Tag Archives: Braver Angels

Interpretive Charity and Heated Debate

I wanted to add to the discussion my co-bloggers have started on discourse norms.

Consider the following sample dialogues

1)
A: “I think stricter gun regulations would fail to prevent either determined criminals or the seriously deranged from committing the sorts of horrible crimes that make people want those stricter laws, but they would violate the rights of law-abiding gun owners and possibly make them less safe.”

B: “I think you’re mistaken about that.  Just as criminal background checks make good sense, so would some sort of red-flag or mental health history screening.  Indeed, since we already use criminal background checks, we could easily combine the two, plus it would help if there weren’t easy ways to circumvent the background checks.”

2)
A: “ I think stricter gun regulations would fail to prevent either determined criminals or the seriously deranged from committing the sorts of horrible crimes that make people want those stricter laws, but they would violate the rights of law-abiding gun owners and possibly make them less safe.”

B*: “That’s outrageous.  You think guns are more important than kids’ lives?”

3)
A: “I think there’s no plausible rationale for tighter abortion restrictions.  Claiming that life begins at conception is a religious doctrine, so using it as the basis for law would violate church-state separation.  In many religions, personhood isn’t thought to obtain until at least the 2nd trimester.   In any case, there are all sorts of reasons a woman might seek to terminate a pregnancy, medical ones most obviously, but also psychological reasons, and I think the best public policy would be to leave it up to her.”

B: “I disagree.  I am not depending on any particular religious doctrine when I claim that human life begins at conception. It’s a developmental spectrum, there are no sharp dividing lines, so if we don’t respect the new life that the pregnancy represents as early as possible, it’s a slippery slope.  As to the reasons why women might want to terminate, sure, if there’s a legitimate medical rationale that the mother’s life is in jeopardy, I can see that, but I think a lot of what you’re calling psychological reasons could be addressed through counseling, spiritual or secular.”

4)
A: “I think there’s no plausible rationale for tighter abortion restrictions.  Claiming that life begins at conception is a religious doctrine, so using it as the basis for law would violate church-state separation.  In many religions, personhood isn’t thought to obtain until at least the 2nd trimester.   In any case, there are all sorts of reasons a woman might seek to terminate a pregnancy, medical ones most obviously, but also psychological reasons, and I think the best public policy would be to leave it up to her.”

B*: “That’s outrageous. You think it’s ok to murder babies to preserve some illusion of women’s autonomy?”

————————

You may have noticed that dialogues (1) and (3) read very differently than (2) and (4).   That’s because in (1) and (3), the B character is responding to the A character’s arguments with different arguments.   In (2) and (4), the B* character does not actually engage with A’s arguments at all, but goes right for “baby-killer.”   Regardless of your view on either abortion or gun control, you should be able to see that in (2) and (4), B* is not arguing in a rational way, whereas B is arguing rationally in (1) and (3).   Does A actually hold the position that B* alleges?  Almost certainly not.  This is commonly known as the “straw man” fallacy; in this case augmented by an emotional appeal.  We know this because in the other pair of dialogues, B is offering actual counter-arguments. 

Why does this matter?   Because when people argue about these things, they have two sorts of objectives.  One is changing the mind of the other person, or perhaps onlookers.  The other is changing public policy.   But neither of these goals will be served with arguments that do not engage their opponents.  It’s totally implausible that A will respond to B* with “oh goodness, I didn’t realize I was advocating baby-killing, I hereby change my position.”  What happens instead is the discussion goes nowhere.

Sometimes we just get angry at people who disagree with us, and we are bewildered that others don’t see things our way.  But we should resist the temptation to straw-man.  If you don’t have the emotional bandwidth to argue with people, you’re certainly not required to do so.  But if you do think it’s worth arguing about, then your objectives will be better served with interpretive charity.  What actually is the other person’s position, and why?  Why do they think your position is wrong?  Is there something that might be common ground?  Are you talking past each other?  Are you sure that your position is informed by facts and logic?  Do you have any talking points that might be misinformed?

