Effective ethical influence is best served by giving the group plenty of space. It’s okay to try to persuade. But never short-circuit the other’s freedom to respond.
—Em Griffin
We met the train at three o’clock Sunday afternoon. I went in my official capacity as president of our university chapter of InterVarsity. Joyce, our vice president, was with me. We’d received word that our new IVCF field rep would visit our group that night. We’d been told to pick her up at the train station and spend time with her until the meeting.
To say we were apprehensive is putting too heavy a cast on the situation. But our executive board was used to flying solo. We hadn’t seen a staff person for six months, and we weren’t sure exactly what it was we were supposed to do with “our leader” until seven o’clock. It turned out that our vague unease was well founded.
As she stepped off the train, she announced, “My name is Angela Thompson. Please call me Angie because we’re going to be very close. I’m ready to give you the counsel and advice you’ve been needing this past year.”
We took her to the student union for coffee. She told us she felt Christians shouldn’t purchase anything on Sunday so she’d pass. But, she said, we could feel free if we wanted some. As we sat down at the table, she leveled me with an intent gaze and asked, “How’s your quiet time?”
Angie meant well, but it was a long four hours.
It would be easy to read these paragraphs and conclude that I see any attempt to influence someone else’s devotional life as misguided, foolish, or wrong. Not so. I’ve told the story of Angie because it introduces the topic of a leader’s legitimate attempts to persuade others. As I recall my own spiritual journey, I can see the influence others have had on me. Three separate people have had an impact on my quiet time with Christ, each through a different process of persuasion.
Identification
I became a Christian through the influence of a girl named Ruth. She wasn’t the stated leader of our young people’s group. As a matter of fact, I was! But in terms of real influence, Ruth had the clout. She was attractive and vivacious, with a contagious enthusiasm for God. For most of us, high school is a time of cliques—trying to be part of the “in crowd,” avoiding the outsiders. But Ruth moved from group to group with ease. To her, everyone was a neat friend.
I dated Ruth once or twice at the end of my junior year. It was all very casual, just some good times together. But I wanted it to be more. At the beginning of our senior year, she suggested we go together on a weekend retreat. “We’ll have lots of time to do some serious talking,” she suggested. My mind was flooded with images of us lying against a Lake Michigan sand dune gazing at the stars, our heads together in deep conversation. “I’m for it,” I said.
Surprise! The serious talking we did was about Jesus Christ. Ruth assumed I was a Christian and wanted to help me draw closer to the Lord. She gave me the InterVarsity booklet Quiet Time. As we went through it together, she showed her excitement that God not only allows us to pray to him, but he actually desires it. She encouraged me to block out some time each morning to read the Bible and pray. So I did—just as simple as that. And I became a Christian in the process.
I obviously wasn’t convinced so much by what Ruth said as by who she was. I was attracted to her and wanted to have a relationship that would go beyond the weekend. I hung on to her every word, the result being that I heard a lot about Jesus. Did I believe what I heard? Yes, but that wasn’t the motive for entering the faith. The impetus came from my desire to be close to Ruth.
Now, identification isn’t the most noble reason for changing your whole life around. And yet it’s often where the action is. Not just in guy-gal relationships, but among friends of the same sex. Paul reminded the Thessalonians that they became followers of him, and through him, Jesus Christ.
A few things have to happen for identification to produce lasting change. You need a leader/persuader who’s viewed as attractive and desirable. There’s no absolute standard. It’s all in the eye of the beholder. The more winsome the source, the greater the pull of identification. Second, the one to be influenced has to define himself in relationship to the attractive person. Sometimes it’s a whole-hog desire to be just like his hero, like a star-struck Little Leaguer modeling his every action on Pete Rose, including the way he combs his hair. Other times it’s a reciprocal role—lover, employee, disciple, daughter—in which the influenced party tries to live up to the other’s expectations. Either way, he has to know what’s wanted. Finally, the attractive source will hold sway only as long as the relationship is important to the admirer.
Note that Ruth didn’t even know how greatly she affected me. It was only weeks later when I told her that she realized the impact she’d had. That’s typical of change that occurs through a process of identification. It appears to happen in an offhand manner.
Identification poses two problems for a leader: the first is that people may have trouble getting past the person to the issue at hand. The man can get in the way of his message. Remember that the other person swallows the point of view whole because it was given by someone he admires. But opinions need to be chewed and digested if they’re going to affect the body. Unless the leader makes a point of encouraging folks to question, probe, and even doubt his opinions, that vital nourishment may be lost.
