Starting 2025 with Purpose: Overcoming Nihilism in Divided Times
Polarization, Cynicism, and the Limits of Bridge-Building
As the host of a podcast dedicated to understanding and reducing toxic polarization, I’m fortunate to receive an overwhelming amount of positive feedback. Listeners share stories of how they’ve been inspired to have more empathetic conversations, to question their assumptions, or to approach divisive topics with an open mind. Yet, despite this, it’s the comments laden with frustration, despair, and cynicism that linger in my mind.
These are the voices that insist bridge-building is a waste of time, that understanding is overrated, and that authoritarianism is inevitable. They’re often emotionally charged, filled with a sense of hopelessness that’s difficult to shake. And they stick with me—not because they are more valid than the rest, but because they reflect the hardest, most uncomfortable questions about the work I do.
Why do these voices resonate so deeply? Perhaps it’s because they touch on something universal that we have discussed here before: the human tendency toward negativity bias. Our brains are wired to focus on threats, on the things that feel unresolved or unsolvable. In a polarized world dominated by outrage and division, this bias is reinforced at every turn. And it’s not just a personal struggle; it’s a societal one. The media exploits this bias to keep us hooked, social media algorithms amplify it, and the constant drumbeat of bad news makes it feel like there’s no way out.
But ignoring these voices feels wrong—like sidestepping the most important challenges of our time. If we truly want to address the erosion of social cohesion and rebuild trust, we need to lean into these feelings of despair and confront them head-on.
In this piece, I’ll explore some of the key concerns raised by these skeptical voices. From the role of cynicism and outrage in polarization to the limits of bridge-building and the decline of democracy, I’ll tackle the hard truths while also searching for a way forward.
Because while negativity is contagious, so is the sense of duty to face these challenges with clarity and resolve.
Cynicism and Outrage
Much of this pessimistic feedback expresses a deeply cynical view regarding the potential of bridge-building, understanding, and depolarization.
It’s become “cool” to be a cynic. Often mistaken for sophistication, cynicism provides a veneer of emotional armor, offers social currency, and can signal rebellion against the status quo. Cynicism can act as a shield, allowing people to distance themselves from the emotional impact of negative events. By assuming the worst of people and situations, we can avoid disappointment and maintain a sense of control. Cynicism can be seen as a sign of intelligence and worldliness. It can be a way to demonstrate that you're "above" the naivety of optimism. It can feel empowering to challenge the "happy talk" and expose the perceived flaws in the system.
Cultivating a healthy dose of skepticism is crucial. But when skepticism hardens into cynicism, it becomes paralyzing. Instead of inspiring action, it fosters disengagement. People stop believing that change is possible, and this withdrawal leaves the field open for the loudest, angriest voices to dominate.
Outrage, on the other hand, is not passive. It’s active, visceral, and highly contagious. As we often discuss on the show, while outrage can sometimes serve as a catalyst for meaningful change, it’s increasingly weaponized in ways that deepen division. Social media algorithms, cable news, and political campaigns all amplify outrage because it drives clicks, shares, and votes. But in doing so, they also distort our understanding of the world, making it seem as though conflict is everywhere and compromise is impossible.
Together, cynicism and outrage create a self-reinforcing cycle. Cynicism erodes trust and participation, making it easier for outrage to fill the vacuum. Outrage, in turn, confirms cynical beliefs by painting opponents as irredeemable and the system as broken beyond repair. This dynamic not only divides individuals but also undermines the very foundations of a functional democracy.
For those of us striving to reduce polarization and the resulting gridlock, this presents a daunting challenge. How do we counteract the forces of cynicism and outrage without dismissing the legitimate grievances from which they often stem? How do we invite people back into the conversation when they’ve already decided it’s not worth having?
These are questions with no easy answers. But acknowledging the roles of cynicism and outrage is a crucial first step. By recognizing their power—and their limits—we can begin to chart a path toward a discourse that is less reactive and more constructive.
The Dilemma of Engagement
Engaging with opposing views is often held up as a cornerstone of depolarization. In theory, open dialogue can bridge divides, foster understanding, and lead to greater mutual respect. But in practice, the question becomes far more complicated: When does engaging with opposing views become counterproductive—or even harmful?