Sometimes we never resolve disagreements on highly controversial issues.  But if you hope to get anywhere, there’s a right way and a wrong way to do it.

Why ‘ProSocial Libertarians’?

I am wary of isms and labels. They are used too often by too many as excuses to stop thinking. Worse, no doubt aware of the human tendency to avoid ideas that challenge our preconceptions, unscrupulous advocates on all sides use labels such as ‘socialism’ or ‘far right’ to pillory views with which they disagree, in effect saying ‘These ideas are beyond the pale. You can ignore them.’ This, in turn, further discourages people from venturing outside the safety of their thought bubbles and trying to understand why others might hold different views. 

Although I am quite sensitive to this thought-stultifying use of labels — having taught critical thinking for years — I am sure I am not the only person for whom effectively labeling something as beyond the pale piques one’s curiosity instead of squelching it. (This, by the way, is the main reason — along with my name — that I first read Ayn Rand.) So, fortunately, there are also people who want to be challenged and seek out ideas that put their preconceptions under strain. If you fall into this group, you should enjoy this blog.

Despite the risks that labels bring, we cannot manage without them. To minimize the risks, we should acknowledge that labels are only a starting point for discussion and that the meaning of any politically interesting terms will need to be clarified on an ongoing basis. 

In light of all this, if I had to choose a label that best captures my political orientation, that label would be ‘libertarian’. I found it dismaying, then, during the COVID-19 pandemic, to see the term ‘libertarian’ — as well as related terms like ‘freedom’ — arrogated by a rogue’s gallery of activists and politicians who have been called — with some justification —antisocial. 

What was dismaying was that these so-called ‘libertarians’ were acting out an old, muddleheaded conception of libertarianism that many people could (wrongly) take as reason to dismiss libertarian ideas as unworthy of serious consideration. For, according to this old, muddleheaded conception, libertarians just _are_ antisocial. Like Randy Weaver, libertarians on this conception want nothing more than to be left alone and they will happily head to the woods with their guns and family to achieve this end. Properly understood, however, libertarians need not be Randy Weavers. Or, at least, so I believe. (Please note: In no way do I intend for my use of Randy Weaver as an example of an antisocial libertarian to diminish the tragedy and injustice that befell him and his family at the hands of the United States government.)

Given what the honest use of labels requires, I want to be as clear as I can about what I mean by ‘libertarian’ and why being a libertarian involves being prosocial, not antisocial. But there is no such thing as a conceptual dictator, so any work towards understanding libertarianism will, of necessity, be a joint enterprise. Hence, the idea of this blog: a civil forum for exploring what it means to be a libertarian and the ways being a libertarian involves being prosocial. Hence also, our name: ProSocial Libertarians.

Discourse and Attendance in College Classes

Many of my posts on RCL have been about discourse. None has been directly about discourse in classrooms, but I do try to make my classes sites of civil discourse. This is both because student dialogue is what makes the classroom fun and exciting for me and because I believe it is an essential part of college. (See this.). The discourse that occurs in classrooms and elsewhere on college campuses is an invaluable part of the college experience.

As I’ve discussed previously, I think there are 2 basic reasons to engage in discourse: to maintain or nourish a relationship or to convey information. (See here.) In college classrooms, I will simply assume, the latter reason is paramount. That is also hugely important elsewhere on college campuses—students learn a lot from each other—but the first reason is also hugely important as students make connections with others, some of whom will be life long friends and some of whom will be business associates.

This post is primarily about classrooms, so it’s the conveying of information that is relevant here. In particular, its what is relevant when asking whether attendance should be required in college classes. My own view about this has changed over the years. In the past, I’ve marked people down for poor attendance or multiple tardies or made class participation—for which attendance is a necessary prerequisite—a separate and substantial part of students’ grades. At a certain point, though, colleagues convinced me that making participation a part of a student’s grade was unfair to those students who have significant psychological issues with speaking in class. At first, I responded to that by allowing the “participation” to be outside of class—either in office visits or email. Eventually, I dropped it as a requirement and instead made it only a way to improve one’s grade. I’ve never stopped believing, though, in the importance of attending and participating in class.

