How to Have Impossible Conversations About the Common Good

Social polarization, as indexed by citizens’ beliefs about how much their society is divided and how much these divisions are entrenched, is a growing concern in Western societies, undermining civic health, as well as our sense that we share common interests and face a shared destiny.

Seemingly abstract, the ideas of common interests and shared destiny are actually quite familiar. Colloquially, we know this as the common good.

As recently observed by Moore-Vissing and Mallory (2020), how we talk to one another about social and political issues is an important aspect of civic health. Furthermore, how we talk about these issues has a bearing on our ability, as citizens, to participate directly in crafting solutions to our shared challenges.

In the context of the collapse of trust in politicians, political parties, and government institutions—actors and institutions that we have come to rely on as the stewards of the common good, and in whom we have lost all faith to do so—the question of how we talk to one another is one of vital importance.

How might we talk to each other about important social, cultural, and political issues in a way that allows us, as citizens, to seek and sustain the fragile balance between competing conceptions of the common good?

Consistent with the notion advanced by the philosopher Hans Sluga (2014) that the experts on the common good, such as philosophers and psychologists, should inform but not direct the search for the common good, how can experts help us talk to one another about important, but contentious, issues in a manner that is both constructive and generative?

Specifically, how can philosophy and psychology help us have impossible conversations about the common good?

Peter Boghossian and James Lindsay (2019) addressed this very question in their illuminating and practical book, How to Have Impossible Conversations. As Boghossian and Lindsay observe, these days, it seems impossible to have a reasonable conversation with anyone who has a different opinion.

Social Justice and Social Order Perspectives

To illustrate, consider the opinions of people with strong social justice and social order perspectives, respectively, which are diametrically opposed, blocking any possibility of productive discourse.

As I have outlined previously, these worldviews have markedly different opinions about the meaning of equality, with the social justice perspective understanding this in terms of equality of outcome and the social order worldview understanding it in terms of equality of opportunity.

Similar tensions between the social justice and social order perspectives are evident with regard to matters of choice and responsibility, morality, and social change and the explanations offered for inequality (see Iceland, Silver, & Redland, 2023).

Perhaps the most valuable and practical insight of this book is its suggestion to focus on epistemology—how people know what they claim to know—rather than on the content of beliefs. As Boghossian and Lindsay (2019, p. 60) write:

“The most common mistake in conversations is focusing on what people claim to know (beliefs and conclusions) as opposed to how they came to know it (their reasoning process).”

To continue with the social justice and social order dichotomy—while recognizing that, between these extremes, people’s beliefs may reflect combinations of these perspectives—consider a person, Helena, who, consonant with the social justice perspective, believes that "equality" means "equality of outcome."

A person with a social order perspective, Paul, may be tempted to argue with Helena about her belief, himself firmly believing that "equality" means "equality of opportunity." However, Boghossian and Lindsay counsel against doing so, instead encouraging Paul to ask himself how Helena came to this belief.

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According to Boghossian and Lindsay, the best way for Paul to figure out how Helena came to her belief is to ask her series of "calibrated" questions (i.e., "how" and "why" questions) focusing on how she knows what she claims she knows—that is, how she knows that "equality" means "equality of outcome."

How We Know What We Claim to Know

Although Helena could offer any one of a number of responses, Boghossian and Lindsay contend that her response, like people’s responses to how they know, in general, will likely fall into a few categories:

• Personal experiences and feelings (she feels that it is true in her heart)
• Culture (it’s true because "everyone" believes it)
• Definition (it’s true because of the way it’s defined)
• Religion (it’s true because it’s taught in her place of worship and/or her holy book)
• Reason (it’s true because it can be reasoned to)
• Evidence (it’s true because there’s sufficient evidence to warrant belief).

For example, maybe Helena believes "equality" means "equality of outcome" because it is defined that way in the books she has been reading. Thus, her reasoning is definitional. Or, perhaps she believes this because everyone in her social circle thinks it is so, in which case her reasoning is cultural.

As argued by Boghossian and Lindsay, focusing on how a person came to their belief, rather than on the belief itself, can help turn an otherwise "impossible conversation" into a constructive and generative one. Why? As Boghossian and Lindsay (2019, p. 61) write:

"A significant benefit of focusing on epistemology, as opposed to engaging conclusions, is that people have developed practiced responses to having their conclusions challenged. Often referred to as "talking points," these are rehearsed statements/messages given in response to frequently heard arguments. Focusing on epistemology helps people explain how they arrived at their conclusions, providing a fresh route around rehearsed messages."

Such conversations, which incline toward curiosity, learning and generosity and mitigate defensiveness, carry the possibility that the participants in such a conversation may develop new understanding about the other’s perspective.

Moreover, participants may even change their minds or, at the very least, begin to recognize that their conversational partner's perspective contains wisdom that is missed by their own perspective.

This is not rocket science. Nevertheless, focusing on how people know what they claim to know, rather than on what they "know," is greatly underappreciated and deserving of wider appreciation.

Learning the art of having impossible conversations is a powerful antidote to the sense of futility and hopelessness that can all too easily attend to life in our increasingly polarized societies.