The second problem is an ethical one. When the leader is irresistibly attractive, persuasion through identification is seductive. SØren Kierkegaard tells the parable of a prince who falls in love with a peasant maiden. First he thinks he will bring her to the castle so he can woo her. Plan B is to go to her humble cottage accompanied by his chariots, soldiers, and horses. But he realizes that neither course would be fair. How could she help but be dazzled by such princely splendor? So he resolves to cast off all royal advantage. He dons the garb of a poor woodsman and proceeds to her home to plead his cause.
Kierkegaard presents this story as an analogy of Christ stripping off his prerogatives as God and coming to earth as a mere mortal so men would not be roped into the kingdom of God without an honest chance to say no. But it is equally appropriate as a warning to the attractive leader. You may be held in such high esteem that your idle musing is instantly accepted as gospel truth. It’s not a power most of us have, but I’ve seen it happen once or twice.
But if you avoid these two problems with identification, it can be useful. “If you love Me, keep My commandments,” says our Lord (John 14:15 nkjv). That’s a pure case of trying to persuade through identification. We’ve seen that it’s a rather simple, straightforward approach to influence. It drew me into the kingdom, so I know it works.
Compliance
I wish I could say I remained constant in my prayer life after becoming a Christian. The first year, I faithfully blocked out fifteen minutes each morning to read Scripture and talk to God. But when I went away to college, I became much more sporadic. I was like the third kind of soil in the parable of the sower. The seed took root, but trouble and persecution choked it out.
I was still a firm believer; it was just that I was totally bankrupt in the spiritual disciplines of prayer, Bible reading, and witness. I came face to face with this problem at the end of my sophomore year.
I’ve always had a high need to exert influence. I decided I wanted to be president of the Michigan Christian Fellowship. I noticed that the two previous head officers had attended an InterVarsity camp in the summer, so I decided that I’d go to the Campus-in-the-Woods, a remote camp on an island a few hours north of Toronto. The camp schedule called for a forty-five-minute quiet time every morning before breakfast. I thought I’d go nuts.
I’m an activist. Given my spiritual state, there were a number of things I’d rather have done than sit on a rock and pray: swim around the island, play volleyball, repair the door on our cabin, read a novel, write my girlfriend, talk with people, canoe—almost anything was preferable to silent meditation. But I was out of luck. There was a strong pietistic emphasis the whole month. The main speaker stressed that God was more interested in who we are than in what we do. While everyone else nodded solemnly, my every nerve fiber shouted, “No!”
It soon became obvious that I wasn’t playing the game. The camp director took me aside and made the following offer: “Em, I notice that you aren’t taking advantage of our scheduled quiet time. I’ll make a deal with you. You want to speak when we go off the island to conduct church services in Bracebridge. If you’ll settle down each morning like everyone else, I’ll let you give the children’s sermon next week and the sermon the following Sunday.”
I was hooked. I wanted to speak in those services so badly I could taste it. I dutifully climbed up on a rock and read Scripture for a half-hour. I then shut my eyes to pray for the final fifteen minutes. Once or twice I’d hear the director tiptoe past.
Surprisingly, it turned out not to be an empty Pharisaical practice. Despite my poor initial attitude, what I read was helpful. I began to study the life of Christ. I was intrigued by his encounters with people, his teachings, his miracles. My prayers became more balanced. Besides a lot of requests, I began to praise God for who he was and to confess to him who I was. So all in all, it worked. The director had what he wanted, and I complied with his desire that I not disrupt others during the quiet time and that I engage in prayer and Bible study. And I had what I wanted—I spoke in the church services.
What I’ve described is a pure case of compliance. In order to make it work, the leader has to have control over something the group member wants. It can be a teacher with grades to give, an employer with money, or a pastor with the promise of a church office. The desired reward is conditional on proper performance. It’s really a “you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours” proposition.
Many of us are uncomfortable with this type of behavior exchange. We see this as nothing less than an overt bribe. But let’s be honest about it. What really sticks in our craw is the blatant nature of the transaction. We wouldn’t be so bothered if it were done in a more subtle manner.
Each term I ask students in my persuasion course to enlist a new donor to give a pint of blood. Ideally, a person could be recruited by an altruistic appeal: “Think of the life that might be saved by your contribution.” As a practical matter, most students resort to compliance. All sorts of incentives are offered: chocolate chip cookies are high on the list, although back rubs, typing services, and cash are not unknown. I once overheard the conclusion of a successful transaction: “So it’s agreed,” a girl in my class said to a guy. “You give a pint of blood this afternoon, and I’ll go out with you tonight.” It’s the blatant nature of the agreement that makes us squirm.