Over the years, I’ve had students approach me about taking a class without attending. Some had very good reason they could not attend courses during the day when the course was offered—needing to work full time to support their family, for example. My standard reply was always something like “no, attendance is required” or “you can’t pass this class without attending, so no.” More recently, I have been questioning the wisdom of that. The issue has to involve consideration of the sort of information that is conveyed in classes.

As a philosopher, I am not at all concerned that students learn biographical facts about philosophers and only somewhat concerned that students learn even basic facts about different theories. My main concern is in getting students to see how to do philosophy. What that means is that I want students to learn how to think clearly, check assumptions, make valid inferences, and engage in both verbal and written discourse about arguments and their premises, inferential moves, and conclusions. I want to convey to them how to do this well.

Given what I want the students to get out of my classes, my question becomes “is attendance necessary for students to think clearly, check assumptions, make valid inferences, and engage in both verbal and written discourse about arguments and their premises, inferential moves, and conclusions?” Another way to ask the question is to ask: “do individual learners need professors to learn how to do those things?” I think most do.

Classically, education has three stages: grammar, logic, rhetoric. I prefer to think of these in terms of mimesis, analysis, synthesis. The idea is that young children must memorize information, imitating language and such, and until they have some minimum amount of knowledge, they can’t be expected to do anything else. Once they have that, though, they can move on to the second stage wherein they can use logic to analyze things, figuring out what goes where and why. They can even question—analyze—the bits of information they previously learned. Only with mastery of analysis can they move on to the third stage wherein they can make something new, synthesizing something from the parts of what they have analyzed.

Teachers are clearly needed for mimesis—someone has to provide the student what it is that should be learned (memorized, imitated). Perhaps teachers are also needed for the beginnings of the second stage, pointing students in the right direction as they begin to do logical analysis. One needs to understand basic rules of deductive logic to do analysis well and I suspect most of us need someone to teach us that. But does everyone? Frankly, I doubt it though I suppose how much teachers are needed here will depend on how much of logic is innate to our reasoning abilities. It seems even less likely that teachers are necessary for the third stage, though clearly someone to give us direction can be useful and I think it likely that most of us learn best in dialogue with others. If that is right, attendance in class would clearly be useful. So perhaps that is the answer to my question: most people need direction, they can only get that in class, so attendance should be required.

What, though, if some want to learn without professors? Some certainly can do so. Whether they should be allowed to do so when in college is another question. After all, if they are able to do so, why should they enroll in college at all? If they do enroll, the college can simply say “you are enrolling here and that means accepting that we know best how you will learn (or at least recognizing that we get to decide), and we deem it necessary for you to attend courses.”

Some will no doubt think that the sort of view just attributed to a college is overly paternalistic. On the other hand, some people will be unfortunately wrong when they think they can teach themselves collegiate level material. Some people, after all, read great books and completely misunderstand them. I have met people who thought themselves erudite for reading Hegel, Nietzsche, Marx and others, but whose comprehension of those authors was abysmal. Such people would be well served by a policy requiring course attendance. Without it, they would lack comprehension and thus do poorly on any assessments.

Still, presumably some can read those materials and do well. (In other systems, after all, attending classes is—was?—not expected; one studies a set of materials and then is examined.) Others might not do well, but do well enough for their purposes. They may, that is, only want some knowledge (or some level of skill)—happy to have read the texts even if their comprehension is limited—and be happy to get a C or C- in a course. They may have reason to want a college degree independent of learning well. (In our society, after all, many seem only to go to college to get a degree to signal to employers that they are worth hiring. It’s hard to blame them for this given how our society works.)

