Thoughts on the Epistemology of Disagreement

J. Neil Daniels

When it comes to theology, disagreement isn’t just a nuisance, it’s practically unavoidable. Even within a single denomination, you’ll find sharp divergences over what counts as orthodox, what Scripture truly teaches, and how tradition ought to weigh against personal interpretation. But here’s the tricky part: some disagreements aren’t trivial squabbles; they come from people who really know their stuff, people you might even call your epistemic peers. That matters, because when someone equally equipped challenges your view, it forces you to ask, almost against your natural inclination, “Do I actually know what I think I know?”

Encountering a peer’s disagreement in theology is like looking at your reflection in a slightly warped mirror. You see yourself, but a bit askew. Some scholars call this “higher-order evidence”—the notion that the disagreement itself is evidence about your own epistemic reliability. Imagine you’ve spent months studying the Pauline epistles, and a fellow student of equal intellect lays out a completely different reading of justification by faith. It stings at first, but it also prompts a pause. Should you lower your confidence a notch or two? Or is your conviction sturdy enough to hold fast?

There are broadly two ways to respond. One is conciliatory: you lean into the discomfort, re-examine the texts, maybe even revise your stance slightly. It doesn’t mean surrendering your belief entirely—just a nudge toward humility. The other path is steadfast: you trust your own reasoning and evidence, keeping your original position while still listening with respect. Steadfastness isn’t stubbornness if it’s informed; it’s a careful judgment that, yes, you can weigh the peer’s arguments without automatically bowing to them. Theology, unlike a math problem, often allows both paths, depending on how much confidence your reasoning actually deserves.

Persistent disagreements add another layer. Sometimes, no amount of discussion settles the matter. Different hermeneutical lenses, cultural influences, or even temperaments can make a perfect consensus impossible. In these cases, acknowledging the limits of your knowledge can be surprisingly freeing. You can hold your convictions firmly yet graciously, leaving space for others to think differently. It’s a kind of epistemic charity, a recognition that truth-seeking is often a messy, communal endeavor, and not a clean line drawn in the sand.

At the end of the day, the epistemology of disagreement in theology is a reminder that belief isn’t just about raw certainty. It’s about engagement, about paying attention to who disagrees, why they might be right, and how that affects your own thinking. It’s about the patience to wrestle with Scripture and the humility to accept that your first take might not be flawless. And yes, sometimes you’ll hold your ground stubbornly, and sometimes you’ll bend a little. Either way, the exercise sharpens both your mind and your character, which, if nothing else, makes the whole spiritual journey a little richer and, just maybe, a touch more honest.