The challenge lies in navigating the fine line between empathy and accountability. Empathy encourages us to listen, to seek common ground, and to understand where others are coming from. Yet, empathy without boundaries risks normalizing or excusing harmful ideologies. Accountability, on the other hand, demands that we call out injustice and take a stand against dangerous rhetoric. Striking a balance between these two principles is easier said than done, especially when faced with viewpoints rooted in hate, misinformation, or fear.
It’s important to remember that engaging doesn’t mean agreeing or endorsing harmful ideologies. It’s possible—and necessary—to distinguish between listening to someone’s perspective and agreeing with it. But outright dismissal of opposing views can deepen divides, reinforcing the perception that “the other side” is irredeemable. When people feel unheard or ignored, their views often harden, and they retreat further into echo chambers where their beliefs go unchallenged.
So how do we decide when engagement is worth pursuing? Here’s a brief framework to consider:
Intent: Is the conversation rooted in genuine curiosity and a willingness to learn, or is it a performance meant to provoke or demean?
Safety: Does engaging put you or others at risk, emotionally or physically?
Impact: What’s the potential outcome of the conversation? Will it promote understanding, or will it likely escalate conflict?
Energy: Do you have the emotional bandwidth to engage in a productive way, or will the conversation drain more than it’s worth?
These questions are not about avoiding difficult conversations—they’re about choosing battles wisely. Not every viewpoint deserves a platform, and not every conversation is productive.
This raises an even more uncomfortable question: Should we engage with those who seem entrenched in hate, or does doing so risk legitimizing harmful ideas? Some argue that engagement is the only way to challenge and dismantle hateful ideologies, while others caution that certain beliefs are so deeply rooted that dialogue only amplifies their reach.
Ultimately, there’s no universal answer. The dilemma of engagement forces us to weigh competing values: the desire to build bridges versus the need to set boundaries. With society teetering on the edge of a powder keg, the stakes of this dilemma have never been higher.
Is Understanding Overrated?
The critique, “understanding is overrated,” while harsh, captures a growing skepticism about whether understanding can truly address the challenges of deep societal divisions. In an era defined by misinformation, outrage, and deep ideological divides, many question whether empathy and dialogue are enough—or if they’re even relevant anymore.
To dismiss understanding entirely would be to overlook its transformative potential. There are countless examples of cross-partisan dialogues where simply listening to another person’s story has broken down stereotypes and fostered unexpected connections. Programs like Crossing Party Lines or other initiatives that bring opposing sides together often highlight a fundamental truth: most people, no matter their political persuasion, want to feel seen and heard.
Research supports this. Understanding can reduce the “othering” that fuels polarization by reminding us of our shared humanity. It’s harder to vilify someone when you know their story, when you see their fears and hopes as not so different from your own. In these moments, understanding has the power to bridge divides and even lay the groundwork for collaboration.
But understanding has its limits. It is not, and cannot be, a solution to every problem. There are situations where understanding alone is insufficient, particularly when there are power imbalances or bad-faith actors involved. Trying to empathize with those who actively exploit outrage or perpetuate harm may inadvertently validate their tactics or obscure the consequences of their actions.
Moreover, understanding requires a reciprocal effort. If one side is committed to dialogue while the other is entrenched in antagonism or unwilling to engage, the process becomes one-sided and, ultimately, ineffective.
There’s also the issue of timing. Polarization often thrives in an environment of urgency, where immediate action feels necessary to counteract perceived threats. Understanding, by contrast, requires patience and reflection—qualities that are hard to cultivate when the stakes feel existential.
Understanding, then, is best viewed as a tool, not a panacea. It is one approach among many for addressing our increasingly dysfunctional political landscape. Its effectiveness depends on the context: who is involved, what’s at stake, and whether there is a genuine willingness to engage.
When listeners express sentiments such as “it’s far too late for that,” it reflects a deep frustration—one that is understandable in a world rife with seemingly intractable disagreements and entrenched hostility. But even if understanding isn’t the ultimate solution, dismissing it entirely risks losing one of the few avenues we have to move forward.
So, what comes next if understanding fails? Perhaps it’s about coupling understanding with action—holding space for dialogue while also advocating for accountability and systemic change. Perhaps it’s about recognizing that not every divide can be bridged but refusing to let that reality fuel further division.
