Entertaining the Strange: Conversation as an Act of Hospitality

During this past presidential election, Joe Rogan attempted to sit down with Kamala Harris for an interview. When they were unable to come to terms, he expressed disappointment. "I hope she does," Rogan said. "I will talk to her like a human being. I would try to have a conversation with her." Whatever you may think of Rogan, he was correct in describing conversation as the art of talking to someone like a human being. What is it about the nature of conversation that makes it "the most concrete, palpable, frequent and important act of human being"?

John Koessler's latest book, On Things Above: The Earthly Importance of Heavenly Reality, is now available. You can get it from Amazon. 

Dr. John Koessler is an award-winning writer and retired faculty emeritus of Moody Bible Institute. John writes the Practical Theology column for Today in the Word and a monthly column on prayer for Mature Living. He is the author of 16 books. His latest book , When God is Silent, is published by Lexham Press. You can learn more about John at https://www.johnkoessler.com.

Transcript

During this past presidential election, Joe Rogan attempted to sit down with Kamala Harris for an interview. When they were unable to come to terms, the host of the Joe Rogan Experience, often described as the world’s most successful podcaster, expressed disappointment. “I hope she does," Rogan said. "I will talk to her like a human being. I would try to have a conversation with her.”

Whatever you may think of Rogan, he was correct in describing conversation as the art of talking to someone like a human being. Other creatures can communicate. Dogs bark. Cats yowl. Even bees dance to signal to other bees where they can find food. But humans converse. James Como has called the ability to have a conversation “the most concrete, palpable, frequent and important act of human being.”[1]

More Than Messaging

There is more to conversation than talk. The word converse comes from a Latin verb that means to dwell or keep company with. We can still find a vestige of this sense in the old King James Version, which uses the term conversation to translate a Greek word that means “way of life” (cf. Gal. 1:13). But in our day, conversation usually refers to casual communication with someone. Still, it is not the atmosphere, or what some might describe as a “chill vibe,” that transforms ordinary speech into conversation. To converse is to turn toward someone. It is to open the door and invite others to share their thoughts with us. When we converse, we entertain ideas that we might not otherwise consider. They may be notions that seem strange to us, opposed to our own, and perhaps even offensive. 

Conversation is an act of hospitality. In modern parlance, hospitality is a particular form of socializing. If you invite a friend over to your house for dinner, you are showing them hospitality. Its industrial sense adds another dimension. If you work in a hotel or a motel, or even if you rent your house out to weekenders for vacation, you are a part of the hospitality industry. All of these ideas have echoes of the ancient exercise of hospitality. But in the ancient world, hospitality was something much more serious.

Three Pillars of Hospitality

Traditionally, hospitality was something extended to an outsider. By it, one offered the comfort, safety, and privileges of family to someone who was not normally a part of the household. The ancient practice of hospitality was grounded on three foundational assumptions:

• In order to be genuine hospitality, that which was granted must be the actual possession of the one who offers it. This idea is reflected in the adjective Philos, the first half of φιλόξενος (philoxenos), the Greek word for hospitality. As Mary Scott explains, “Philos is used of people or things which belong to one, and with which one should be able to feel relaxed in that one is not in competition with them; so that philon is used of things or actions which are not alien, which are natural to one’s character or mood at the time.”[2] Hospitality happens when we temporarily extend the boundaries of what is ours by inviting an outsider (literally a stranger) into our circle and treating them as if they were friends or family.
• Even though hospitality was widely regarded as a cultural obligation, the one to whom it was extended did not have an inherent right to what they received. The ancients did not think of hospitality as the utopian practice of an egalitarian world where everyone was free to use the possessions of another. Nor was their vision that of a possessionless society. It was instead the opposite. The virtuousness of hospitality arose from an awareness that we live in a competitive and often hostile world where others might attempt to take what is ours. But this virtue is also energized by the potential for reciprocal benefit. As Mary Scott observes further, “The relationship of xenia, hospitality or guest-friendship, is basically self-seeking.”[3] One of its aims was to create a circle of cooperative relationships. As Scott explains, “To travel in his own country and in other countries, the agathos needs a network of xenoi, guest-friends,  who will provide him with the basic necessities of life.”[4] For the early church, hospitality was a means of spreading the gospel and disseminating Christian doctrine (1 Cor. 16:3; 2 Cor. 3:1).
• Hospitality established boundaries that enabled those who would otherwise be competitors and enemies to relate to one another as if they were friends. These did not automatically make their differences (or even their mutual antipathy) disappear. Hospitality is a social convention, not an emotion. It imposes obligations and maintains boundaries, which result in a temporary cessation of hostilities between parties that might otherwise relate to each other as enemies. The exercise of hospitality created a temporary social structure that allowed those with strong differences to interact and perhaps even begin to understand one another better. For the ancients, hospitality was a unique category of friendship that assigned the status of ξένος to both. Consequently, in ancient Greek, the word could describe either the guest or the host since they were both strangers to one another. 

Strange Conversations

All three assumptions have parallels in the practice of conversation. For example, conversation involves a kind of extension of one’s intellectual boundaries that allows us to entertain strange and perhaps even disagreeable ideas. It differs from proclaiming, which is one-sided. The gospel can still be proclaimed in a conversational mode, but when this happens, its message is expressed within a framework where there is a mutual exchange of ideas.

