Phenomenology emerged in the early twentieth century, by the work of German philosopher Edmund Husserl (1859–1938). Husserl’s’ central idea was to return “zu den Sachen selbst” (to the things themselves). With this, he meant that philosophy should not try to study lived experience by using abstract theories or scientific frameworks, meaning without psychological assumptions or social explanations. Instead, lived experience should be examined as it is directly given to consciousness – as a description of the appearance of the world, through human experience.

Husserl treated consciousness as fundamentally intentional, meaning that every act of consciousness is directed toward something – whether an object, an idea, a memory, or a feeling. The task of phenomenology is then to investigate how objects, meanings, and the world itself are constituted in consciousness. This focus on intentionality makes phenomenology different from other philosophical methods. It is less concerned with external causes or systematic explanations, and more with the structures that make experience possible.

Now, in order to carry out this investigation, Husserl proposes to start with epoché, or “bracketing.” In daily life we take for granted that the world exists as we perceive it. When you see a coffee cup on your desk, you immediately assume it is a real object that exists independently of your perception; you don’t question whether it’s actually there. This taking-for-granted of the reality of our experience is called the natural attitude, and this, Husserl says, we should reject. We should stop treating experiences as evidence for external facts. Instead, we describe the experience itself: its qualities, horizons, structures. The coffee cup has certain qualities – its warmth against your hand, its smell of coffee, and the calm of the morning it makes you feel. It has horizons – you see only one side of the cup, but you assume that the back also exists, and you expect that the cup can be lifted and filled. And it has structures – the features that make the experience possible, such as temporality (the cup persists through time even if you look away), embodiment (you experience the cup through your body), and intentionality (the directedness of your consciousness to the cup). This then leads to phenomenological reduction, where the attention shifts from objects to the ways these objects are constituted in consciousness. Rather than thinking about the cup as an object “out there” in the world, you focus on how the cup is given to your consciousness: all the perspectives you see when you move around it; the way its meaning is built up by all of these appearances; and how your expectations and memories shape what you experience.

By doing this, we can turn our attention to the lifeworld (Lebenswelt). This can be seen as the background world of everyday experience. Here, meanings exist without us thinking about or experiencing them. The coffee cup is not just a singular, neutral object; it’s part of a certain morning scene, a set of routines, feelings, an atmosphere. The world of experiencing the coffee cup is not private, but shared with others throughout time and space.
Thereby, these others also interpret this world they inhabit. This makes the world structured by intersubjectivity. The meaning and the sense of what a coffee cup is, and what the calmth and freshness of the morning feels like, is shaped by the shared understanding with others. Individual experience takes place in a shared world that shapes what we experience and how we make sense of it.

After Husserl founded the movement, phenomenology was further developed by later twentieth-century thinkers. Martin Heidegger (1889–1976), for instance, reoriented it toward questions of being and human existence, highlighting how experience is always situated in time, history, and the world. This is illustrated through his distinction between “ready-to-hand” and “present-at-hand”. According to Heidegger, we usually encounter things in a practical, ready-to-hand manner, while we tend to describe them in a more detached, present-at-hand way. This distinction brought phenomenology closer to the phenomena themselves, because it revealed how meaning arises from our practical engagement with the world rather than from detached reflection alone.

Later phenomenologists continued to explore the dimensions of lived experience. Maurice Merleau-Ponty (1908–1961) emphasized the body, showing that experience is never just mental, but is always lived through bodily engagement. Jean-Paul Sartre’s (1905–1980) application of phenomenology has become known as existentialist philosophy, dealing with freedom, social relations and self-identity. Hannah Arendt (1906–1975) brought phenomenological insights into political philosophy.

Phenomenology, thus, is a method for investigating how reality is experienced and constituted in human life. It does not explain why events happen in causal terms – it describes how they appear, how they are lived, and what structures of meaning they reveal. By returning to the “things themselves,” phenomenology offers a way to understand human experience in all its complexities.