So a student may have good reason to enroll in a college, register for a course, and not attend. But what should we think about this and what should professors do? Some professors, of course, may be annoyed or insulted if students are apparently unconcerned to attend regularly or show up on time. I was in the past, but no longer am. I still, though, have a hard time tolerating feigned surprise at grades from students who obviously did not prioritize the class. I would prefer a student who says “its not worth my coming to class; I’ll just try to pass without doing so” to one who lies about how hard they are trying to do the work. Frankly, I am coming to think that if they pass, the former simply deserve congratulations. (If they don’t pass, they can’t expect me to be upset. I can root for their passing, without being surprised if they don’t.) But, honestly, I’d be hugely surprised if they did at all well without attending. That is the main concern—the best pedagogy.

Why would I be surprised if a non-attending student passed? Frankly, I think that the vast majority of people learn better in a class with a professor than they can without. If nothing else, in philosophy and other humanities classes, they learn something very important—how to engage in good civil, honest, and productive discourse. That does affect how they perform on exams and papers. What I expect in all of the writing my students do—whether on a short essay exam, longer essay exams, or papers—is well-written and well thought out, honest and civil responses to whatever prompt is provided. I want them to do philosophy after all, not sophistry or fluff. Attending class means being in an environment designed to help them learn. If they participate as I hope they do, they can also help improve that environment. That makes for better outcomes for all in the class. Even if they don’t participate—and, again, I realize doing so is honestly hard for some students—they are likely to do better simply because they hear the sort of discourse I seek to promote. If they hear others practicing good discourse, they are likely to pick up on what it is. Attendance helps.

The whole point of classes is that for most students, they promote learning—for those attending. Why, then, would someone want to register for a class if they don’t plan to attend? One answer is that the current system mainly doesn’t allow them to get the credentials of college without doing so. Mainly. We do have fully asynchronous online classes for which one does the work on one’s own time so long as one completes it by the required deadlines, including finishing it all by the end of a semester. (But why insist on a time limit?)

While we don’t have a system conducive to students not registering for classes and yet getting credentialed, that isn’t reason to require attendance in the classes we offer. Perhaps we ought to make it possible for students to take a syllabus, learn the material on their own, and sit for an exam when they feel themselves ready, without imposing a schedule on them. If they pass, great. If not, perhaps they try actually taking the class (i.e., including attending). That may be what we should do. Until then, some of us will require attendance and some will not.

Open for comments and discussion. What do others think?

The World is Not a Therapy Session

Braver Angels does fantastic work helping people improve conversations with those they have significant and stress-inducing disagreements with so that they can gain greater mutual understanding of each other, thereby reducing polarization. It seems to work. As I noted earlier, though, the desire to maintain or improve one’s relationships with others is only one of the two main reasons we engage in discourse. The other is to exchange information, both “teaching” and “learning.” As I noted in that previous post, I worry about the “truth deficit” likely to emerge if we stress mutual understanding (of each other rather than of each other’s views). Here, I’ll discuss this a bit further.

What is encouraged in Braver Angels’ workshops is active listening, where one attends to what the other says, providing non-verbal clues of interest, along with reflecting back to the other what they said. In a therapeutic setting, reflecting back to another what they said can be incredibly useful. “People like having their thoughts and feelings reflected back to them” (Tania Israel, page 51) and so increases their comfort level when in therapy, thereby allowing them to open up. For therapeutic purposes, it seems really quite useful. Nonetheless, I have long been uncomfortable with it in other settings.

I had a date once with a woman who, throughout dinner, reflected back to me what I had said. It so threw me off that I didn’t really know what to make of it. I don’t recall how long it took for me to realize that she might have resorted to the tactic because she found what I was saying antithetical to her own views (I don’t recall what we were discussing). I’ll never know for sure as I found it so distasteful that I never saw her again. If the same thing would’ve happened today, I’d probably ask why she was doing it, but I suspect there are others who would do as I did and walk away. (I don’t deny, of course, that others appreciate it.)