Ultimately, understanding is neither overrated nor a cure-all—it is what we make of it. It may not solve every problem, but it remains a crucial step toward reducing the hostility that fuels eroding social cohesion.
Democracy’s Decline and Authoritarianism's Rise
Concerns about the erosion of democratic norms and the rise of authoritarianism have become increasingly prevalent, reflecting a sobering reality. Across the globe, authoritarian regimes are not just surviving but thriving. A recent study found that as of 2022 no major country was moving towards democratization.
In the United States, a climate of intense animosity and distrust has helped pave the way for increased authoritarian tendencies. This climate weakens trust in institutions, fosters cynicism, and amplifies the appeal of strongman leaders who promise simple solutions to complex problems. Intense partisanship makes each side view the other as a threat to the nation, leading to tolerance of illiberal behavior to maintain power. Numerous studies, using different methodologies and focusing on various aspects of authoritarianism, collectively support the notion that a significant portion of Americans, across the political spectrum, may be susceptible to authoritarian appeals under certain circumstances.
Outrage cycles in media play a significant role in this decline. Authoritarians thrive on division, and the outrage industry—whether intentional or not—serves as a powerful tool for sowing discord. Outrage-driven media frames political opponents as enemies, promotes zero-sum thinking, and stokes fear. These dynamics weaken democratic norms by normalizing hostility, undermining trust in elections, and creating fertile ground for authoritarian narratives.
Moreover, outrage distracts. While people are caught up in the latest controversy, systemic changes that erode democracy often occur in the background. For example, laws restricting voter access or judicial decisions curbing individual freedoms may receive far less attention than sensationalized culture war debates.
Yet, despair is not a strategy. While the decline of democracy is a pressing concern, it is not inevitable. Democracies falter when citizens disengage, either out of apathy or frustration. Vigilance and engagement remain the most powerful tools we have to counter authoritarianism.
This does not mean naïve optimism. It means recognizing the challenges while also committing to action. This could look like:
Calling out disinformation: Actively countering false narratives that weaken trust in democratic processes.
Supporting democratic norms: Advocating for transparency, accountability, and fair governance in institutions.
Focusing on the local: Change often starts at the community level, where polarization is less entrenched, and trust can be rebuilt more easily.
While outrage divides us, vigilance unites us. The media landscape may fuel division, but we can choose how we engage with it. Understanding the forces at play—both globally and domestically—equips us to resist despair and channel our energy into preserving democracy.
The rise of authoritarianism and the decline of democracy are not foregone conclusions. But resisting them requires us to recognize that even small actions—voting, staying informed, engaging in local advocacy—are meaningful.
Concerns about democracy’s fragility reflect widespread frustration, and it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the scale of the problem. But the antidote to despair is not to disengage—it’s to stay informed, stay involved, and refuse to cede the ground that democracy stands on.
The Limits of Bridge-Building
Bridge-building is often heralded as a key solution to polarization, but it is not a universal fix. There are moments when efforts to connect across divides fall short—or even become counterproductive. Understanding the limits of bridge-building can help us approach civic decay with greater clarity and purpose.
Not every conflict can be resolved through dialogue, especially when fundamental values are in direct opposition. For example, trying to find common ground with someone who denies another’s basic humanity or rights may not only be futile but also harmful. In these cases, the cost of engagement can outweigh the potential benefits, leading to emotional exhaustion, further entrenchment, or even tacit validation of harmful beliefs.
Bridge-building also struggles when the other party is acting in bad faith. Disinformation campaigns, manipulative rhetoric, and performative outrage often serve to inflame divisions rather than foster genuine dialogue. In these cases, extending an olive branch may feel like shouting into the void.
Bridge-building doesn’t always have to aim for agreement. Sometimes, the goal is more modest but equally impactful: coexistence or de-escalation. Instead of striving to convince someone to change their beliefs, the focus can shift to reducing hostility and finding ways to live and work alongside each other despite differences.
This reframing can be particularly powerful in local or community contexts, where relationships and shared responsibilities often transcend ideological divides. The aim is not necessarily to change minds but to prevent relationships—and communities—from fracturing irreparably.
