Dialogue: 1
Saturday, 04 February 2017
Dialogue first.
Democracy is less about “being heard” than about dialogue.
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Just one point…
Dialogue is a lost principle, a lost art.
And it is essential to healthy democratic politics.
What is democracy about?
I wonder what phrase comes to your mind when you ask yourself that simple question. Here are a few that come to mind for me:
— “One person, one vote.”
— “Government of, by and for the people.”
— “Being heard.”
But upon reflection, it seems to me that while all these things are true about democracy, the forgotten and relevant truth is that democracy is about dialogue.
When we value dialogue, we approach democratic politics differently. Our conversations become more gentle, more open, more productive. We feel comfortable discussing sensitive issues with people who disagree with us. We’re also more resilient: we see the confusion that underlies anger.
Let’s contrast the “being heard” truth with the “dialogue” truth and see which one results in an optimal approach.
If democracy is about being heard…
Suppose I believe that “democracy is about being heard”. I’ve been told that I should “stand up and be counted.” I’ve been encouraged to “let your voice be heard”. I vote. I donate. I write. I protest. I argue. I am always advancing my agenda.
How well does this describe our democracy today? We are either preaching to the choir or in a shouting match with the other side. But always being heard. It’s all about our opinion, about how right we are; about making government do what we think it should do.
If democracy is about dialogue…
Suppose I believe that “democracy is about dialogue”. I have my opinion but I know that my opinion is just one of millions. Instead of competing to be “out-heard”, I seek to engage others in conversation, I invite them to help me understand their opinions, I listen to them and I thank them for improving my perspective.
If they reciprocate, they invite me to share, so I do, which improves their perspective. If we’re both willing, we can engage each other in inquiry, asking questions that challenge each other’s opinions.
Going even further, again, if we’re both willing, we can engage in playful and even vigorous debate, but with the understanding that the interaction strengthens us; that behind the seeming-conflict is a hidden-unity, an agreement that there are gains from trade.
Conversational gains from trade
That’s right: there are gains from trade in conversation. Conversation is trade. Dialogue is trade. Both sides exchange goods, both sides profit. It is not a zero sum game.
Some people aren’t willing to listen, but only willing to talk, to “be heard”. So I hear them. I ask them questions. I gain from them. When they don’t reciprocate, that’s fine. They may leave thinking that they “won”, but I’m playing a different game, in which I “won”. So, again, we both win.
Dialogue as the original social contract
Enlightenment political philosophy was obsessed with the concept of the “social contract”: the explicit or implicit agreements that allow society to come together peacefully and submit to common rule.
Philosophers disagree on social contracts. And because they disagreed, they developed very different ways of thinking about politics. Here are my paraphrased summations of a few:
— Hobbes: the state of nature was anarchic. Everyone was killing each other, and stealing each other’s stuff. It was bad for everybody. So they either set up a government to rule them, or they were conquered. A government is a “monopoly on force”. Force monopolies allow for peace, because they squash any competition from thieves, murderers, etc. Order is the original social contract. Without order we can’t have anything good.
— Locke: the state of nature was freedom. Everyone was free to do whatever they want. Their freedom was theoretically unlimited, but practically, quite limited — because they lived alone, without the benefit of society. So they desired to live together, to form societies, and to do that, they realized that they needed to establish laws. Therefore people willingly gave up some, but not all, of their freedoms, in exchange for “liberty” — the “freedom under the law” that government provides. Liberty is the original social contract. Without defending liberty, government serves no purpose.
— Rousseau: the state of nature was equality. Everyone was wild, but their wildness was noble. They didn’t want anything, because they didn’t know the concept of “want”; they just were — unconsciously happy, as animals are unconsciously happy. But as languages and societies developed, concepts were introduced, including the concepts of property, money, inequality, unhappiness and lack. Civilization has a corrupting influence on our native nobility: it makes us unhappily unequal. Therefore, the role of government is to compensate for this unnatural inequality, to make society happy again.
— Burke: the state of nature is evolutionary. Everything that exists today evolved from everything that existed yesterday. There is embedded intelligence in the way things are. Thus, we should be suspicious of revolutionary changes, clean breaks, giant overhauls. We should prefer incremental improvements. The role of government is to preserve continuity. It defends our society, our traditions, our evolved systems — it is a change broker; allowing change to come, but to come in a way that does not disrupt the social order.
I could go on to describe the views of other political philsophers, but I think these four continue to encompass the basic positions today — hundreds of years later.
Hobbes is the statist, the authoritarian, the totalitarian, the dictator. The state brings rule of law. Order. This is the “good” it brings.
Locke is the classical liberal, the libertarian. The state allows for freedom under law. This allows for trade and practical freedom. Liberty. This is the “good” it brings.
Rousseau is the socialist, the environmentalist. Society creates inequality and unhappiness. The state restores natural equality. Equality. This is the “good” it brings.
Burke is the conservative, the traditionalist, the moderate. Society works. The state preserves the social order, allowing for slow evolution. Continuity. This is the “good” it brings.
Which one is right? Does any one have a monopoly on truth?
Examine the world in 2017 and you will see all four of these basic positions in full force. We don’t talk about political philosophy much anymore. But if you see through this lens, you realize that these are the essential disagreements that still drive nearly every political debate.
So what do we do when we disagree? What do we do when it seems like there are “irreconcilable” differences of opinion in a nation? What do we do when our “side” loses an election, when our opinion is no longer the one that’s “heard” after a democratic power transition? Do we shout louder? Protest more? Donate more?
This is why I believe that dialogue is the original social contract. Because we can’t even agree on a social contract! But we can talk about our disagreements. Maybe I can persuade you. Maybe you can persuade me. Maybe we’ll never persuade each other, but we will certainly benefit from the conversation, from the co-evolution. I believe I am right, but I also believe that I do not have a monopoly on truth, that I may be wrong, that you may be right. So we engage in dialogue, because we believe that there are gains from conversational trade. And our democracy is an extension of that dialogue.
Because what’s the point, otherwise? If I believe I have a monopoly on truth, and I believe I am absolutely right and good, and I believe you are absolutely wrong and evil — if we don’t talk, if we can’t talk — then when I lose an election, I am suddenly oppressed. And when I feel oppressed, I become violent. And when people become violent, we are in a civil war. War is the breakdown of dialogue. It is the conclusion that we’d rather kill each other than submit to each other’s opinions from time to time.
The lost art
Dialogue is a lost art. It only takes one person. Others may not be interested in listening, but you may still dialogue by listening to them and asking them questions.
There are many secrets of political dialogue, many insights that help reframe conversations from static oppositions into fluid progressions; which open up everyone for new ideas to come in, for positions to shift a little bit.
It’s a kind of yoga. A learned flexibility. Once you introduce the possibility of movement, once your position is not permanently fixed, once you are open to learning and profiting — you can have a productive dialogue. You feel richer by the minute. And that’s a good feeling.
I have many extreme opinions, many extreme points of view. Some of which you would be shocked by, some of which you’d disagree with. When I started writing about politics, I thought I’d start with those. I thought I wanted to express myself, to convince people, to articulate my opinions — to “be heard”.
But my opinions are actually a lot less interesting, a lot less important, than dialogue. This is the first principle. Who cares about my opinions if we’re not in a conversation? Dialogue first. Peace and trade through conversation, first. Listening and questions and framing, first. Then maybe, someday, we can have a fun debate.
Talk to me.