Again, the technique has value—there is good evidence that it helps people feel comfortable which can be useful both in developing relationships and in therapy situations (see Israel footnotes 5 and 6 on page 74). Importantly, though, the world is not a therapy session and sometimes what matters is exchanging information, not (or not merely) developing a relationship. Put another way, while it’s true that we sometimes want to develop a relationship and learn about the person, other times we want to figure out the truth about a topic and are less willing to except the truth deficit. If we are trying to persuade someone to change their views about abortion, capitalism, gun control, immigration, schools, welfare rights, or any number of other contentious topics, we might want to know more about our interlocutor, but we also just want to persuade—or be persuaded. (Part of why we want to know who they are is to determine how we might persuade them!)

To be clear, when we are engaging in a serious discussion with someone about an issue we disagree about, we should be open to the possibility that the view we start the conversation with is mistaken and that we can thus learn from our interlocutor. Of course, when we start, we will believe we are right and hope to teach (persuade) the other, but we have to know we can be wrong. We should also be open to the possibility that neither of us is right and there is some third position (perhaps somewhere between our view and theirs, perhaps not) that is better still. What is important in these cases, though, is figuring out the truth about the issue (or getting closer to it). We shouldn’t give that up lightly.

Getting to the truth may, in some instances, be aided by reflecting to each other what we’ve said. Obviously, if we do not understand what our interlocutor has said we should ask them to explain. Sometimes we simply need some clarification. We need to know, after all, that we are actually talking about the same thing and we need to understand where our views overlap and where they do not. Sometimes, also, we might ask someone to repeat what they say in different words to make sure we understand; we might also do it for them (common in teaching). But if reflecting back to each other is used for other reasons (making the other feel comfortable, for example), I wonder how far it goes. It seems to me that we need to challenge each other. Sometimes, we may even need to be abrasive—or to have others be abrasive toward us. This can help us improve our own views. (For more on that see Emily Chamlee-Wright’s article on the topic here, as well as my response. See also Hrishikesh Joshi’s Why Its OK to Speak Your Mind.)

In short, it seems to me that in normal discourse with someone with whom we disagree, we ought to be at least as concerned with determining the best view as we are with making each other comfortable. Making each other comfortable is important, but perhaps primarily as a precursor to honest conversation. If I say, for example, that “I believe we should have completely open economic borders, perhaps just keeping out known criminals” and you reply “let me be sure I understand; you think we should not stop anyone from coming into the country (perhaps unless they are criminals in their own country) even if it means they take our jobs, push for an end to Judeo-Christianity, and bring in drugs,” I am likely to skip over the first part—which strikes me as unnecessary and vaguely insulting—and move on to the latter claims, which I think are all mistakes. I might think “OK, so they wanted to be clear” or “OK, they wanted time to gather their thoughts,” but if it becomes a regular part of the conversation, I am less likely to continue engaging (and, frankly, less likely to trust the other). I may even wonder why why people approach all of life as if it’s a therapy session.

Two Reasons for Conversation. When stop?

There are two basic reasons for conversation.

First, we converse to convey information, either providing others (what we take to be) true claims or being provided such claims by them. We do this in schools, of course, but also in our daily lives. We ask, for example, about the weather so that we know if we need to dress warmly, for rain, etc. We ask about meetings others attend, for a different example, to learn if we missed something important. We ask about our loved one’s day, for a final example, because we are interested in their lives.

But we also converse—here’s the second reason—to develop or maintain relationships. We comfort our spouse who is upset about a bad day by listening and perhaps suggesting reasons to believe things will get better. This is in addition to genuinely wanting to know about what went wrong (the first reason), but may be the primary reason we speak in the situation. In some cases, it may even be the only reason. Perhaps one is unsure and unconcerned if one’s spouse is giving an accurate portrayal of what happened, but wants to maintain, develop, and deepen, the spousal relationship. Differently, you don’t speak with your four year old child you just saw fall off a bike because you need any information; you simply talk to them to sooth and thereby help the child and also help deepen the parental relationship.

