The Dialogue Venture

What would happen if U.S. elected officials practiced humility?

I can imagine the snorts of derision that question may elicit. Yet last summer, amid the brinksmanship over the U.S. debt ceiling, a number of respected public figures raised this very issue, and now I hear that columnist David Brooks is writing a book on humility.

Maybe it’s not as far-fetched as it sounds—which is perhaps why the Fellowship of Reconciliation just published my meditation on humility in Washington. Please take a look, see what you think, and let me know:

http://forusa.org/blogs/john-backman/toward-humble-washington/10143

Maybe it was a conversation that healed a friendship…or a comment over lunch that helped you see a hot-button issue in a new way…or an email exchange that softened your heart and maybe even changed your mind…or a sit-down with your partner to sort out a family issue.

Whatever the specifics of your story, I invite you to share it here.

In writing this blog, I’m painfully aware that I am bringing exactly one perspective to the topic of dialogue. One perspective is good, but many are better. The more stories we hear, and the more viewpoints we hear from, the richer and more effective our own dialogues can become.

Confidentiality, of course, must be honored, and I wouldn’t expect you to share sensitive stories. But if you have an experience you can share, feel free to do so—either in the Comments section below or through my Contact form. Thank you, as always, for visiting here and caring about dialogue.

A few years ago, my wife and I had the privilege of visiting a monastery in South Africa. Like many monasteries, Mariya uMama weThemba observed the Great Silence from roughly 8:00 p.m. to 8:00 a.m. I relish this extended time of silence and was dismayed, when I awoke early one morning, to hear my wife (quietly) chatting at me.

I reminded her that we were in silence. Her response, with that impish twinkle I know so well: “I don’t care. I’m your wife. I’m going to talk at you anyway.” I couldn’t help but crack up (quietly).

Next story: From time to time, I have joined organizations that think big thoughts and do great things. They are actively seeking ways to make a profound difference in the world. And their contribution to the world is well worth the effort. Many times, however, these groups include a realist or two—someone whose role is to say, “I’d like that too, but here’s how this really works….”

I love these people. And here’s why.

On the dreamer-realist scale, I fall squarely on the dreamer side: the people who push for what could be. The realists remind me of what is. I consider silence a higher good; my wife reminds me that other people have other priorities. I love spinning lofty ideas out of not a whole lot; realists remind me that I have to start with the raw material of right here, right now.

What we miss sometimes, I think, is that we need each other.

Too often, dreamers and realists disparage those on the “other side.” Yet without the realists, the dreamers would, most likely, not make as much progress as they could. Without the dreamers, the realists would, most likely, not reach beyond current realities to envision, and therefore create, breakthrough change.

If they come together with a heart for dialogue, however—a heart oriented toward suspending preconceptions, hearing the other, welcoming a deep interplay of ideas—watch out. They could be a force for serious change.

This need for each other extends well beyond realists and dreamers. I see this in my faith tradition. Many Christians, traditionally identified as progressives, stress God’s concern for the dispossessed and for justice—God’s action in the world. Many others, traditionally identified as conservatives, stress the importance of sanctity and the joy of a personal relationship with the Divine—God’s action in each person.

These emphases often come into conflict. Progressives, for instance, see LGBTQ equality as a justice issue for a dispossessed group of people; conservatives see it as an erosion of godly personal behavior. What if they came together with a heart for dialogue—not tussling over the issue at hand, but listening and probing more deeply to understand, and appreciate, the other’s deeper beliefs? Both sets of beliefs (if the Christian scriptures are any guide) are close to the heart of God, after all.

With a heart for dialogue, we can dispense with our instinctive hostility and instead approach our adversaries with curiosity. We can be open to hear what they have to offer that we need, and vice versa. In most cases, I truly believe the whole will be greater than the sum of the parts.

Recently, on the main listserv and Facebook page for NCDD (the National Coalition for Dialogue & Deliberation, of which I’m a board member), we discussed signs of disaffection with the federal government.

