Criticism seems woven into the fabric of American life. Professional critics of the arts have long been part of the pattern, helping us decide which books to read and plays to see. Adding splashes of color and sometimes knotting the threads are current critics of war, critics of government, critics of pollution, critics of industry, critics of young people (and their “establishment”), critics of older people (and their “establishment”). The hawk or the polluter or the industrialist, the young person or the older person, will bristle at one—at least—of these types of critics. But the type we all would vote for as the one most likely to annoy is the critic of persons—specifically, of us. Personal criticism is the least appreciated kind.
All criticism is hard to take; constructive criticism is hard to give. Perhaps some principles and examples will help bring the gracious give and take of criticism into the realm of possibility.
To welcome the critic is to disarm him. Much criticism is built on uninformed assumption, on imagined slights, or on second-hand opinions. If we resent the criticism, and with it the critic, building bridges of relaxed communication becomes impossible. By reacting indignantly we assure our critic that he has in fact touched a sore spot, a tender, inflamed part of our ego that needs some kind of therapy. Many times prejudice will melt in the warmth of welcomed opinion—and in this way we often gain a friend and prevent further criticism.
The Value Of Self-Criticism
One way to avoid criticism is to be critical of oneself. Nothing so quickly brings oneness in a fellowship as leaders’ willingness to share their failures and ask for prayer. James did not say, “Confess your faults one to another—that is, of course, all except the elders among you.” Missionaries are reluctant to confess wrong or failure to national brethren, and pastors to members of their church, for fear of losing their influence for good. Many parents cannot bring themselves to confess failure to their own children and ask forgiveness. What we find difficult to believe is that a frank and guileless admission of inadequacy, an honest confession of mistaken opinion, does not lose us the respect of others; rather, it encourages the spirit of togetherness that makes mutual learning possible. Brokenness and the setting aside of pride, with a desire to be utterly real, melts hearts together as nothing else can.
Fellowship in which Christians are honest before others about their failures is the kind that convicts non-Christians of their sins and often leads to their conversion. One might think that the non-believer would be convinced of the truth of the Christian message and attracted to Christ only by exemplary conduct in Christ’s followers. Although this does happen, more frequently it is the convicting work of the Spirit leading Christians to open confession of sin that results in a similar work in the hearts of non-believers. This has been a pattern in all the great revivals.
A missionary friend who has had a long and varied ministry in India wrote recently:
If there is one thing more than anything else that I believe retards the spiritual progress of the churches in this country, it is the almost total lack of a capacity for self-criticism. What is seen of this within the churches is but a reflection of its existence in a much wider sphere. In the public press, for example, one frequently reads expressions of offense and indignation at someone who has dared to criticize some policy or project. The workman who has done a shoddy job will insist that his workmanship is of the highest quality even when every flaw is pointed out. If this attitude is not purged from the church, spiritual progress becomes practically impossible. How we need to learn to see ourselves as God sees us and allow him to tell us through whom he will.
A Japanese missionary working in Indonesia has said, “We Japanese can work until we drop, but we cannot say we are sorry.” He went on to remark that apologies come easier to the Western missionary, but I wonder. They do not come easy to any of us. We need to guard against being unassailable, against being where a critic cannot get at us. If our judgments and decisions are right, we have nothing to fear from opposition to them. But if they are wrong, only good can come from being open to correction. The gravest danger is to become unwilling even to risk a contrary opinion. Fenelon wrote that we should place no confidence in any but those who have the courage to contradict us with respect and who prize our welfare above our favor.
Criticism That Hurts
Of course, criticism is not always offered in love. I recall some lectures given to missionaries by a visiting theologian of note. He was expounding a controversial point of view about the Lord’s return, and he knew some of the evangelicals present would not agree with him. I can still see his chin jutting out and hear his sharp emphasis where it hurt most: “You think you are right, but you’re wrong!” Although I agreed with the content of his message, everything within me rebelled at his unbending dogmatism and unloving spirit. I wished I could have disagreed with him. He was trying to teach by persuading, instead of persuading by teaching, and judging by the resulting furor, the method was calamitous.
Another form of criticism equally offensive may follow someone’s public testimony of how the Lord has dealt with him and taken away all the hate he felt for another person present, whom he names. He may, out of any number of motives, include a few details about what caused the hate. People then may forget to thank the Lord for the grand victory over hateful feelings and instead criticize the low so-and-so (now squirming in the meeting) who could have caused all this distress.