The Phenomenological Method

In this section we aim to develop a practical method for applying phenomenology to a specific topic: polarization. For any reader familiar with philosophical texts on phenomenology, or even those who have read this chapter so far, this might seem a daunting task. Phenomenology has a rich history, shaped by renowned philosophers who don’t always agree with one another; even worse, they don’t always agree with themselves.

We propose a way forward by offering a step-by-step approach to the phenomenological method. The steps described below seem quite universal across different schools in phenomenology, the variations lie in how each step is approached. This should work for anybody’s favorite flavor of phenomenology.

As a part of this book on philosophical tools for thinking about polarization, we tailor our method to public and/or political debate contexts. It will be applied to three case studies further in this chapter. That said, the following steps have more universal value and are applicable to broader themes and cases.

This outlines a short step-by-step approach to using phenomenology as a method. It may seem overwhelming at first, but remember: every experience matters. You can start by thinking about your own private experiences and experiment with this method, generating new questions, building up more experiential material as you go along. The beauty of the phenomenological method is its openness: each experience is valuable in itself. You don’t need a certain statistical sample size before you can start exploring.

Phenomenology applied to polarization

Now that we are more aware of the phenomenological method, it is time to start asking ourselves: how may phenomenology be applied to the topic of polarization? And: why is it a relevant philosophical tool for polarization in the first place? To answer these questions, we first need to consider one particular characteristic of polarization.

Polarization refers to the progressive splitting of society into opposing groups. The social cohesion holding the groups together is lost and both groups become extremer in their views, feelings, and behaviours. This process is illustrated vividly by the political debate surrounding the conflict in Gaza. In the Netherlands, reports of online antisemitism have increased with 48% since the start of the conflict. At the same time, people who express Pro-Palestinian views on social media have faced professional repercussions, in some cases even losing their jobs. This case shows us not only how opposing groups move further apart, but also how the dynamic of polarization has consequences that reach far beyond the initial debate. The opposing groups develop strong negative feelings towards one another, and the splitting starts to involve other aspects of life, if not all of them. Jews (whether they support Israel or not) are responsible for the horror inflicted by Israel. Palestinians are responsible for the terror inflicted by Hamas. Polarization seems to affect us in our very essence.

And this is exactly where the phenomenological method comes in. By carefully examining our experience of the phenomena of polarization, we may find essential features that define them and social, political, existential, or other structures that underlie them. In this way, the method allows us to appreciate the way in which we are affected by the phenomena of polarization, and to identify the structures responsible for shaping these phenomena. Knowledge of the latter may even show us how we can prevent polarization from becoming personal.

Below, we will apply the phenomenological method to three cases. First, we will investigate how physical space structures the way in which phenomena appear in the political arena. Can we influence the level of polarization by removing the conference table from a city council meeting? Next, we will examine instances of political violence in the Netherlands from the spectator’s point of view. Can your judgment of the opposing group remain fair amidst all associated emotions? And finally, we will explore how we experience the past versus the present – why the past is explained through function, while the present is lived through meaning. Can bridging this temporal gap help us learn from history in a way that causal explanation cannot?

Take away the table: How space can transform debate

We can all recall uneasy situations where conversations lead to polarization. Often, circumstances play an obvious role: many-to-one discussions where some don’t feel free to speak out, or seating arrangements that make you feel part of an opposing “team”.
Meetings behind tables often encourage focus on laptops rather than on building bridges and togetherness. We tend to forget such external factors, and assume we are engaging purely on an intellectual level.

There is more to the experience of being in a discussion, and there are more factors involved in resolving polarization. Factors range from the mundane, such as skipping your morning coffee, to personal dislikes and structural issues like whether everybody feels invited to voice their opinion. Physical settings also play a crucial role, and we select these as the phenomenon to apply our phenomenological method to (step 1). This section invites us to reflect on these experiences and explore ways to improve our discussions, thereby reducing polarization.