There certainly seem to be a lot of them these days.

Part of the discussion centered on Americans Elect. In case you haven’t heard, this group aims to nominate a presidential candidate in a nonpartisan fashion through an online convention in which any registered voter can participate. The successful candidate (with a vice presidential candidate from the other established party) will represent the views of millions as expressed through their participation in an online survey. The goal appears to be a mobilization of the grass roots through the technology that has given everyone a voice.

Americans Elect isn’t the first group to emerge along these lines. No Labels “supports reforms, leaders and legislation that will help fix America’s broken government and break the stranglehold that the extremes currently have on our political process.” The Coffee Party USA is “a grassroots, non-partisan movement that aims to restore the principles and spirit of democracy in America.” (Quotes come from the respective websites.) And in terms of mobilized disaffection, we barely need mention the Occupy movement and the Tea Party.

I see all this as a hopeful sign. Not everyone does, however.

Amid our listserv discussion, someone posted a scathing article on this topic by the distinguished Mark Schmitt in Democracy. He writes that third-party movements and similar organizations are essentially fantasies meant to redirect our anger away from the hard work of reforming the system. The problems with these movements, according to Schmitt, are threefold: they are started not at the grass roots, but by consummate Washington insiders; they promise to break the duopoly of American politics when that duopoly is enshrined in the very structure of our government; and their policies are vague.

Schmitt’s points raise questions that should be asked of these organizations. The duopoly argument, especially, deserves serious consideration. But I wish he had given one other factor its due: the groundswell of public sentiment behind these movements, regardless of their origins. This sentiment is particularly in evidence in the Occupy movement and the Tea Party. Reforming the system, as he mentions, is important—but so is building and channeling sentiment against the inertia and despair into which government gridlock so easily casts us. It may be that these movements are a necessary first step to mobilizing a critical mass for change: the kind of critical mass that is powerful enough to inspire serious reform.

Or perhaps Schmitt is wrong and they’ll spark serious reform by themselves. Think Tahrir Square (though a direct import of that model to the U.S. seems logistically difficult at best).

What do you think of third parties and reform movements? Are they a waste of time, a distraction from real reform, “people’s movements” with real possibilities, or something else?

We’ve talked a lot about the need for precise language, in dialogue and out. Our dialogues could be so much more productive if we avoided sidetracking them with inflammatory or inaccurate words. Conversely, precise language gives us the best chance of conveying our ideas more clearly to people who might not share or be familiar with them. It is in the spirit of precision that I now wish you:

Happy Holidays.

Every year around this time, there’s a certain level of fuss about that phrase. “It’s the Christmas season, dammit!” goes the line of thought. “Jesus is the reason for the season! Why can’t we just say Merry Christmas?” Happy Holidays, to people who argue this way, is too vapid, too “politically correct,” to describe what December is really about.

I’ll admit that Happy Holidays is kind of vapid. Because of my faith tradition, Christmas is a treasured holy day for me. At church on Christmas Eve, I will be delighted to wish my fellow parishioners Merry Christmas.

Outside of church, though, it’s a different story. The U.S., where I live, is not predominantly Christian as it once was—not by a long shot. Millions of people here are Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, followers of no faith tradition, you name it. And often (as with Hanukkah) their holidays and festivals take place in December as well.

So when I encounter people at the store, or on the street, and I don’t know their faith orientation, Happy Holidays seems the best way to greet them with good cheer while respecting their beliefs about life. If I’m addressing a group—either physically present or virtually, as on Facebook—it’s usually a safe bet that someone in the group doesn’t celebrate Christmas. Happy Holidays is a way of showing respect to those people too.

This is a basic principle for dialogue. Without a perception of respect from their dialogue partner, few people would willingly share their convictions in dialogue. That showing of respect creates a welcoming place in which people feel free to express themselves without fear of recrimination.

So…to my Jewish friends, Happy Hanukkah. To my Christian friends, Merry Christmas. To all my friends, Happy Holidays.

