That’s Not What I Meant
On Restoring the Connection Between Intent and Effect
What comes to mind when you see a bonsai tree? Bark with character, small glossy leaves, exquisite twig structures, occasional blooms? Bonsai is not merely an ancient art form—it is a way of thinking and living, the practice of patience, nobility, and sympathy. A bonsai is a miniature world, and I love miniatures, but what comes to my mind is a lost relationship. My best friend’s parents had several dozen healthy bonsai trees in the house and on the patio. One summer in August they asked me to tend to them while they went on vacation. I watched and watered those precious plants through a heat wave, but a few wilted and died. When they returned, I apologized and explained how I had tried to take care of them, but all my friend’s mom saw was the damage. She dismissed my intentions, efforts, and apology. The ruined bonsai trees permanently ruined our relationship. When someone cuts off intention from effect, it has a lasting effect.
James Flynn, a New Zealand intelligence researcher who taught political studies at the University of Otago experienced a form of this. He had a contract with Emerald Press to publish his book In Defense of Free Speech: The University as Censor until June 2019. The publisher’s synopsis stated that “[i]n an age marred by fake news and social and political polarization, In Defense of Free Speech makes an impassioned argument for a return to critical thought.” Then the publisher decided its publication, in particular in the U.K., would raise serious concerns, which might “increase the risk of reaction and legal challenge” (Flynn, James. My Book Defending Free Speech Has Been Pulled. 24 September, 2019: https://quillette.com/2019/09/24/my-book-defending-free-speech-has-been-banned.) So, they pulled the book.
I’m not addressing the contents of the book here. I haven’t read it, nor do I plan to. I’m giving this example because of the reason given for pulling the book. The publishing director acknowledged that Flynn clearly had no intention of promoting hate, but intent can be irrelevant. One test is merely whether it is “likely” to stir up hatred. Undoubtedly, being guided by kindness and considerations of possible outcomes are crucial—and some of us we need to think about effect more—but are these the only considerations to make?
What interests me in Emerald’s response is the separation of intent from effect. When are we justified in separating the two? Who decides? What follows in the wake of the separation? When motives, context, and the value of critical thinking are ignored, people are dismissed—sometimes dehumanized—along with their ideas. Separating these things often leads to ad hominem (against the man) arguments, a logical fallacy with an outsized impact—at least temporarily. Ad hominem is today’s preferred counterattack because it’s easy and effective, and it doesn’t require the hard work of formulating a strong counter point. It shuts off troublesome debate. But its effectiveness is limited; eventually the idea surfaces again just like a beach ball held under water. The ball is made to float.
For millennia it was believed that the strongest arguments come from stating an opponent’s view convincingly and then arguing against it. This included the intent of the argument. Rhetoricians saw this as persuasive because it was a counterargument against the best ideas on the other side. An argument against the merits of a case is more persuasive than one against the maker of the case. The objectivity and fairness involved adds to the persuasion. It was believed that changing minds required a robust exchange of ideas. This assumed a sturdy citizenry which affirmed George Orwell’s statement, “If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear” and the obligation to hear what they don’t want to hear, I might add.
We can’t live with the haunting fear of effect. It makes us into pragmatists that judge their moves based solely on results. Looking to the outcome will eventually subdue our voice. Many of us are afraid to express ourselves or to allow others to do so. Modern means of digital media expression enforce the fear. The harm that 280 characters, one book, article, public mistake, or verbal slip-up inflicts can erase decades-long good. Who wants to live in town with a red A and be subjected to public judgement? It’s hard to endure the rejection or loss of reputation and livelihood some have experienced. The harm is daunting, traumatic, crippling. The fear makes you want to withdraw, but withdrawal only causes more fear.
Standing up for yourself is a way to address the fear. If you wait for permission to be heard, you will wait a long time, if not forever. This requires courage. But it sends a clear message of self-respect, which in turn models a standard of public decency. I love the encouragement Paul offers his young protégé, Timothy: “For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline” (2 Tim. 1:7). Courage is not the same as disregard, insensitivity, or belligerence, but it is power, love, and self-discipline. Confidence in expressing one’s view—with self-discipline—is not necessarily offensive or harmful, even if offense is taken. The only way to never offend is to remain silent or agree. Agreement is good when it’s genuine, but not when feigned. Assent is not always love, just as saying nothing when a friend harms herself is uncaring. Ready assent may actually be a sign of disengagement.
Disagreement is engagement. Anger at an opposing view may actually be a sign that you are being persuaded. That’s why it’s important to stay connected and keep listening. Do you remember a time someone told you a truth you didn’t want to hear? You probably felt defensive and angry at first. Later, as you pondered the comment, you may have perceived the benefit. Years later, it still sticks with you as something that bore good fruit.
May 2021 be a fruitful year.