Why We Are So Frustrated in Political Conversations (trigger warning: contains some big words)


After reading some of Terry Eagleton’s Ideology: An Introduction, I’m beginning to look at political discourse differently. Eagleton not only shows the breadth of peoples’ understanding of the term “ideology,” but also strategies used by their ideology.

Two strategies of ideology (let’s for the sake of discussion assume that ideology means something like 1) certain propositions are true, 2) certain narratives are taken as good explanations, and 3) these two assertions both fulfill certain desires or resolve emotions) I want to hone in on are universalization and naturalization. Universalization means something like understanding one’s own position not as one among many, or as sectarian, but simply that from which one can generalize. Universalization is thus closely associated with naturalization, for that which one takes as universal can easily move into the category “natural,” casting any aberration from this frame as “unnatural,” “innovative,” or in moral casting “wrong,” “evil,” or maybe seemingly neutral like “irrational.” Universalization requires the move of naturalization to establish itself, so that competing narratives are considered fantasies beyond the imaginable

So let’s take this topic of ideological strategies and see how it could cast light on interchanges among friends from very different political persuasions. For the record, when ideology gets thrown around, one usually hears it lobbed at one’s opponents as something “they have”; we are the rational ones. If we take a cue from the strategy of naturalization, this makes sense for marking social boundaries. Our ways are so familiar to us, that how could anyone look at the evidence we’re looking at and not come to our same conclusions? This is one of the unfortunate legacies of the Enlightenment, that information speaks for itself, obscuring that information is never neutral. It is always and ever collected, maintained, explained, and brought to bear for certain reasons. Another word for “reasons” that will make its ideological nature more apparent is to replace “reasons” with “interests.”

The very sources we take as authoritative and the interpretations of these sources we take as authoritative are not native to the sources/data themselves, but constitutive themselves of our social groups. Who are we but the sources we cherish and the values we tell ourselves we value, the conclusions of which we have derived from sources we have already picked? To put this more plainly, let’s assume two people are talking about Donald Trump. What is obviously/naturally great to one person is puzzling or even evil to another. I definitely see Trump one way, and it wouldn’t be hard to track down how I feel about him, but that attitude is the result of what sources I already buy into, the friends I cherish, the communities I am in solidarity with, and ways of assessing I take as legitimate. If these fundamental elements aren’t discussed overtly, is it any wonder how our “obvious” talking points go over the heads of our interlocutors or infuriate us because they don’t play by our rules, just as we don’t play by theirs?

What prompted this post was a discussion some of my close family and friends have had over Trump, a recent post on algorithms, and another post on the use of language. Burge, in his article on algorithms, found that there was a strong correlation between being evangelical and being Republican. I asked my friend who posted this that if these identities were as “fused” as they appeared, would a Republican (who also happened to be an evangelical) take a critique of her political views as an attack on his faith. If so, “dialogue” would probably be nigh impossible, nigh if we always keep our prior commitments obscured in discussion. However, I only came to Burge’s article after reading a post by Nongbri concerning the use of language and the communities which constitute the language. Rather than try to look at ways in which “others” distort meaning, he pays attention to the rhetoric employed by groups to establish a stable meaning in the first place. In other words, he doesn’t see meaning as stable at all as much as the social boundaries/indentifiers of particular groups.

So what of all this? Without understanding how groups work, how they include and exclude, how they construct their own boundaries and deconstruct that of others, “dialogue” will be next to impossible, if it ever is. If we don’t understand the ways in which others groups establish themselves, we are quite literally speaking different languages, living different lives, smelling different air, and seeing different people.

The Difference between a Monologuer and a Dialoguer


I was talking with my dad last week about the benefits of dialogue and its difference from a culture of monologuers. What I mean by that is that many merely pontificate without any thought that they could be wrong. It’s like a choir with everyone singing their own parts dissonantly at fortissimo. This sets up a barrier around the person who sees himself as right and the search for truth. Of the few things I believe in, one doctrine is that no one has life all together, all figured out. If there are two people pursuing truth together and one lone person speaking on a topic, I will typically pick the former. Does that mean I always do that? No, two people can be twice as dumb as just one person. But I think if attitudes are checked, and one wants truth, I believe it is best to do that in a community where presuppositions can be laid bare and analyzed, where systems can be constructed from the ground up, little by little in dialogue and debate. The dialoguer is also different from the typical debater. Essentially the debate consists of two monologuers talking at each other, trying to persuade an audience to one’s side. However, they are not generally known for recognizing strengths in the other’s position or weaknesses in their own. That sets personality above truth, and I have a problem with that. True dialogue consists of two capable minds who respect the other’s contributions, respect their own capabilities, and love to see the sparks fly as they test, rebut, retry, poke, prod, whittle, polish, fell, or sand a topic.

I guess where I’m coming from is my life story of talking with people about theology. A typical conversation would go like this. One person starts with a theological position. Another would say, “That’s dumb. I believe this.” “Oh yah? That’s wrong. I believe thus.” It was a closed circle of argumentation. I don’t know if I could call it argumentation. Systems weren’t tried on for size to see what results might emerge. Weaknesses in logic weren’t recognized, generally because the ability of each was wanting. There wasn’t conversational intercourse. It was a circle jerk but with everyone looking away. Maybe that conjures the wrong picture. But I think it makes the point that most of my experiences with theological conversations were anything but mature adults being honest. Each essentially came to the table with the question, “Does this other person read the Bible the way I do, or think like I think?” If the answer was a negatory, that person had nothing of note to say. They could effectively be pushed to the margins as a heretic or ignoranti (I really don’t think this is a word, but it sounds smart. I don’t feel up to looking it up. Booyah). I was there once. I feel I’m much more open to talking through things with people. There are times, though, when my defenses are up, particularly with someone who is subconsciously other than me. Only when they smack me in the face or say something off-putting do I get snapped back to reality and realize my fallibility. Then I have the opportunity to stop and consider my similarities with the other, and see what we can build together. Maybe that’s a hippie notion, but I think it’s beautiful, and I’m caring less what others think of my opinions these days.