We Christians are notorious for fighting. We fight among ourselves over subtleties of doctrine. We fight with other faith traditions over what constitutes Truth. The Crusades, an extreme example of fighting if there ever was one, are a horrible stain on our history.

Fortunately, some Christians have made good progress in dialogue over the past few decades, especially in the field of interfaith dialogue. That is a very good thing indeed. It puts us in line with a Savior who, I think, would heartily approve.

It is true that the biblical accounts of Jesus’ life make no mention of dialogue. But Jesus in these accounts waxes eloquent about the ideals and objectives behind dialogue. In the Sermon on the Mount—perhaps his most sweeping single statement of his approach to faith—he says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God” (Matthew 5:9). A bit later in the same sermon, he exhorts his followers to “love your enemies…that you may be children of your Father in heaven” (5:44-45).

This label, “children of God,” fascinates me. It speaks, I think, not of mere familial relations but rather of affinity: people who, out of their deep connection with the Divine, reflect God’s orientation toward the world. People who reflect God are peacemakers. People who reflect God are committed to love.

What does this have to do with dialogue? Well, how can I love you most effectively—how can I act in your best interests, for your greatest good—unless I know you? And how can I know you unless I listen to you?

Listening also reflects what we read about Jesus. Among the numerous accounts of him preaching, challenging, probing, and delivering his message, several stories show him listening as well. He heard—and was amazed by—the faith of the centurion who asked for his servant’s healing (Matthew 6:5-13). He listened to the woman who cleverly parried his understanding of Jewish-Gentile relations (15:21-28). One might argue that he posed his famous question—“who do people say that I am?”—not as some test of his disciples’ understanding but honestly to seek their insight.

This same Jesus also prayed for another fruit of dialogue: unity. “I ask not only on behalf of [my disciples], but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one” (John 17:20-21).

That’s what I hear when I read the Bible. What does your faith—Christian or from another faith tradition—tell you about the need for dialogue? I would love to hear your thoughts.

Hello, my friends. It’s so nice to be back with you.

A few weeks ago, I told you about an upcoming dialogue to which I’d been invited—a conversation with a dozen evangelical Christians about LGBTQ issues and the Church. As you may know, the words evangelical, LGBTQ, and dialogue do not often appear together in the public square, so this gathering promised to be extraordinary.

It was all that, and then some.

I don’t think I can describe it any better than I have in this Huffington Post piece on the dialogue. The article includes some questions that the dialogue raised in my mind: new (to me) possibilities about the way we might think about not only LGBTQ issues, but the future of the Church itself. The comments on the article, on the whole, have been more thoughtful than one sometimes sees online, so you may want to check them out—and add your response. I’d love to hear your thoughts, there or here.

I will be away from the laptop for a few weeks, so instead of an original post I thought I’d link you to some other food for dialogical thought. Read one a week, and it’ll be as though I never left!

• The Abortion Stalemate: Can “I Don’t Know” Break It? In this post, I suggest that starting over again on abortion—from a position other than drop-dead certainty—might help us make some progress in dialogue where little has existed before. The comments are particularly interesting: many of them show a serious and genuine struggle to grapple with an extraordinarily difficult issue. Hearing the wisdom of others is one of the best things about writing.
• Can Humility Change the World?  From what I can see, this misunderstood virtue is one of the indispensable “habits of the heart” that can reorient us toward dialogue. See what you think of my perspective on the term.
• Beyond Stereotypes of “Conservative” and “Liberal” Christianity. Dialogue starts from a better place when we view our dialogue partners as individuals rather than through predetermined filters. In that spirit, I share what I’ve learned about the “liberals” and “conservatives” in my faith tradition. Again, the comments are most valuable.

As you may have picked up, I so appreciate those who take the time to read, reflect, and comment on what I write. That goes for you too. I learn a great deal from hearing your voice, and I am encouraged by your support. Thank you. I’ll be back on the blog before you know it.