So, how do we decide when bridge-building is worth pursuing? Here are some guiding questions:
Is the other party engaging in good faith? If the goal of the conversation is to listen and understand, rather than to dominate or manipulate, bridge-building may be possible.
What is the power dynamic? If there is a significant imbalance of power, engagement may unintentionally reinforce harmful structures.
Are fundamental values at stake? If someone’s position undermines basic human rights or democratic norms, the conversation may be less about bridge-building and more about holding those values accountable.
What is the cost of engagement? Emotional labor, time, and energy are limited resources. It’s important to consider whether a specific engagement is worth the toll it may take.
Bridge-building inherently involves balancing empathy and accountability. Empathy is essential for understanding the perspectives of others, even when they differ dramatically from our own. But empathy does not mean excusing harmful actions or ideas. Accountability must remain a central principle, particularly when fundamental rights or democratic values are at risk.
This balance is tricky to navigate. It requires recognizing the humanity of others while firmly upholding ethical principles. For instance, one can listen to someone’s fears about cultural change without validating xenophobic rhetoric, or acknowledge economic anxieties without endorsing policies that harm marginalized groups.
Bridge-building works best when applied thoughtfully and selectively. It’s not about solving every conflict or reaching consensus on every issue. It’s about knowing when dialogue is constructive—and when it’s time to draw a line.
By understanding the limits of bridge-building, we can approach polarization with clearer intentions. Not every divide can be bridged, but that doesn’t mean the effort to connect is futile. Even when agreement isn’t possible, de-escalation and coexistence can be powerful outcomes in their own right.
Responding to Nihilism
In our current political landscape of polarization, outrage, and distrust, it’s easy to understand why many people feel a sense of despair. The emotional toll of navigating a deeply divided society can leave even the most optimistic among us questioning whether change is possible. Yet, succumbing to nihilism—the belief that nothing will improve or that efforts are futile—can paralyze us in the face of challenges that demand action.
Anchoring ourselves in purpose can provide the strength to persevere. Rather than focusing on outcomes we can’t control, we can channel our energy into actions that have significance, regardless of immediate big-picture results.
Living in a polarized society takes a toll on mental health and emotional well-being. The daily barrage of outrage, division, and what feels like insurmountable challenges can lead to exhaustion and despair.
Statements like "It will not get better" resonate with many who feel overwhelmed by the scale of the problems we face—climate change, democratic backsliding, economic inequity, and more. The belief that nothing we do matters can be deeply tempting, offering a kind of grim resignation.
Yet, succumbing to nihilism leads to inaction, and inaction serves only to reinforce the very forces driving those undesired outcomes, like democratic backsliding and authoritarianism.
When outcomes feel uncertain, the key to overcoming despair lies in finding meaning in the actions themselves. Duty isn’t about blind optimism—it’s about recognizing the value of engagement, even when the path ahead is unclear.
Meaning in small acts: Connecting with someone who holds a different viewpoint, contributing to your community, or supporting democratic norms—these actions may not solve the world's problems, but they can bring significance to our daily lives.
A sense of responsibility: Duty stems from the belief that we are part of something larger than ourselves. It’s a commitment to act not because the odds guarantee success, but because doing nothing is unacceptable.
These principles echo the philosophy of thinkers like Viktor Frankl, who argued that finding meaning—whether through work, relationships, or even suffering—is the foundation for enduring hardship. In the same way, anchoring ourselves in purpose can guide us through the challenges of polarization and division.
Throughout my podcast, I’ve encountered stories of individuals and groups who found meaning in bridge-building and depolarization, even in the most unlikely circumstances:
Community mediators: Local leaders who foster conversations between opposing groups often find purpose in their ability to help others feel seen and heard, even if complete resolution is out of reach.
Grassroots organizers: From voter registration drives to initiatives combatting misinformation, activists often find meaning in the process of engaging others, even if the results are incremental.
Listeners’ stories: Many podcast listeners have shared how simply having one respectful conversation with a political rival has helped them feel a renewed sense of agency and purpose.
These actions may not always feel monumental, but they hold significance in their ability to keep the fabric of democracy intact, one thread at a time.
Nihilism often stems from the idea that our efforts don’t matter if they don’t lead to immediate, large-scale change. But what if we redefine success?
