Originally posted at fa-mag.com by Mitch Anthony, February 1, 2025.
In his book Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business, author Neil Postman writes that human conversation “has deteriorated to the point that there are no conclusions.”
I think about that when I ponder the question: Why do we so loathe going to meetings? Is it because so much gets said and so little gets done? Far too often that is the case. Yet we labor through our discussions and wonder how in the world we survived before the smartphone was invented.
One reason we fail is that sometimes the conversation involves monologuists who pretend they’re having a dialogue. While you’re trying to get points across, they’re speaking to you like they’re onstage at an Open Mic Night. I sometimes call these people “saboteurs,” since they’re keeping a real conversation from happening. (It might help to consider the Greek roots of the words “monologue” and “dialogue.” Mono means “one” while “dia” means “through.”) Monologists enter a conversation only for the purpose of getting their own points across—and can be distinguished by their dominant, argumentative, condescending or droning tones. They didn’t come to hear your point; they want to prove theirs. While it’s human nature to defend your own ideas, it’s that same nature keeping us from seeing past our own noses.
Dialogists, on the other hand, want to first understand your meaning, then try to merge their point and yours. They are putting together a puzzle, some of whose pieces come from them while the other person supplies the rest. They can only assume to know what the other person’s pieces are, and they are working to discover how the pieces might synchronize. When you’re talking to someone, are you saying your piece, or putting pieces together?
When we look at it in this light, we realize that dialoguing is a real skill. Those without it turn into lecturers and find their talks often devolving into fencing matches and jousting contests with other lecturers. When it’s taken to the extreme, we can heed Neil Postman’s warning about what it does to culture. Where some people have come into groups to listen, many have come to control.
Another way to put this is that monologists advance a personal interest. Dialogists show an interest in persons.
Spot The Saboteurs
I used the word “saboteurs” earlier, because what monologuists are doing is undermining communication. They often perceive themselves as actors on a stage—they’re primarily concerned with their own lines and with winning approval and attention.
To help you spot them, I’ve separated them into categories: entertainers, trumpers and dismissers.
Entertainers
I’ve further broken this group into subcategories, as follows:
Talk show hosts. These people get energy from the sounds of their own voices. Whenever they try to make a point, it devolves into soliloquy. They can’t stop themselves; it’s simply too soothing to hear.
Headliners. These people view a conversation or a meeting as a stop on their nationwide comedy tour. Obviously, they are talented, witty and a joy to listen to. And they’re tolerable companions over drinks when banter is the mode of choice. Why else would they be invited into conversations? But then they erode communication by insistently bringing attention back to themselves. If they get a laugh, the beast is temporarily sated. And their patter isn’t so palatable when the content is vital and results are necessary.
Trumpers
These are the people who like to conquer, and I’ve divided them into smaller groups as well:
Sir Edmund Hillarys. These are the people who always have a better story than you, who have climbed higher mountains. “Jim, that’s a great story you told about climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. It reminds me of something that happened to me the fifth time I reached the peak of Everest. I’d done it alone and was so exhausted!” The presumption of this kind of person is that his or her experiences are simply more important and instructive than yours.
Psychics. These are the people who always finish your thought for you. They’re often impatient, waiting for you to finish, and they think of themselves as psychic interpreters. They believe themselves to be superior thinkers, and they jump in before you can further demonstrate your paucity of intelligence, thereby saving you from yourself—at least in their minds. Or maybe they have simple impulse control problems. Either way, their habit of “conversatus interruptus” exasperates everyone involved.
Mercenaries. These people lie in wait in the bush for you to say the wrong thing—make a naïve suggestion or say anything else worthy of pessimism and scorn. They use cynical clichés, such as: “Where have we heard that one before?” “Oh, sure. Yeah, that’ll work.” They’re never short on poison arrows. Their role requires no intellectual rigor or creativity. These people simply watch the radar for suggestions—and shoot them down like the aliens in Galaga.
Traffic officers. These people are agenda-driven and self-appointed traffic directors. Anyone who attempts to digress from the prearranged agenda will be served with a jaywalking ticket and brought quickly to the agenda format. They usually miss the point of conversation entirely in their efforts to cross an item off the list they’ve preplanned.
Dismissers
This group doesn’t want to hear from you in the first place. I divide them into two camps:
Ultimate fighters. These people are masters of the laconic and abrupt reply—indicating that, whatever your thought may be, it’s not good enough. They have their assumptions and their foregone conclusions; they may pretend to be interested in your thoughts or ideas, but in reality they’re not. They are smarter and more seasoned than you, and their minds are made up before the conversation has even begun. Their only goal in the conversation is to get you to “tap out.”
Parachutists. These are people who drop into conversations unannounced and uninvited, assuming their input is wanted or needed. They feel strongly about themselves and their input, believing there’s a global demand for their opinions on all matters. Keep an eye out for them in no-fly zones. (Also watch out for “reverse parachutists”—those who drop out of the conversation as soon as something becomes uncomfortable for them.)
Maître d’s. These people might speak with a helpful tone, but they’re only there to tell you what you want to hear. They might be courteous in all their dealings with you, but they have no intention of doing anything other than making sure you’re happy with your seat and that your coffee cup is full.
The Quest In Questions
Any one of these cast of characters can show up in your conversations—and sabotage the meaningful exchange of ideas.
We need instead authentic participants in our dialogues, people who understand why they are there in the first place, and these people need to know they matter. You’re on a quest for discovery with your conversation partner, and that quest should be part of your questions. The need to converge with another person’s point of view should also be part of your quest. Conversations need someone willing to go on this quest. That someone can be you.