If you scanned the headline quickly, you may have misread it. This is not about taboos in dialogue, like shouting epithets or characterizing anyone left-of-center as a socialist. No, this is about the game Taboo® from Hasbro—and a flight of fancy on a rainy Friday.

In case you’re unfamiliar with Taboo, it’s a party game for four or more players. The game comes with more than 1,000 cards; each card lists a main word and five related words. One player draws a card and, in a short time, tries to get the others to guess the main word. In doing so, however, the card holder cannot use any of the words on the card.

So imagine drawing the card for house and discovering that you can’t say house, home, mortgage, door, window, or family. Or any phrases with those words in them. If you’re a lover of words, it’s a great game.

What if we ran dialogues this way?

Let’s say the dialogue is about the economy. Republicans would articulate their beliefs in detail, but they can’t say socialism, big government, tax and spend, small business, or Obamacare. Democrats would do the same, but they can’t say party of no, middle class, top 1%, fat cat, or wingnut.

Hey, this could be fun.

More to the point, this little exercise might get us away from the loaded words and simplistic catchphrases that our elected officials typically toss at one another. More often than not, these words and phrases mischaracterize the issue, the other side, or both. Even worse, they lead us into thinking that the issues are simpler than they are.

In the game, the inability to use certain words forces the card holder to dig deeper, find new words, explain in more detail. A good deal of fumbling goes on, but every now and then you hear something ingenious—a way of looking at a word you’ve never noticed before.

I wonder whether that could happen in dialogue Taboo. Perhaps, in our search for new words and explanations, we might come across nuances in the issue that we hadn’t seen before. Maybe we would become more open to a range of possible solutions that couldn’t penetrate the sound bites.

Anyone game?

Last week I told you about a dozen or so Christians—gay, straight, conservative, liberal, and people who identify in other ways—who will gather in November to have a two-day conversation about LGBT issues. I mentioned how thrilled I am to be part of this, and how encouraging I’ve found the emails from participants.

I didn’t mention anxiety. But that’s part of the package too.

Why anxiety? It’s not about disagreement. It may be about the intensity this gathering will inevitably generate: no matter how gentle we are with one another, a conversation about LGBT issues in 2011 across divides is not a walk in the park.

What really stirs my anxiety, however, is the risk of being wrong. What if, as a result of this meeting, I have to change my mind about something? What if that something is important to me?

I write a lot about the need to relax our grip on our sacred cows. I don’t spend enough time acknowledging how difficult—and, at times, even inappropriate—that is. Our beliefs and values come from a lifetime of experience. In some cases we have expended a lot of thought and energy to arrive at them. Some of them strike at the heart of what it means to be uniquely us in the world. They shouldn’t be given up easily.

But I don’t think dialogue can come to full fruition unless we set them aside temporarily (as best we can). Otherwise, it is too easy to listen to others through the filter of our own beliefs. This filter can distort the message of others and prevent us from hearing what they are really saying.

Conversely, suspending our beliefs frees us to hear other people with full attention. It gives us the space to explore their thinking from the inside out: to sit with their viewpoint, probe this or that line of thought, gain a deeper grasp of why they think that way.

We get to know them in a way we never could with our filter up.

Is this inherently risky? Sure it is. In exploring new ways of thinking, we might come to see their validity.. If a new thought contradicts our beliefs, we may have to wrestle with that contradiction. Our beliefs may have to change.

But here’s the good news, particularly for people of faith like the ones gathering in November: we don’t have to hold our faith together by ourselves. As members of an Abrahamic faith tradition in particular, we believe in a Presence beyond ourselves that can—and, I think, does—safeguard us.  This sense of safety gives us the freedom to explore without worrying what we might lose.

My trust in that safety isn’t nearly what it should be. My hope is that it’s stronger come November, so I can be fully present to those around me, listening with my whole self, free to explore ideas, so that we might move closer to our ultimate goal: deepening our grasp of truth and our compassion for one another, no matter what we believe.