack, is it a victim nation deserving unlimited and unconditional support regardless of its own actions? Is the West, because it supports Ukraine, unquestionably in the right? Is any support of Russia, or even an attitude of neutrality, totally objectionable?  

In a war situation, people tend to look at things in a black-and-white fashion, and even-handed views are unpopular. Expressing them requires courage because partisan observers will attack us when we fail to roundly condemn one side while exonerating the other.  

How are we going to react when they do so? We will certainly feel put on the spot, but this does not disqualify their arguments. We therefore must consider their accusations with humility.  

In my conversation with the colleague, he accused me of spreading “Kremlin propaganda” when I suggested that the West should be more sensitive to the concerns expressed by Russia as a humiliated great power. Spreading Kremlin propaganda is not a minor accusation these days, and I did not feel I deserved it. I therefore found that, in a situation like this, keeping one’s patience is challenging. I was tempted to counterattack, perhaps accusing the colleague of being prejudiced. Instead, I had to take a deep breath and explain to him, as calmly as I could, that my aim was not to side with Russia but to suggest something that might have enabled, and might still enable, diplomatic negotiations and peaceful change rather than replicating a conflict that is so hugely damaging.  

From my point of view, the colleague had accused me unjustly, and so I found it difficult to render justice to what he was saying. Yet, while spreading Kremlin propaganda was not my aim, I had to recognise that part of what I had said overlapped with what a Kremlin propagandist might say. It was uncomfortable to accept that, perhaps, my colleague had put his finger on a vulnerable spot and I should take greater care to distance myself. To make things worse for myself, my colleague also pointed me to a factual inaccuracy regarding a historical detail.  In all honesty, I found it challenging to accept any form of criticism from someone who had just accused me of spreading Kremlin propaganda. Yet, the intellectual virtue of docility demanded me to concede the inaccuracy of this particular historical claim and stand corrected. I had to remember that, ultimately, what unites us is a search for truth, and that the truth can only reveal itself in a discursive spirit of give-and-take. 

Disagreeing agreeably 

We then had a productive discussion where I was able to point out that, during the crisis preceding the attack, Russia had made it very clear that the casus belli (cause of the war) had been a dispute over whether Ukraine was entitled to join a military alliance perceived as hostile by Russia. The USA and its allies insisted that this was not negotiable. Was that, and is that, worth a conflict that is killing countless people and has dire consequences for global energy and food systems? Has everything been done to avoid the war, and is everything being done to end it? While it is easy to see that Putin’s Russia is wrong, are we sure that “we” are right?  

Since the end of the Cold War, “we” (that is, Washington and its allies) have been involved in a significant number of military interventions, from Kosovo to Afghanistan and from Iraq to Libya. By comparison, Moscow has hardly been involved in any out-of-area interventions. Where Russia has invaded an adjacent country or region, as in Crimea and South Ossetia, the trigger was always the fear of a neighbouring country turning hostile. While attacking a neighbouring country is unacceptable, it seems fair to ask if the USA would stand by idly if a hostile power were extending its reach into its own regional neighbourhood (Cuba, Nicaragua, Granada). While a US attack on a country in its regional neighbourhood seems unlikely under present circumstances, there is a need to understand Russia beyond condemning the invasion of Ukraine. 

Unfortunately, propaganda from both sides has become so intense that it is becoming difficult to gain an even-handed understanding. There has even been open debate about using nuclear weapons. 35 years ago, the Cold War ended with a consensus that a nuclear war cannot be won and must never be fought. Indeed, fear of a nuclear holocaust was one of the reasons why the Cold War remained, largely, “cold.” There was communication with Moscow even under Brezhnev. Today, some would see a dialogue with Putin as treason. How can fundamental lessons of diplomacy and deterrence be unlearned so quickly?

We must value and recognize not only those whom we find it easy to empathize with, such as the Ukrainian and Russian people, but also those whom we dread and whom we fear. 

While my colleague stood his ground and reminded me, repeatedly, that “we” must punish or even humiliate Putin’s Russia for its attack on a sovereign country, we were able to have a calm debate where he listened to my arguments as much as I listened to his.  

This was only possible because I had stuck, as best I could, to a series of intellectual virtues, highlighted above in bold: courage; humility; patience; justice; docility; and search for truth. The list goes back to Nigel Biggar, a moral theologian who has adapted Christian virtues for intellectual needs. Professing such virtues is easy in principle, but hard in the heat of a real encounter. In the exchange with my colleague, I passed the test by the skin of my teeth. At other times, I fall short.  

Now, for those familiar with the lore of Christian virtues, you will know that 'six' is a weird number. Everything should come in 'sevens'. So Nigel Bigger gives us a final, seventh intellectual virtue. Charity. Quite possibly the most important.

If only we could become like brothers and sisters who are able to carry out our disagreements in love, giving each other the benefit of the doubt in having sincere intentions and reasoning to the best of our abilities.  

Of course, virtue sounds like a very grand word. Perhaps there are saintly figures who “possess” virtues as personal qualities. For the rest of us, virtues are aims to which we should strive, however much we struggle to reach them. Centuries ago, even a child would have been able to enumerate the seven virtues of Christian morality. Today, some of us may still remember the three theological virtues (love, faith and hope), but what were again the four natural or cardinal virtues? Well, never mind.  