Personally, I don’t have any trouble with compliance as a persuasive technique as long as the behaviors are ethical, both parties openly agree, and there’s a parity of power between them. The last condition does not always hold. As leaders, we often operate from a position of privilege. Any time we make an offer that can’t be refused, we’ve violated a person’s freedom of choice. But barring this abuse, compliance seems ethically neutral.
There are problems with compliance, however, which trouble me. The first is that it may touch the body but not the soul. There were a number of days when I just pretended to read the Word. Once I even put my Bible cover around a paperback novel. I gave outward compliance to the director’s will, but there was no inward conviction that this was really the way to go. Early missionaries to Asia found this compliance with the phenomenon of “rice Christians.”
Surveillance is another problem. Persuasion lasts only as long as the guy with the goodies is monitoring our performance. “I have to watch him like a hawk” is the lament of many supervisors who operate by compliance.
I have a final hang-up with using compliance as a habitual style of influence: it can turn us into hypocrites. There’s a place for merit badges, brownie points, and cash bonuses; but self-fulfilling prophecy holds sway. If you’re convinced I’ll only be moved by continually dangling baubles in front of my face, I’ll be glad to oblige. I’ll toss intrinsic motivation out the window. For the long haul, there has to be a better way. What we need is a way to have influence that will last—even after we’re long gone. We want internal commitment that’s not dependent on external props. There is such an animal, and it’s called internalization.
Internalization
There’s a twenty-year gap between my college experience with InterVarsity and the time when it would significantly touch my life again. In many ways I was the same person: an activist who continued to find it easier to talk to someone about Jesus than to get down on my knees and pray to him. There were some significant differences, however. I no longer wanted to get to the top of the organizational mountain just because it was there. People had become more important than programs or power. Close friendships had first call on my time.
I also had what I considered a second conversion experience, a new insight into the kingdom of God. I became convinced that our Lord had a special identification with the poor, the hungry, the oppressed, the hurting. It was this conviction that led me to attend Washington ’80, an Urbana-type convention sponsored by InterVarsity. Instead of dealing with worldwide evangelism, the conference focused on the concerns of the city.
I came to Washington ’80 with my own agenda. I knew God wanted me to get involved with the plight of the poor, but I was struggling to figure out how to serve without falling into the trap of paternalism. I had an even greater need. I was pretty well strung out in terms of energy. The demands of teaching, family life, friendships, writing, competitive sports, church responsibilities, and speaking had brought me to the point of emotional burnout. I wanted some relief. It was with these needs very much up-front in my life that I was influenced by Bill Leslie, pastor of LaSalle Street Church in Chicago. It’s a church whose programs include evangelism, discipling, tutoring, an emergency food pantry, care for the shut-in elderly, job training and search, legal aid services, and aid for unwed mothers. All of these services are offered not only in the name of Jesus Christ, but in a spirit of love that has brought many to the Savior. This is why InterVarsity brought Bill to Washington to lead a seminar.
I sat in on Bill’s session; it was good. Afterward I sought Bill out and said I’d like to get together and talk. We met twice within the next day and a half. The last morning, we had breakfast together. We sat at the table so long after eating that the waitress offered us a luncheon menu. Most of the time I talked and Bill listened.
I shared the changes that God had begun to work in me. Although I started with an account of my journey toward helping the poor and hurting, Bill’s sensitive ear soon picked up the fact that I was hurting too. The continual hectic pace of life I had adopted was beginning to take its toll. Our second time together, Bill shared his own tendency to overschedule, overextend, and to be overwhelmed by the pressures on him. He suggested that the only way he could survive was through some periodic times of concentrated prayer and meditation. He stressed also that social action unaccompanied by an inner worship would quickly degenerate to an empty do-goodism. Times of contemplation were necessary as a wellspring of power.
I was impressed. But I figured this was a special gift he had. Different strokes for different folks, you know, and that was one ability that was far from me. We agreed we had the start of what could be a budding friendship, and vowed to get together along with our wives when we returned to Chicago.
The exhausting work pattern didn’t let up. If anything, I was dashing from one thing to another more than ever. It was a month before the Leslies and the Griffins could mesh their schedules. During that time I thought a lot about what Bill had said. I picked up a book on the spiritual disciplines of prayer, meditation, and fasting. I was intrigued by the spiritual depths promised to the believer who pursued these means of grace. I was ready to give it a try.
