A Difference of Opinion
— Reassessing COVID-19 disagreements through the lens of theories of decision-making
“the only sin which we never forgive in each other is difference of opinion.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson
Comedian George Carlin said, “Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac?” We’re pretty quick to judge people who make different decisions than we do about how fast or slow to drive down the freeway. From the eminence of the driver’s seat, we appoint ourselves the ultimate arbiters of the “right” way to drive. It turns out there’s a pretty small window of acceptable behavior, and those we deem overly cautious are just as susceptible to our criticism as those we label reckless.
Of course, people make different decisions not only about driving, but about every aspect of their lives, including how to respond to the threat of COVID-19. Since the pandemic began, friends, colleagues, family members, and neighbors have been making a whole host of different decisions than their fellow friends, colleagues, family members, and neighbors. Struggling to make sense of these differences, we automatically sort each other into categories. In a compelling 2011 TED Talk, journalist Kathryn Schulz argues that we explain those who disagree with us in three ways: we figure they must be ignorant, they must be idiots, or they must be evil. With such inhospitable categories as these, it’s no wonder we end up treating each other so terribly. But what’s the alternative?
One insight that’s been helpful for me is that we’re not just making different decisions; we’re making decisions differently. In Originals, organizational psychologist Adam Grant explains, “According to eminent Stanford professor James March, when many of us make decisions, we follow a logic of consequence: Which course of action will produce the best result? [… But some people use] a logic of appropriateness: What does a person like me do in a situation like this?” Applying these models of decision-making has helped me rethink some of the ways I’ve judged people these last few years.
Maybe my colleague who decided to cut in line and get vaccinated before he was eligible wasn’t being evil; maybe he was using the logic of consequence, determining the best course of action based on a cost-benefit analysis. Maybe my friend who decided to continue wearing a cloth mask despite the high-quality evidence of its ineffectiveness wasn’t being an idiot; maybe she was using the logic of appropriateness, “following internalized prescriptions of what is socially defined as normal, true, right, or good.”
Theories like the logic of consequence and the logic of appropriateness can help improve our appreciation for the complexity of human decision-making. They can help us pause in our rush to make moral judgments and instead find some common ground in our shared humanity. We’ve all made decisions based on the logic of consequence, and we’ve all made other decisions based on the logic of appropriateness. Given these commonalities, I hope that somehow we can learn to forgive each other for our differences of opinion.