Understanding Dialectics
Curiousity about what’s missing.
I vividly remember when one of my first DBT supervisors frequently used to say, “it’s a dialectic.” She’d shrug her shoulders, smile slightly, and if my memory serves me right, sometimes even wink. Her nonverbals communicated that I was supposed to understand what she was saying. I absolutely did not. My close colleague and I were often confused, struggling to understand what dialectics really meant.
Almost a decade later, I’m now the one confusing people. And not just my supervisees; most people I interact with (I’m mildly obsessed with dialectics). I recently got frustrated, impatient even, when my partner struggled to see the dialectic in whatever we were talking about. Which, of course, is not a dialectical response.
This led me to reflect on how I learned dialectics, which reminded me of my own bewilderment with my past supervisor. Whoops.
Reflecting on my own learning didn’t uncover a clear path to understanding. I don’t recall any specific moment where I finally felt I fully comprehended dialectics. Like most things, it was a process of being curious, making mistakes, and refining thinking that led me to where I am today. And, working in an environment that embraced a dialectical philosophy and taught it daily was likely exponentially helpful.
All this to say, understanding dialectics is complicated. Even with my passion for this way of thinking, I still find myself perplexed at times (see above for an example). There’s a dialectic there within a dialectical philosophy – which is the whole point. No single perspective contains the whole truth.
Dialectics doesn’t offer an endpoint; rather, it’s an approach to endless learning. It’s continuously searching for what is missing.
The quest for what’s missing promotes flexible thinking. It encourages perspective taking. Essentially, it’s a mechanism for understanding why someone might behave, think, or feel a certain way. And this curious approach opens space for constructive dialogue rather than hostile disagreement. It keeps us engaged when passionately held binary beliefs, and the emotions attached to them, threaten relationships.
Evidence for the relational consequences of binary thinking is abundant. The current political polarization, where families have separated over who they voted for, demonstrates this. Our minds crave certainty, and in doing so, we tend to sort the world into fixed categories – good/bad, right/wrong, safe/dangerous. This feels comfortable, and, is problematic. Because we often place new information into existing categories. Without curiosity, we misread the data.
Curiosity is foundational to a dialectical philosophy. It’s a mentality for expanding firmly held beliefs when learning something new. It’s a method for updating these beliefs when new facts appear contradictory. It’s holding what is known and integrating what is learned – long enough for deeper understanding to emerge. The goal is synthesis.
Underneath all of this are four principles that make dialectical flexibility work:
Everything is interconnected. Reality is a complex system of many interacting parts. Humans are in constant exchange with their environment. Understanding individual behavior requires considering the larger systems that shape how someone experiences the world.
Reality contains opposing forces. Everything that exists contains polarities that seem contradictory. Recognizing these polarities and being curious about what is missing facilitates rethinking. Wisdom emerges from synthesizing opposites into something new.
Change is continuous. Because everything is interconnected and reality is oppositional, change is the only constant. It’s the only thing we know for certain will continue. Acceptance of this fact is the prerequisite for effective action.
Change is transactional. Everything influences everything else. All things are caused by many interactions over time. Everything has causes.
Together, these principles offer an approach to getting unstuck by allowing opposites to coexist and recognizing that truth evolves over time. Let’s walk through a classic example.
People tend to blame their parents. Their mom did this, dad did this, and that’s the reason they’re having whatever issue today. There’s always truth here, and how could there not be – no parent, let alone person, is perfect. Naming a parent’s mistakes is pretty straightforward.
And, there’s more to acknowledge. First, that parent’s behavior makes sense given their own personal history and lived experience. Blaming them for problems does little to actually solve problems. It usually just increases frustration, which impedes change.
Second, regardless of why the problem emerged, the fact is that it still exists. Again, blaming them doesn’t solve anything. However the problem came about, the reality is that the person experiencing the problem is the one responsible for solving it. I know, life is unfair. Another helpful thing to accept.
Curiosity lets you hold both at once: the parent caused real harm, and their behavior is understandable based on their environment. Understanding doesn’t excuse harm, and taking responsibility for healing doesn’t necessitate blame. That’s the synthesis.
Accepting what happened makes actual problem-solving possible.
Learning dialectical flexibility takes time. It starts with observing opposing forces and getting curious about what’s missing. And it’s never finished. It’s a continuous practice of noticing the tension, questioning what you know, and remaining open to growth.