The two reasons for conversation often overlap; we often have both reasons for having a discussion. But not always. If one goes to couples counseling, one learns to speak in “I statements” to indicate, for example, how one feels when the other leaves the dishes out, rather than using “You statements” which, apparently, are necessarily (perceived as?) judgmental (“you always leave the dishes out!”) and cause the other to dig into the fight more—even if they are also true.

Braver Angels is a great organization. Its premise is essentially that we can teach people to speak with one another about politics or anything else without digging in and weakening the relationship, just as marriage counselors do with couples. And just as with couples, we might even strengthen the relationships. Having participated in Braver Angels workshops, I believe this is all true. I’ve witnessed it and it works.

But as the economist Glenn Loury suggested to John Woods of Braver Angels, sometimes it seems the project is misguided: we know the truth, the others’ views are misguided and we should just shut them down. With Richard Freen, we might think “enough is enough;” ridiculous views should simply be met with ridicule and, if that doesn’t encourage those with such views to reconsider them, they should be condemned.

Speaking as someone who wants to encourage more speech, I admit to being torn. My worry comes from the difference between the two reasons for conversation: if one is engaged in conversation with another only to maintain or improve the relationship, one is engaging in a relationship with a significant limit—call it a “truth deficit.” For that part of the relationship, one is giving up on the sharing of truth. One is “agreeing to disagree” and not improve anyone’s (one’s own or the other’s) understanding about the topic of disagreement. It’s true that both parties are likely to gain greater understanding of each other and may find some common ground in shared beliefs they take as even more important than what they disagree about, but about the substantive issue in question, the truth deficit will remain—as the discourse participants agree not to dig in to their positions, they also stop digging into the issue to figure out anything more, as if unconcerned with truth in that regard.

In many cases, this resting easy without uncovering the truth—accepting the truth deficit there—is unproblematic. If one’s spouse had a bad day, one does not need to know if the spouse misinterpreted any events. Presumably, the two share enough true beliefs, that this one is insignificant. Not something to be concerned about. But is the truth deficit present when someone responds to the conspiracy theorist Trumpian by saying “I understand that you doubt the legitimacy of the election; I don’t share that doubt, but we don’t have to agree about it to get along” insignificant? Is the truth deficit present when someone responds to a flat-earther by saying “I get that you believe the earth is flat rather than spherical; I think you are mistaken, but we don’t have to agree about it to get along” insignificant? (How about similar responses to those that want mandatory equal incomes for all? Or those that think that individuals just are whatever they think they are (“identify as”)?) Are those gulfs large enough that one says “there is simply no point in maintaining this relationship?” If they are, does America have such a gulf (or gulfs)? If it does, what should we do?

As much of what I am interested in these days has to do with reducing those gulfs and the truth deficits they create, I am happy to take comments about this one. Suggestions about how to get past the gulfs without creating truth deficits especially welcome.

Preferring Purple: Rules for Honest Conversation

My home state, Georgia, has now certified that its Electoral College Votes will go for Biden (as have other states that were in play). Even before the steps for certification were complete, many on the left were thrilled to proclaim that Georgia has turned blue. I think this wishful thinking on their part (and fearful thinking for those on the right). After all, both of our seats in the US Senate are still up in the air. More importantly, this sort of thinking—that the state is blue or red—perpetuates an us-them mentality that, I suggest, is the underlying problem throughout the U.S. right now. (“The state is Blue! I finally can call it Home!” Or “Oh crap! The state is Blue? Carpetbaggers!”) I prefer to say GA is purple. It’s not, of course, a consistent purple throughout the state (far from it). This does not strike me as a bad thing—different people have different views and are somewhat geographically divided. I’m fine with that—It’s hardly surprising and it makes the world interesting. The U.S. is purple in the same way. If we start thinking in those terms, we might get past some of the hostility we see now and see a more consistent purple throughout. Those who have read my previous posts on RCL will not be surprised to hear that I think the way we do that is by improving the way we talk with each other. To that end, here is my working list of rules for honest conversation. (These were started by looking at Braver Angels’ “Ten Principles for Productive Political Disagreement.”)