In a twist that encapsulates the best of the Christian tradition, the virtues are not about being virtuous in a self-righteous way. Contrary to the pagan tradition where virtue is something heroic, Christian virtues are about valuing and recognizing others while humbling and decentring ourselves. We must value and recognize not only those whom we find it easy to empathize with, such as the Ukrainian and Russian people, but also those whom we dread and whom we fear. Christian virtues equip us for the arduous task of entering a dialogue with Putin’s Russia, with the view to seeking peace. Having negotiated with everyone from Stalin to the Vietcong, from Gaddafi to the Taliban, we hear today that the idea of negotiating with Putin’s Russia is naïve at best and misguided at worst. Yes, it is going to be fiendishly difficult. Yet, it is necessary. Equipped with intellectual virtues, nothing should stop us from trying. Neither should we stop trying to have conversations across the trenches, even those of the culture wars.   

Note: this post uses material from an earlier post by the same author.  

Article
Character
Comment
Mental Health
Politics
4 min read

Why reducing the voting age is a mistake

Adolescence should be a safe space to be a bit daft

Graham is the Director of the Centre for Cultural Witness and a former Bishop of Kensington.

A band and audience are back lit against a stage.
Let it out.
Kylie Paz on Unsplash

The haunting book of Ecclesiastes carries these memorable words:  

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: 

a time to be born and a time to die, 

a time to weep, and a time to laugh 

a time to keep silence, and a time to speak 

They came to mind recently when reading of the UK government’s plan to reduce the minimum voting age to 16. Now I understand why this government might want to do this. Lowering the voting age has proved popular in other places such as Scotland. Some well brought up 16-year-olds are mature beyond their years, show an interest in politics, and are smart, articulate people. And, of course, younger people tend to be more inclined to vote for left-leaning parties like Labour. It makes electoral sense.  

But does it make generational sense?  

Adolescence is a time when we try out being grown-up for a while. Mid-teenagers are no longer children, but they are not yet fully adult. They are in the process of spreading their wings, most of them still at school, living at home under their parents’ roofs, not yet fully responsible for their own time, income, life choices and so on. They can’t legally buy alcohol, fireworks or drive a car. Yet they can buy a pet or a lottery ticket. It’s a kind of middling time, not one thing nor the other.  

And rightly so. Adolescence is a time for a certain controlled irresponsibility. We all look back with embarrassment on things we did in our teenage years. A few years ago, I watched a cricketer called Ollie Robinson make his debut for England at Lords. The best day of his life turned into the worst when some journalist desperate for a story dug up some semi-racist tweets he had posted several years before as a teenager. Some say he has never recovered, as he struggled with the media attention into his life, and has not played international cricket for over two years. We all said stupid things when we were 16 and that should be expected and forgiven as what they were – immature posturing, attempts to work out who we are in the big world, testing the water of the adult world before we dive in. Adolescence should be a safe space to be a bit daft, to get some things wrong and some things right. Hopefully we learn from our mistakes and our successes and grow up a bit through them.  

The attempt to make 16-years olds politically responsible seems to encroach upon that safe space. It risks skewing an important stage of growing up. And this seems to be a modern trend. 

Teenage years are a vital period enabling us to grow into mature adults, learning to become responsible over time. 

In the past, 21 was the age when people legally became adults, being given the ‘key to the door’, trusted to come in and out of the house independently of parents. Yet that has shifted within living memory. The legal age of adulthood was reduced to 18 in 1969. 

Jonathan Haidt recently complained that we are seeing “the complete rewiring of childhood.”  The childhood of mammals, he claimed, involves rough and tumble play, chasing games, activities that develop adult skills. In recent times, he says, we have put into the pockets of children and young teenagers, a video arcade, a porn theatre, a gambling casino, and access to every TV station. The result of indiscriminate access to smartphones has been the loss of what we recognise as childhood and its replacement by gazing at screens all day long. 

This shift to the voting age is also part of the drift to politicise everything. Everything becomes political, from your artistic tastes, to gender differences, to the food you eat, to family relationships. If politics is everything then surely everyone affected by it must vote? Yet politics has its limits. Politicians can only do so much. They can try to fix the economy, close loopholes that let harmful behaviour flourish, organise life a little better for most of us. They cannot fix the human heart, get us to love our neighbours or teach us gratitude, humility, faith, or what to worship – the most important choice of our lives. 

Not everything is political, but everything is spiritual. Everything moulds us in some way, shaping us into the people we become over time, like plasticene in the hands of a child. Teenage years are a vital period enabling us to grow into mature adults, learning to become responsible over time, being given leeway to develop our moral senses and to work out our opinions as we encounter the wider world.  

There is indeed a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to choose, and a time to play; a time to be an adult and a time to be child. Perhaps we should respect the times and seasons of life a little better, letting teenagers be teenagers and not expecting them to become adult too quickly. Most will hopefully have many years to vote if they live long healthy lives. The distinctions of time and the delicate, slow process of maturity need to be respected. We erode them at our peril.  

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