I hate it. Always have. Yet I've done my share of fighting.
Humans spend an inordinate amount of time in conflict with each other. After a conversation today with someone who reminded me of some training that I took in communication skills to deal with conflict, I found myself thinking about what is behind this most distressing predicament.
Arguments, whether interpersonal or international, are all about boundary expansion and/or protection, who is "the alpha", outdoing the other person or country, and/or a desire to conquer, to control, to lift oneself up at the expense of the other.
In war, it is permissible to kill, to take prisoners, to exact tribute from the conquered people. The desire to outdo the other leads to escalation of hostilities, and devastation of countryside and inhabitants alike.
It is also true that misery loves company. Put another way, "hurting people hurt people."
And we can fight about the most inane and mundane of things. Take a look at one of my favorite film shorts by the National Film Board of Canada, an award-winner first published in 1985, called "The Big Snit."
There are a few ways humans use to stop an argument.
1.) Capitulation: this is when one of the parties refuses to fight and walks away, letting the other person marinade in his / her anger. It usually leaves behind a sense of frustration in both parties because the aggressor didn't get the satisfaction of a win, and the one who walks away is probably still hurting inside. Besides, the issue is still unresolved. A form of capitulation is making excuses for others' behavior. This dismisses the wrongs that have been done, saying they weren't really wrong. Nothing could be further from the truth.
2.) Negotiation: this is compromise. Neither side gets everything he/she wants, but both sides get at least SOME of what they want. It is, however, patently unsatisfying because both have had to make concessions they may not be happy with. And the underlying issue goes underground, to resurface another day along with a whole lot of other baggage that gets stored up in the meantime.
3.) Surrender: in this case, there is a clear winner and a clear loser. The winner feels vindicated, and the loser feels dominated, crushed, destroyed. Even with surrender, there may be the feeling of resentment in the one who surrenders, the feeling that "You may have won this battle, but I'll win the war."
The fight is never over. The hooks are in, both parties are enmeshed, and it's virtually impossible to unhook from such a position. Lost sleep, perhaps lost years because of stress-related illnesses, can result. This is not good.
I know Christian people who thrive on strife, conflict, argument, and debate. They don't seem to be happy unless and until they're pointing out someone's failings, or trying to get them to say or do what they want them to say or do by either manipulating them or trying to intimidate them. Their normal conversational tone is confrontational, loud, and "in your face." It makes me uncomfortable, especially coming from someone in authority. I want to run away from them rather than listen to them. It's like they're spoiling for a fight. They seem to always be talking about something controversial, iconoclastic, or outrageous. And the weirdest part is, they think that by doing that, they're being like Jesus.
In a very real way, yes, Jesus' whole life was an argument: an argument against religion and dead tradition, and an argument for relationship and intimacy with God.
Yet people followed Him in droves - because He had such a wonderfully relaxed, joyous freedom about Him. He personified the French expression translated as, "He is at ease inside his own skin."
Jesus told people the truth no matter who they were (Pharisee and prostitute alike); He gave His opinion, and when they (usually the religious elite) got all up in arms and started being indignant, accusing Him of blasphemy or treason - He wouldn't let any of it stick to Him. Yet He loved them in spite of their desire to kill Him. Many times He would just let His critics argue amongst themselves without coming to any satisfactory conclusion. (That takes a great deal of confidence in God's unconditional love. At ease inside His own skin.)
He was the perfect Model of "detaching in love." Detaching in love doesn't mean we stomp off and stew about others' failings, planning our next move, wishing others would change and bemoaning the fact that they don't. It means that we let them own their own opinions, while still retaining our own, but not taking the fact that they disagree with us ... personally. (Oh, ouch!)
We stop playing God, and we let God be God, when we detach in love. We let other people bear the consequences of their own actions, and we don't feel like we have to tell them what to do or think, or to be their conscience. They probably already know our stand and if they don't agree, well, that's their choice. We're not bound to stand there and debate and argue with them to prove our point. If we're wrong, God will convince us of it; if they're wrong, He will convince them. HE does that; we don't have to do it for Him.
How liberating!
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