Proverbs 18:17

The one who states his case first seems right, until the other comes and examines him.

[Proverbs 18:17]

Getting both sides of the story is an absolutely essential part of argument and judgement; it’s also a choice we don't like to make. We get a first impression, and we stick with it, for pride and other reasons. Particularly if we’ve told anybody else, we hate to find ourselves wrong. Now, learning to change my mind upon further thought is a skill I’ll be improving in until I die, God willing, because we sons of Adam and daughters of Eve are always wrong about something, from finitude and sin combined. This notwithstanding, there’s a prophylactic to keep us from being wrong quite so often: learning to suspend judgement until we’ve heard both sides.

One area where we’ve, at least in theory, built this into the structure of our society is in the court system. The western court system, except where it has become perverted, is an adversarial system. Prosecution and defense go to loggerheads in front of the judge and jury (preferably a jury, but don’t let England remember that). The ideal of the system is to have each side put out its best arguments, have each side present evidence, and have each side test the other’s arguments and evidence, exposing their ambiguities, lies, and omissions. In this way, each side is to be stripped of pretense, leaving only the truth- because we expect that partisans on each side, however honest they seek to be, will inevitably bias their representations.

Because we do.

When I have a conclusion or an interest or an emotional attachment, my arguments will reflect that. More, even if I have only the smallest possible motivation in the matter, barely enough to spend the time expressing my stance, I will have a limited perspective. We people know only so much, and what we don’t know, we often don’t recognize the lack of. I can tell you what I believe to be the truth with perfect accuracy and be wrong because I don’t know the factor which changes the argument’s outcome. A plus B may equal C, but A plus B plus D equals E, and I don’t know about D, to realize the answer is E not C.

Of course, perfect elision of bias isn’t standard-issue; we’re chronically biased. Outright lies and intentional omissions and knowing logical fallacies are the utmost of this bias. They aren’t the sum, though, however common they become when the men involved are wicked enough or the stakes large enough. We’re masters of convincing ourselves of what we want to be true (Rom. 1:18-20), and so we tend to allow ourselves small jumps of logic and small concessions in evidence, small blurrinesses, which we would not allow to somebody we disagree with (hence, when somebody else critiques me, their opposing motive can lead to them uncovering issues I might never have noticed).

More, the tactics of argumentation favor certain types of omissions. If I have ten minutes or twenty words or three pages to explain my position, I’m naturally going to choose my strongest argument or arguments. I won’t spend the time to develop them completely, because I don’t have the time, and I won’t focus on where my case is weak (because, if we assume honesty, I’m convinced those weaknesses are not fatal). Finding and exposing those weaknesses, exploiting them to the maximum possible point, that’s the job of the guy who thinks those weaknesses are fatal (or who wants to demonstrate that, though possibly weak, they are not fatal—a ‘devil’s advocate.’

When we do come to weighing the evidence, moreover, we have to consider the power of form, as opposed to content. Rhetorical skill really does have effect, whether in writing or depiction or speech. A great speaker in the wrong may very well be more convincing than a poor speaker in the right (in fact, I’d expect it), unless the hearer sets himself on guard, separating skill in presentation from the actual argument presented. Here’s where seeking other perspectives or having pre-existing knowledge is very helpful; a poor speaker may flat-out fail to include an important or crucial part of the proof that shows he is right, may choose an argument which, while technically workable, isn’t nearly as probative as its alternative.

In daily life, then, we can apply this skill. For a relatively low-stakes example, consider how we should react to rumors and salacious stories about public figures- politicians, for instance. Now, general reputation and past actions are real evidence. When dealing with a rumor, however, it behooves us to consider what parts are factual and what parts are being created by interpretation. Then consider: is this interpretation compelled by the facts? Or perhaps its is convincing largely because 1) I heard it first and 2) it scandalizes or confirms my preconceptions. In many cases, the proper response is to do what I mentioned earlier: suspend judgement. I can simply say, “Perhaps X is true. For now, however, I will say no farther than that it appears possible.”

We can also apply this skill to the person we are most liable to believe on first blush: ourselves. When we come across a prompt, we can spin off a position, an answer, a conjecture all in a moment. Preconceptions, prejudices, presuppositions, and thought-patterns collude in us to make our first response (as Austen masterfully demonstrates in Pride and Prejudice).

If we aren’t careful, we extend ourselves instinctive trust. Yet if even the apostle Paul was to be checked by a better source (Acts 17:11), then surely we much less reliable sources should second-guess our own first thoughts. Often they are right; often they are wrong; usually, they are some mix of the two. The key is to not give ourselves unquestioned obedience- that belongs only to God (Is. 8:12-13).

God bless.

Written by Colson Potter