How to Talk to Someone Who Votes Completely Different Than You

We live in an era where friends stop speaking to each other over politics, where Brexit voters and remainers seem to inhabit different universes, where supporters of opposing parties view each other as irrational or immoral. The divide feels insurmountable. But philosopher Donald Davidson offers a surprising solution: assume your opponent is rational.

The problem Davidson addresses is called conceptual relativism—the idea that different groups of people have such fundamentally different ways of seeing the world that meaningful communication becomes impossible. When someone uses words like “justice” or “fairness,” they might mean something completely different than you do. Translation should fail. And if we can’t understand each other, how can we possibly debate?

Davidson’s first insight is surprisingly grounding. While languages differ, we all share a world. We both have hands, need food, experience heat and cold. These basic categories matter to all humans. Languages that include terms for hands and food must share much with our own. Total translation failure is unlikely because we inhabit the same physical reality.

But agreeing we both have hands gets us nowhere near agreeing on justice. Davidson’s real contribution is what he calls the principle of charity.

When someone says something you find outrageous, your instinct is to react: “How can you possibly think that?” You assume they’re irrational, stupid, or evil. Davidson suggests doing the opposite. Assume they believe what they’re saying is true. Not that they’re right—just that they have reasons they consider valid.

This changes everything. Instead of stating your opposing position, you ask questions. What facts underlie their view? How does this opinion fit with their other beliefs? What values drive their conclusion?

This approach has two powerful effects. First, it slows down the conversation. You’re no longer taking turns stating positions; you’re genuinely trying to understand their reasoning. Second, it reduces combativeness. Even across vast differences, you share something—perhaps concern for families, or belief that no one should lack basic necessities. From that common ground, you can explain how you reach different conclusions.

Applying this principle doesn’t guarantee you’ll change anyone’s mind. It doesn’t guarantee they’ll change yours. But it makes meaningful disagreement possible—the very thing missing from most discourse today. It prevents you from seeing opponents as caricatures less intelligent than yourself.

Is this easy? No. It requires time, discipline, and emotional restraint. Not every disagreement warrants the effort. But Davidson’s goal was never agreement. It was making meaningful disagreement possible in the first place. That, perhaps, is enough.