When we finally met together as couples, I pumped Bill for advice on the specific route to go. He recommended blocking out a day or so for a personal retreat. While it would be possible to do this on my own, perhaps I’d find it helpful to have some direction. I agreed, not knowing exactly where he was going. Then he laid out a specific proposal.
He knew of a conference center where you could stay for various lengths of time. In fact, it was less than ten miles from my home. I could make a thirty-six-hour silent retreat without the interruptions of phones, upcoming appointments, or classroom responsibilities. He suggested the name of a person there whose vocation was spiritual direction. Bill didn’t push it; he just gave me the center’s phone number and suggested I consider the possibility. So that’s what I did, and ended up taking his advice—length of time, place, spiritual director, and all.
It turned out to be a turning point in my prayer life. For the first time, I was able to meditate on a verse of Scripture and listen for that still, small voice of God. Instead of flooding heaven with a bunch of junk mail, I learned to concentrate on a single attribute of God and to taste that for a long period of time. I came away edified and refreshed. I will do it again without Bill’s urging. More important, I’ve incorporated some of the meditation techniques into my daily quiet time. That’s internalization.
The first thing to notice about the process is that it’s made me a true believer. This is different from compliance, in which internal conviction doesn’t match outward behavior. Or from identification, in which the belief is more in the person than the idea. Nor is continued belief or action dependent on Bill Leslie hovering over my shoulder to check up on me. Obviously, this is the kind of influence a leader would like to have.
In the pecking order of persuasion, compliance is at the bottom. It borders on the raw use of power and takes continual use of resources and energy to maintain. Identification is a good step up, but is dependent on the desire for a relationship. Internalization is the home run of influence. It’s the ultimate aim of a sensitive Christian leader. The person really believes.
How does it work? In the first place, it takes a credible leader. He has to have some recognizable expertise so his words will have the ring of truth. That was Bill. He’d won my respect by the quality of his deeds. His actions spoke louder than words.
The next requirement is that the person being changed has to have some specific needs or desires that are up-front in his life. In my case, I desperately wanted to be effective over the long haul in serving the poor. Equally important, I wanted to get off my high-speed treadmill. Bill’s suggestion tapped into these felt needs. It wasn’t just a happy coincidence. By being a good listener, he was able to spot these desires. He then tied his advice into my overriding values. Even though his solution was outside my previous experience, I was hooked.
Unless you see yourself as a mere coordinator, at least part of your job as a leader involves persuasion.
You have to select a strategy of influence. It is necessary for you to put yourself into the shoes of the persons you’re trying to move. From their perspective, compliance doesn’t look too great. Sure, they get something they want, but their actions are in no way linked to their conviction. They could easily turn bitter or cynical when they see themselves going through motions they don’t believe in. It’s not wrong per se to try to induce compliance. It may be the only option open to the leader who hasn’t had the opportunity to develop a friendship with the group. But it would be wrong to stay there. Part of loving people is appealing to the highest, most noble thing that turns them on.
Can action taken through compliance turn into identification or internalization? Sure. This happened to me when I took a seminar in “Integration of Faith and Learning” at my college. The school decreed that it was a necessary part of getting tenure. So there I was—sheer compliance.
The leader of the seminar was an exciting scholar. I was attracted by his quest for learning, his encyclopedic knowledge, his ability to ask a penetrating question. I wanted to please him, to look good in his eyes. Compliance gave way to identification.
My topic was ethics of communication. As I got into the subject matter, I forged an ethical position that for me had the ring of truth. I felt a growing urge to translate this ivory-tower theory into a moral stance that would grab the man on the street. It became an obsession. The last two weeks of the seminar, I’d sit down to eat with a book in my lap. I’d wake up in the morning having dreamed about the stuff. Identification with the instructor was no longer the issue. I wanted to do it because I thought it was worth doing.
The conversion of my motivation to a higher plane happened because I had some freedom within the requirements of the seminar. Suppose the leader had put together a lockstep assignment that left no room for deviation. I would have done what was demanded in order to get tenure—but moaned and groaned every step of the way. I think my work would have been rather slipshod. But he gave me some room, and it made all the difference.
It doesn’t take a son of a son of a prophet to conclude that effective ethical influence is best served by giving the group plenty of space. Freedom of choice—that’s what Bill Leslie really gave me. It led to the most lasting results. It’s okay to try to persuade. But never short-circuit the other’s freedom to respond. Responsible means able-to-respond.
Too bad Angela Thompson didn’t realize that when she stepped off the train.
Copyright © 1996 by Christianity Today/Leadership