However, whether criticism hurts or not is really up to the one criticized. The whole experience can throw us upon the Lord in a new way and teach us a little of what he experienced when he faced “the contradiction of sinners against himself.” Brooding over wounded pride can cause bitterness, by which, the Bible says, many are defiled.
A missionary I know was rudely criticized in front of fellow missionaries at an annual conference. Instead of retorting in kind he took the trouble to invite the critical missionary and his family to stay with him at the next conference. He did all he could to show love in a practical way, and they became firm friends. The root cause of the criticism dissipated in the atmosphere of mutual trust.
Norman Vincent Peale has suggested that we can meet hostile criticism on three levels: emotional, rational, and practical. Controlling one’s emotional reaction is the most difficult, for criticism is a direct attack on one’s self esteem. But if we resent our critic, we only poison ourselves. We must force ourselves to be dispassionate, to pray for the critic, to bless him. It may help to reflect that all leaders have been criticized, though this line of thought can be dangerous if it is used to justify a persecution complex and steer away from honest heart-searching.
The rational approach urges that we examine the criticism carefully. Dr. Peale quotes Theodor Leschetizky, the great piano teacher, who remarked that we learn much from the disagreeable things people say, for they make us think, whereas the good things only make us glad. Certainly making excuses for ourselves only compounds the original error. Another stimulus to objectivity is to examine the qualifications of the critic. What is his motive? Is he sincere? In many cases, a dignified silence is the best response. If a reply is necessary, it is sufficient to state the facts without any attempt at retaliation. On the practical level, Dr. Peale suggests that we meet the critic with kindness, which is what my missionary friend sought to do.
A sure way to invite criticism, of course, is to become the critic. To speak to someone heatedly, bent on reprisal, can result in nothing but harm. If, on the other hand, we feel increasingly that we must face someone with words that we know will be difficult to hear as well as to say, then we will go with humility and love. Criticism offered under a sense of Spirit-led constraint and moral necessity is one of the most exacting and costly ministries there is. Its effectiveness depends a great deal on the critic himself. However, one cannot always be sure that loving criticism will be received in the same spirit. Time and place are important, and one needs to be sensitive to the Holy Spirit’s guidance in this as well as in the matter of what is said.
Criticism In The Early Church
Although the critic as such is not once mentioned in the Bible, his function is often seen in the lives of the prophets and apostles. Paul urged Titus to exhort and reprove with all authority (Titus 2:15), though the word “reprove” here is only one aspect, and a negative one at that, of criticism. The loving response of Priscilla and Aquila to another’s need (Acts 18:26) is a more positive example. On hearing Apollos give a deficient exposition of the Gospel, they took him aside and told him where his preaching was lacking. That Apollos took the criticism well is clear from the way his preaching immediately changed to the blessing of many (Acts 18:28). The history of the early Church is punctuated with similar incidents that show how alive the apostles were to the needs of others.
Paul’s life provides some moving examples of love in critical action. He rebuked Peter publicly before the Antioch church for his momentary defection from the purity of the Gospel because it stemmed from fear of public opinion and had affected others. It was a public defection calling for public rebuke (Gal. 2:11–14). That Peter bore no grudge is evident by his later remarks about Paul in his second letter (2 Pet. 3:15). Mark felt the keen edge of Paul’s moral distress when he failed Paul and his companions at Pamphylia (Acts 15:36–40); this rebuke may have had something to do with Mark’s later becoming a very useful fellow worker (2 Tim. 4:11). Love that aims for the supreme good of another will on occasion cut in order to cure.
From his holy indignation at incest in the Corinthian church (1 Cor. 5:3–8) to his impressive courtesy in pleading with Philemon not to criticize his runaway slave, Paul demonstrates how to express criticism in the noblest manner.
We all face occasions requiring us to give and to take criticism. We need to be certain when we are giving it that our criticism burns from “holiness that is love on fire.” And we must learn to take criticism with love for our “enemy,” the critic. If we all examine our own eyes for beams and ruthlessly cast them out, we can spare ourselves some criticism and others the unwelcome task of offering it.
Kenneth S. Roundhill is field director for the World Wide Evangelization Crusade in Japan and staff worker for the Japan Intervarsity Christian Fellowship. He has the B.A. from Otago University in Dunedin, New Zealand, and is a graduate of the New Zealand Bible Institute.