In the turning toward another that is at the heart of conversation, one opens the door to the thoughts, ideas, and feelings of others. Conversation implies mutual consideration. However, it does not automatically follow that one who converses abandons their convictions and positions in the process or even temporarily puts them “on the shelf.” Conversation belongs to the family of speech known as dialogue. A dialogue is a kind of encounter that involves mutual exploration and exposure. To dialogue is to talk with someone, not just at them. It is an activity that involves discussion, an exchange of reasoning, and even argument. Those who discuss do not necessarily agree. Where there are opposing ideas in play, any agreement is highly unlikely without some form of dialogue. Nor should we assume that this kind of exchange is dispassionate. Dialogue can be heated. When some came down to Antioch from Jerusalem and began to teach that it was necessary to be circumcised according to the custom of Moses to be saved, Acts 15:2 observes that this “brought Paul and Barnabas into sharp dispute and debate with them.” Dialogue was part of the toolbox of the church’s earliest evangelists. They also employed discussion and debate to refine their own understanding of the church's doctrine. Conversation creates a safe space where new ideas can be proposed, explored, and tested. This does not mean, however, that the first messengers of the Christian faith treated everyone’s ideas as if they were as credible as their own. Rather, they employed questions, debate, and discussion in order to challenge the false thinking of their age. 

In order for conversation to occur, words must be spoken and ideas exchanged. This much is clear. But what seems less obvious is that conversation also involves shared silence. As Ann Berthoff observed, “If dialogue is at the heart of conversation,  at the heart of dialogue is silence.”[5] Berthoff points out that silence is necessary for the act of speech itself. As anyone who has tried to decipher a mumbled or run-on sentence can tell you, the words we say are made discernable by the spaces that the silence between words creates for them. Berthoff explains, “The polar opposition of silence is the necessary condition of speech: when we talk, the sounds are shaped and differentiated by means of silence.”[6] But it is not enough to simply hear the words or even to know their definition. Conversation is an interpretative art, and Berthoff uses the phrase “homiletical silence” to speak of the intellectual space that enables the listener to do this. Berthoff’s analogy draws on the sermonic tradition, which is also a kind of conversation between the preacher and the listener.

In the context of a sermon, homiletical silence is a three-dimensional discipline that involves listening, patient reflection, and understanding. Since most sermons take the form of a monologue, the burden for a conversational element rests primarily upon the shoulders of the preacher, who must practice a kind of “priestly advocacy.” The preacher stands between the text and the congregation and listens to the Word of God on their behalf.[7] In ordinary conversation, however, this burden is shared along with the accompanying silence, rendering the silence of conversation more than the pause that waits until it is my turn to speak. In that silent space, we entertain the strange, seeking to understand even though we may already know that it is likely that we will still be at odds when the conversation ends. After all has been said, we may remain strangers and perhaps even opponents.

Protected Spaces

Hospitality does have limits, as Jael’s story in the book of Judges bluntly reminds us (Judges 4:17–24). In the same way, some intellectual spaces are meant to be protected, especially within the confines of the church. Not all ideas should be entertained (cf. 1 Tim. 4:7). Nor is everyone allowed to give voice to their views. In 1 Timothy 1:3-4, the apostle urged Timothy to  “charge some that they teach no other doctrine, nor give heed to fables and endless genealogies, which cause disputes rather than godly edification which is in faith.” Not every idea is a good idea. There are times when it is necessary to do battle with our words and, like Jael, drive a stake through the temple of an opposing argument.

The context, of course, always makes a difference. When it comes to the essential truths of the Christian faith, Scripture teaches us to set boundaries. Within the precincts of the church, the words of false teachers are not meant to have free reign. Their ideas are to be challenged and their voices silenced. Outside the church, however, it is a different matter. There, in the marketplace, anyone may say their piece. The public sphere is the realm of debate and public discourse. It is also the sphere where the art of conversation is most needed. But if the last election has taught us anything, it has reminded us that the human art of conversation is not as easy as it looks. It is not enough to open one’s mouth and let the words pour out, especially when those who engage with each other have serious differences. These are often differences not only about our views but also about the rules of engagement when talking about them.

Scripture does not provide a simple strategy to make this task easier for us. It does, however, offer a foundational rule that can create a hospitable space for those who wish to make an attempt at conversation. It is the rule of life expressed in James 1:19–20: “So then, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath; for the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God.” The hospitality of conversation offers the combined grace of silent listening and acceptance to those whose thinking is strange to us. It is a discipline that is essential to the peace of any society where diverse and mutually exclusive world views coexist. But its practice is even more crucial for those whose aim is persuasion. Before anyone can be persuaded that they are wrong, they must first believe that they have honestly been heard and correctly understood.

[1] James Como, “The Salon: Restoring Conversation,” Arion: A Journal of Humanities and the Classics, 22, no. 1 (2014), 33. 

[2] Mary Scott, “PHILOS, PHILOTĒS AND XENIA,” Acta Classica 25 (1982): 3. 

[3] Ibid., 6.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ann E. Berthoff, “Homiletic Silence and the Revival of Conversation,” The Sewanee Review 122, no. 4, (2014): 587.

[6] Ibid., 588.

[7] John Koessler, Folly, Grace, and Power: The Mysterious Act of Preaching, (Grand Rap