Art of the possible

Is it just me, because I spend too much time on Twitter (X), or do more and more people these days frame political differences as moral ones? Maybe we always did that. When I was in university, back in the 1980's, my friends assumed that people who supported the Reagan tax cuts must feel personal, Scrooge-like satisfaction at the ruination of the Less Fortunate. No doubt people on the other side of the aisle returned the favor by assuming that my friends (and those who agreed with them) hated America. These days, Biden-supporters accuse Donald Trump of dictatorial ambitions; Trump-supporters accuse Joseph Biden of treason and bribery. If you support some policy that I oppose, it seems almost natural for each of us to accuse the other of moral wickedness: How could you possibly support such an evil plan? You must be evil!

Of course, the whole idea in a democracy is that we should work out our differences through compromise. Since good cannot compromise with evil, moralizing our policy differences threatens to shut down that part of the democratic process. But what are we supposed to do instead? If the other person's policy really is wicked, how can you ask us to smile and shake hands?

There are several answers to this, but I think one of the simplest is to remember that Politics is the art of the possible. In other words, I support this or that policy not necessarily for its own sake, but because I think it is the most likely way to achieve some higher goal. And when I reject your policy, it's not necessarily because I reject your goals. It might be just that I don't think your policy will work in the real world.

As an example, let's pretend that I think there is some miraculous energy source available that distills electricity out of thin air, at no cost and with no pollution or other harmful side effects. And let's pretend that you don't believe any such thing exists, but support some other kind of energy policy instead. It really doesn't matter what energy policy you support, because whatever it is—solar, wind, nuclear, gas, oil, coal, or something else—will have costs and side-effects. Since I believe there is a kind of energy available that has no costs and no side-effects, I will be unable to understand why you don't support it. And I will be deeply disturbed that you support something else instead. Over time, I will probably convince myself that you support That Other Form of Energy only because you have been bribed, or because you secretly profit from it, or because you are callously indifferent to the fate of humanity. Why else would you reject my solution to the energy question?

Of course the reason you reject my solution is that you don't think it will work. This is a factual question: it should be possible for us to study it dispassionately and come to an answer. Either Yes, my proposed energy source does everything I claim for it; or else No, it does not. And either answer should resolve our disagreement.

Just as an experiment, let's use this method when facing other political disputes as well. Before concluding that our opponents are wicked, let's check their understanding of the facts. It might turn out that they want to achieve the same things we do, but that they don't think our approach will work. Or perhaps they don't see the dangers that we can observe in their approach. And even if we disagree with them, we can't really fault them for leaving out of consideration any options they deem impossible.