Prologue
Talking With the Adversary
Want a quick summary of the book?
“I think George W. Bush is a very good president.”
It was the summer of 2004. Jane and I were lounging on the screened-in porch at our father-in-law’s house, and she was (thoughtfully as usual) discussing her views of the presidential race. I do not recall my immediate reaction to her opinion of Bush, but I’m sure it was some mixture of nausea, horror, and dudgeon.
Then, in a moment of what must have been Divine grace, I saw Jane’s statement as something else entirely: an opportunity for honest dialogue.
* * *
This sort of thought does not come naturally, to me or to many others. More often than not, we shy away from those who disagree with us—or we angrily state our opinion and brook no dissent. When discussions actually take place, we spend more time marshaling counterarguments than openly listening. Our vested interests overwhelm what we say and hear.
In all of this, we reflect the culture around us. Our public square has precious few Platos to model authentic dialogue. Instead, elected officials are frequently adversarial, seeking to win votes as much as to explore issues. Too many pundits and radio hosts would rather shout than talk. We hear sound-bite policy ideas repeated until they become conventional wisdom. We hear conventional wisdom repeated until we can’t imagine questioning it.
Then, without warning, we run across someone of gentle spirit and a genuinely open heart. A legislator makes a candid remark without regard for spin. A thoughtful editorial does not take sides but rather asks questions. It feels as though someone has opened a window and let the spring air in. And we wonder why things can’t always be like this.
I believe they can. And the power to make it happen rests in our hands.
* * *
It was not the most comfortable context for dialogue. My wife’s family enjoys debating politics and religion. Several of them are conservative Christians, Republicans, or both; I am neither. We had endured our share of contentious conversations. On the other hand, Jane consistently communicated her perspectives with gentleness, depth of thought, and love. She knew the power of words; as she often told her husband, “Words mean things.” If anyone could pull this off, she could.
To ensure that we didn’t devolve into mindless vitriol, we set some ground rules. She would lay out her thoughts about the president’s virtues in an unbroken monologue. Then I would describe his vices in the same way. Neither of us could interrupt the other—at all—not even for questions. Neither of us would attempt to formulate rebuttals while the other was speaking (to the extent we could help it). We would simply listen. In the process, we hoped, we would learn something: if not about The Truth, then certainly about each other.
* * *
Quite a few authors have written books on conflict resolution, interfaith dialogue, and similar topics. Many of these books are excellent and deserve attention. Almost without exception, however, they focus on the process, whether they describe the tricks of the trade (“I statements,” listening skills, nonverbal cues, and similar tips) or present case studies of successful dialogues. Either way, it’s all about the interpersonal.
But there is much we can do to prepare our selves before the dialogue ever begins. People of faith have a unique contribution to make here, because the giants of their traditions have pointed to a way of life—the “work of the soul”—that, as it turns out, prepares us for authentic dialogue.
The details of this work vary from tradition to tradition, but the essential ingredients are much the same. By drawing close to the Divine, acting in concert with the Divine Will, and practicing the virtues of our faith, we undergo an inner transformation that aligns us more deeply with the truth of life. Our vested interests tend to fall away as we focus our attention and our selves on the Divine. Moreover, this work of the soul opens us to others. We start to see beyond the things that separate us to our essential, common humanity. With this perspective, we learn to love.
And to dialogue. Having engaged in this work of the soul, we come to the table with a clear mind and an open heart. Our prejudices and sacred cows have already been cleared away. This gives us the perspective to engage the other person more deeply and honestly than we could have otherwise. If both people enter the dialogue in this way, they can work together more effectively and more productively to explore the truth of the matter—and, maybe, reach consensus on a way forward.
With the overwhelming problems that lie before us as human beings, this sort of consensus is terribly important. Indeed, the future of the planet may depend on it. If we cannot talk openly and civilly about climate change or nuclear armament or extreme poverty, how can we ever overcome the problems that threaten us all?
* * *
Jane and I kept up the dialogue over parts of two days. Neither of us changed the other’s mind, but that was beside the point. I gained insight into “the opposition” that I could not have gained any other way. I sensed the attractiveness of what many conservatives perceived as the president’s solid principles and decisiveness. Just as important, the conversation set the tone for further discussions. And it drew us closer.
Was it a coincidence that Jane and I had tended our relationships with God for a long time? Perhaps, but I doubt it. All those years of Divine influence, of inner transformation, surely played a role in our openness to each other. St. Paul lists patience, kindness, generosity, gentleness, and self-control as “the fruit of the Spirit”; aren’t these precisely the types of traits that equip us for authentic dialogue?
None of this made the dialogue easy. I vividly remember how difficult it was to sit and simply listen to an opposing viewpoint for an extended period. It took a great deal of time and energy to make the dialogue work, especially to keep from interrupting with “But what about…?”
Time and energy, of course, are in short supply these days. And to be sure, not every dialogue takes two days. If we prepare our souls beforehand, however, we will find ourselves readier and more open to embracing dialogue whenever the opportunity appears. The results of dialogue may not only improve our relationships, but increase our joy and deepen our peace.
So there is great value, both personally and globally, in pursuing this work of the soul, this “way of dialogue.” That, in short, is the reason for this book: to describe this way so you may use it to contribute—powerfully and constructively—to the general conversation that shapes our lives together.
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