Success doesn’t always mean transforming the world—it can mean preserving relationships, creating pockets of understanding, or simply resisting the pull of hatred and apathy. By shifting the focus from outcomes to intentions, we can find purpose in even the smallest steps forward.
A Radical Act
Cynicism may feel like the safer choice—it absolves us of responsibility and protects us from disappointment. But the radical act of caring, of believing in the possibility of better outcomes, demands courage.
What if the true rebellion against polarization and outrage isn’t grand gestures but quiet, persistent acts of meaning? A willingness to reach out, to build, to create, even when success isn’t guaranteed?
A commitment to duty: Acting because it aligns with our values, not because we expect immediate rewards.
A focus on process: Finding satisfaction in the journey rather than the destination.
By reframing resistance as meaning and duty rather than unattainable hope, we ground ourselves in what is possible.
The question isn’t whether we can single-handedly fix the world’s problems, but whether we can live with ourselves if we stop trying. In a polarized world, meaning and duty offer an alternative to despair. They provide a foundation for action that doesn’t depend on guaranteed results but instead on the belief that our efforts contribute to something greater.
When confronted with the pull of nihilism, we can choose to act—not out of hope that we will see the fruits of our labor, but out of a sense of responsibility to ourselves, our communities, and future generations. Finding purpose in the process, rather than fixating on the outcome, can be our most powerful act of resistance.
Conclusion - Imperfect Action, Pragmatic Optimism
This exploration is not a roadmap to utopia but a framework for action in an imperfect world. Democracy’s decline, the limits of understanding, and the challenges of engagement remind us that solutions are neither easy nor guaranteed. But while the problems are vast and complex, so too are the opportunities for action. The solutions may not be perfect, and the path ahead is fraught with setbacks, but every small step counts.
The radical act in today’s world is not to retreat into cynicism or nihilism but to engage meaningfully—even imperfectly. It’s about showing up, doing the work of understanding when we can, and drawing boundaries when we must. It’s about rejecting the passive acceptance of division and choosing, instead, the messy, imperfect task of building connections and resisting the forces that divide us.
A future of greater understanding, cooperation, and democracy is not guaranteed, but it’s worth striving for. The fight may feel daunting, but the smallest actions—whether in our own conversations or broader societal efforts—are what move us forward. It’s not about solving everything; it’s about making a choice, every day, to do something rather than nothing.
We’re not fighting for a perfect world; we’re fighting for one where we can coexist, maybe even work together, where polarization doesn’t strip us of our shared humanity. That future may feel distant, but it is worth striving for—and the fight begins with each of us.
One thing that your post had me reflecting on: due to the outgroup homogeneity effect, we'll be prone to seeing the "other side" (our adversaries) as often acting in bad faith, just because it will be easy for us to find instances of that on the "other side" (or at least many things that seem that way to us). This can in turn make us think "okay, depolarizing, bridge-building approaches are not warranted because they are acting in bad faith." But I think that often obscures a lot: that even if we think some people on the "other side" are acting in bad faith, it doesn't mean the whole group is; it doesn't in itself detract from the many defensible grievances and concerns on the "other side."
To be specific, some liberal people might look at how Trump engages and think, "I think Trump is acting in bad faith and has no interest in embracing conflict resolution ideas; therefore conflict resolution ideas can be forgotten." (An example of this kind of thinking can be found in this New Yorker pieces https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2022/01/03/how-politics-got-so-polarized, where Elizabeth Kolbert writes: "...those who have done the most to polarize America seem the least inclined to recognize their own 'impairments.' Try to imagine Donald Trump sitting in Mar-a-Lago, munching on a Big Mac and reflecting critically on his 'own thinking.'") This is a common reaction by many on both sides, who increasingly see the "other side" as the unreasonable and bad-faith ones -- based on how they filter for grievances and prioritize issues -- and use that as a reason to ignore conflict resolution ideas.
But what this misses is that Trump (or anyone) is a part of a larger group -- he doesn't exist in a vacuum and his popularity depends on the interplay between him and his supporters/voters -- and so writing off conflict resolution ideas due to one's view of Trump is short-sighted as it can result in amplifying tensions unnecessarily.
To sum it up: Even when we think some people on the "other side" are behaving in bad faith, we must recognize that they are still only individuals. We must think about the effect our words and actions have on the entire group.