“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you” says Jesus (Jn 14:27). So why aren’t Christians better at conflict? Why is it so hard to disagree constructively? Conflict is everywhere—historical, political, theological, and personal.
For John Inazu, these conflicts are certainly not abstract. Inazu is the grandson of Japanese-Americans imprisoned during the Second World War. He is also a military veteran, who worked on one side of the Pentagon while terrorists crashed a plane into the other side. In his day job, Inazu is involved in our society’s formal mediation process for disagreements as a constitutional law professor. He is also a believer who has experienced conflicts with his family, friends and brothers and sisters in Christ (58).
In his persuasive and practical memoir, Learning to Disagree, Inazu sets out to contend that constructive disagreement really is possible. The solution is not to avoid conflict or double down in the face of disagreement. Rather, we need to learn how to constructively disagree, and Inazu provides a few tools to that end: empathy, commonality and recognition.
Learning to Disagree: The Surprising Path to Navigating Differences With Empathy and Respect
John Inazu
Learning to Disagree: The Surprising Path to Navigating Differences With Empathy and Respect
John Inazu
Are you discouraged by our divided, angry culture, where even listening to a different perspective sometimes feels impossible? If so, you’re not alone, and it doesn’t have to be this way. John Inazu’s Learning to Disagree reveals the surprising path to learning how to disagree in ways that build new bridges with our neighbors, coworkers, and loved ones—and help us find better ways to live joyfully in a complex society.
Three Tools for Better Disagreements
Inazu starts his first-year criminal law students on a case about four sailors marooned during the 1800s, where one sailor is killed and eaten by his companions (7). It’s a shocking case, but a brilliant way of introducing the topic of empathy—also the focus of the first chapter. Inazu is seeking to train his students to understand how and why someone thinks and acts the way they do, regardless of how abhorrent, disagreeable or wrong they may be (18). This is the practice of steelmanning—not strawmanning—your opponent’s argument. Emerging from internet culture, ‘steelmanning’ was coined to describe the process of presenting your opponent’s argument in such a way that they’d recognise it as their own. Doing so establishes relational goodwill and makes the ensuing discussion far more productive.
The second tool Inazu provides is commonality, which is the focus of several chapters. Inazu wants us to humanise our opponents: we disagree with people, not just ideas (64). Part of recognising our common humanity involves identifying our shared context. It may be a minor commonality like a shared street, or a deeper connection like a workplace or family relationship. For example, Inazu had a disagreement with his father and they stopped talking to each other for a long time until his dad was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. This diagnosis was the impetus for Inazu to reconnect with his father and to “start talking again—even about the hard things” (57). Moreover, one of the consequences of the renewed relationship was seeing the beautiful way his father interacted with his grandchildren. Disagreement may be longstanding and deeply personal, but recognising our shared humanity—in all its complexity—offers opportunities to maintain relationships and even at times attempt to tackle more difficult topics.
The third and final tool Inazu provides is recognition. Healthy disagreement means recognising who values what in which situations. Inazu provides an example of a homicide case where an abused wife killed her husband in cold blood but was given a lesser charge because of the scale of abuse she had endured (43). This makes moral sense to us because we recognise the horror of her abuse: the courtroom does not merely confirm or deny the killing act itself—it judges the act based on the context, and, Inazu notes, appeals to underlying cultural values (105). The more controversial a topic, the more it involves hierarchies of values. That is, even people who share similar values may arrive at different conclusions because they elevate one value over another (the trolley problem is an example of this dilemma). When we disagree with others we need to work hard to recognise the values standing behind our positions. What is the basis of our disagreement? Is it divergent values or worldviews? Perhaps it is a nuanced difference in our value hierarchy? There is ‘no view from nowhere’: we disagree because we value different things or differ in our ultimate frame of reference.
What Type of Book Is This?
As a memoir, Learning to Disagree is part of the narrative non-fiction sub-genre, where anecdotes and vignettes are woven together to illustrate key ideas. Consequently, readers gain a good understanding of the motivations and reasoning underpinning Inazu’s contentions, with the most persuasive aspect of the book being Inazu himself. For readers solely focussed on engaging with and developing each tool, they may sometimes feel Inazu should cut to the chase and provide the bottom-line. I have no doubt the study guide questions would stimulate a robust discussion.
It’s also worth noting that Inazu’s book sits inside a unique sub-category. This book is not about defending Christianity from criticism (apologetics), nor responding to difficult behaviour (pastoral care), nor even persuading someone of the truth, beauty and goodness of Christianity (evangelism). All worthy but different categories. This book is about learning to disagree constructively.
