As I’ve waded through the literature on deliberative theory, I’ve been struck by two disparate schools of thought: some authors focus their attention on political deliberation while others focus on moral deliberation.

The difference in focus is not trivial. Consider Amy Gutmann and Dennis Thompson’s explanation of where deliberation thrives:

In politics, disagreements often run deep. If they did not, there would be no need for argument. But if they ran too deep, there would be no point in argument. Deliberative disagreements lie in the depths between simple misunderstanding and immutable irreconcilability. 

Gutmann and Thompson do write extensively about moral deliberation, but this passage hints at incentive for avoiding moral discussion in politics: moral disagreements seem more intractable.

Two people of opposing beliefs may never find common moral ground on an issue, but that doesn’t neccessarily preclude the possibility of reasonable having productive political debate on an issue.

To what extent, though, is it possible to disentangle moral and political interests?

On the topic of abortion, for example, even if people tried to restrict their comments to the political issues of funding and access, I suspect that most dialogues would still find their way to a fundamental, moral impasse.

Perhaps not all issues are so morally charged, though – in discussions of education, healthcare, and the environment are morality and politics so inseperable? Either way, I’m actually more interested in the related question: in general, should morality and politics be so intertwined?

Our political sensibilities seem to say no – as good citizens, we ought to have rousing debates over politics while also embracing the pluralistic nature of our fellow citizens’ views.

Yet separating morality from politics seems undesirable, even if it were possible. Discussing the environment without discussing environmental justice is inauthentic and unproductive. Discussing education without tackling the moral issues raised by deep, educational inequality fails to get to the heart of the mater.

The personal is indeed political and the political is fundamentally moral.

This brings me back to the excellent work of Diana Mutz in Hearing the Other Side.

Mutz illustrates an inherent tension in political theory: should a citizen’s social network be composed of people who are “politically like-minded or have opposing views?” While the ideals of political theory seems to indicate that the answer should be “both,” Mutz shows that this is not possible.

We must choose, she argues, between a homogenous network of people who agree politically or a heterogenous network of people who are apolitical:

A highly politicized mindset of “us” versus “them” is easy so long as we do not work with “them” and our kids do not play with their kids. But how do we maintain this same favor and political drive against “them” when we carpool together?

Her analysis is compelling, but I find myself fighting against believing it. I don’t want to think that political agency requires self-sorting into like minded groups and I don’t want to think that political action is impossible in heterogenous groups.

One thing I struggled with as I read her work is exactly what it means to be “like-minded.” I have many productive debates with my equally liberal friends. We agree – but we don’t agree. Does that that make us like-minded?

This idea of political “difference” here can perhaps be better understood as one of different moral views. That is, we can have productive political debate among people of different views, as long as they are morally “like-minded.”

Again, this may provide incentive for avoiding moral debate – just as Mutz demonstrates that social interaction across political difference must be apolitical. That would be a depressing conclusion – although, perhaps, an inevitable one.

But if taking morality out of politics lessens the value of political dialogue, we must find some way overcoming that challenge. Or, at least, as Mutz argues, we must greatly rethink our ideals of deliberation.

I recently finished reading Diana Mutz’s excellent book, Hearing the Other Side: Deliberative versus Participatory Democracy.

Tracking people’s political action and political deliberation Mutz comes to a disconcerting conclusion: the two are not readily compatible. On the one hand:

In studies of mass behavior, partisans are typically the “good guys.” They are the ones who always score highest on political knowledge tests, who vote most frequently, volunteer their time and money for campaigns, and basically embody everything that social scientists say they want all citizens to be.

But these hyper-partisans are sorely lacking in other civic areas. Most notably, as Mutz documents, they are significantly less likely to have productive political conversations with people who have different opinions. Why would they, when they already know they are “right”?

The strength of a person’s partisanship may have direct implications for their ability to interact with those who are different. As Mutz explains:

A highly politicized mindset of “us” versus “them” is easy so long as we do not work with “them” and our kids do not play with their kids. But how do we maintain this same fervor and political drive against “them” when we carpool together?

This is the crux of her argument – that a person cannot simultaneously maintain a diverse political network and a robust social network. We each must choose: be political and talk to those who agree with us or be apolitical and interact with people of many views.

The challenge she raises is an important one, and, I agree, one that has generally been overlooked by political theorists and deliberative theorists alike. Reconciling these two types of “ideal citizens” is no small task, but it is not, I believe, an impossible goal.

Mutz sees it as a flaw that our political system asks citizens to be both advocates and thoughtful observers; but – I wonder if the flaw is that we set these traits up as opposites.

Our socialization tells us that in polite company we ought to avoid such contentious topics as politics. But is it really so hard to imagine that with well-developed social skills people could regularly have engaging conversations across difference?

I’m not sure that is so impossible as Mutz imagines.

Certainly, as social beings we are likely to avoid engaging in irreparable fights with our friends and family. And it may be easier to be apolitical in social settings, but it is far from required.

Perhaps this dilemma points to another debate about deliberation – ought it to end in consensus?

If you assume that political talk needs to end in agreement, then debate among partisans who are not of like mind becomes nearly impossible indeed. By definition, each partisan is entrenched in their own view and the requirement of consensus leaves little room for anything but persuasion.

But two partisans, fully embracing an “us” versus “them” mentality, are unlikely to agree.

Modern trends in deliberation shy away from this consensus requirement. While many still see this as the ideal outcome of deliberation, there are theorists and practitioners who equally embrace deliberation as a tool for building understanding, not agreement.

Here, then, the nature of partisan deliberation may become quite different. Rather than (fruitlessly) trying to change each other’s minds, partisans could use the opportunity to better understand each other and to sharpen their own thinking (without necessarily changing their own minds).

Such deliberation is certainly no small task, and it rubs against how we’ve been socialized and how we’ve self-segregated into like minded groups. But it is, I think, possible to be both a partisan and fully open to genuinely hearing the other side.