  1. Speak! Don’t be afraid to ask honest questions. Realize you can only learn from others—and they can only learn from you—if you engage with them.
  2. The Golden Rule. Be respectful and kind, just as you want others to be to you. This means really listening, not just using the time your interlocutor is talking to plan your next statement. What you say should genuinely respond to them. Otherwise you’re having competing monologues, not dialogue.
  3. Admit conflict. And commonality.  We learn by recognizing that parts of our beliefs bother others; those others aren’t likely to engage us if we portray ourselves as completely different. (And we’re never completely different.)
  4. Recognize your feelings. As motivations, not reasons. Relying on feelings in discussion is likely to shut down the conversation and “motivated reasoning” is unlikely to be honestly open. In any case, while you might feel offended, worried, or hurt, declaring that as if it is somehow decisive is asking others to accept your feelings as more important than their feelings and their reasons. Asking yourself why you feel what you do, on the other hand, provides you fodder for discussion and might even make you realize you have no reason for the feeling (and perhaps should try to change).
  5. Use shared terminology. This can be hard, but without it, you may just end up arguing past each other. Getting clear on the terms, though, may show you and your interlocutor that you don’t disagree after all.
  6. Recognize your fallibility. Be humble, open. Qualify your claims, admit nuance. You’re meant to be having a conversation after all and conversations necessarily have more than one view presented (you give a verse, they give a verse, together you converse). If you assume your view is completely right or that your interlocutor has nothing of value to say, you’re not really there for a conversation—and your interlocutor is likely to realize it.
  7. Question Stereotypes—yours and your interlocutors. This should go without saying, but if you don’t question stereotypes, you may as well go home and guess what your interlocutor would have said according to your stereotype of them. That’s not helpful.
  8. Respect the other, even if not their ideas. This is really important both because respect is a fundamental value and because it does not entail thinking all ideas have the same value. Lots of people far smarter than I think my views are wrong. I still benefit from conversation with them because they treat me with respect. I try to do the same.
  9. Recognize it may not be either/or. Sometimes what seem like conflicting views are not really conflicting at all. And sometimes, of course, both are wrong. (See cartoon below–someone posted it on Facebook.)
  10. Be specific about disagreement. You may disagree with your interlocutor about more than one thing, but concentrate on one at a time. Bracket the rest so you can make progress on something. It may be that as you concentrate on one thing, you realize the disagreement is really due to some deeper (or higher?) issue; if so, bracket the original issue and move to this one. You can return to the first when you and your interlocutor better understand the deeper point of contention.
  11. Realize when compromise or civil disagreement is needed. You don’t have to convince your interlocutor and you don’t have to be convinced by them. You can disagree and still respect each other. Indeed, respecting the other means recognizing you might disagree—it means they are as entitled to a view as you are. Sometimes, you’ll disagree but compromise. Sometimes there isn’t any way to compromise and you just disagree. The world is interesting.
  12. Keep the conversation going. When real friends get together, they “pick up right where they left off.” While we won’t develop that sort of intimacy with all of our interlocutors, we should want to be able to come back to at least some of them—and have them come back to us—to ask further questions, raise other points, etc.

If I was to boil all of that down to an overly simple statement, I would say “be rational and reasonable!” This requires being able to step back from one’s own commitments and it requires being fair—and perhaps working to appear fair—to one’s interlocutors. I don’t think there is enough of this today. Polarization pushes us away from each other, reducing honest conversation. Honest conversation, though, has the power to reduce polarization. Which is stronger depends on us.