A long-standing interest in these issues is guided by contemplations in a number of city councils that are modifying their meeting rooms to encourage cooperative discussions (e.g. from a House of Commons-style (Dutch: “lagerhuis”) setting to a more circular setting). This is also beautifully illustrated in the Parliament Book, that “explores the double-sided relationship between space and politics by documenting and comparing the plenary halls of the parliaments of all 193 United Nations member states.”

We focus on the setting and surroundings in which the debate or discussion takes place and how these influence the interactions taking place; so we consider the setting of a discussion as a condition to shape a certain form of discussion. The environment is not neutral: it actively shapes the form and tone of a debate.

In local government in  the Netherlands, municipal politics involve practical issues rather than the highly ideological topics like migration, that dominate national debates. Still, even these practical debates can get polarized. The physical settings in which meetings take place significantly influence how people engage in these debates. 

Twelve years ago, a regional politician playing Solitaire (Dutch: Patience) during a council meeting could spark outrage in national media, where as today it is common to see more than half of the people in meetings being distracted by their devices.

One of the authors recently became abruptly aware of these dynamics during a meeting with an unusual setup. The participants, high-level mental and youth care executives, were accustomed to traditional meeting rooms with tables and chairs arranged in rectangles. For this session, however, the moderator removed all tables and arranged chairs in a circle. The effect was immediate: initial discomfort (with jokes about ‘group therapy’) soon gave way to a more constructive atmosphere. The circular layout encouraged active listening and participation. Without tables, there was no hiding behind laptops or phones, and leaning back passively would have seemed rude. These experiences were reported by multiple participants directly after the meeting (step 2).

We now apply a phenomenological reduction (step 3): stepping back from the surface events and examining how the experience of the meeting was constituted. This means setting aside our normal ideas about what a “meeting” is and focusing instead on how the situation appeared to those involved.

Removing the tables transformed the meeting. The attention shifted from screens, notes, or fixed positions toward one another. The circular arrangement created mutual presence: everyone could see and be seen at all times. This increased the sense of “being-there”. Such presence, in phenomenological terms, is not only physical but also intentional. It concerns how our consciousness is directed toward others and toward the shared purpose of the meeting.

The experience also revealed how quickly spatial arrangements shape our social relations. Without a table, the symbolic boundary between “speaker” and “listener” disappeared. The space became open and equal, encouraging attentiveness and direct exchange. In phenomenological terms, the lifeworld of the meeting shifted: from a procedural and hierarchical structure, to one that was participatory and reciprocal.

From the perspective of polarization, this shift is crucial. Polarization thrives on distance: social, emotional, or spatial. Physical separation reinforces separation: the table becomes a metaphor for barriers. When those divisions are reduced, the atmosphere changes. Participants move from defending positions to exploring meanings. In this way, the spatial form of the meeting is not merely a background condition but an active element in either sustaining or softening polarization.

Applied to political contexts, this analysis suggests that depolarization begins not only with different words but with different worlds, that are constituted through how we meet, see, and hear one another. The setup of a debate is part of the political process itself: it can entrench opposition or open the possibility of togetherness.

Political violence in the Netherlands

As pointed out above, a crucial aspect of polarization is that your negative view of the opposing group starts to extend beyond the initial debate. Not only the views held by the opposing group are deemed “stupid”, but also the members themselves appear to be foolish. In this section, I will investigate how this process is accelerated by political violence. How does political violence shape our experience of the opposing group?

In order to answer this question, I will first apply the phenomenological method to two cases related to political violence in the Netherlands. I will try to get to the phenomena themselves and differentiate them from our assumptions about them (step 1 and 2). Then, I will look at their commonalities and employ phenomenological reduction to get a glimpse of the essence of what political violence is (step 3 and 4).

The first instance of political violence that I will discuss concerns violence against a journalist who wrote critical articles about covid conspiracy theorists. In August 2021, journalist Wim Groeneveld and his girlfriend from Groningen woke up in the middle of the night after a Molotov cocktail was thrown through their front door. The incident was filmed by security cameras, and footage spread quickly across the internet. I remember feeling disgust at the time: how can one commit such violence against a journalist?

Following the phenomenological method, I first select the phenomenon I want to study (step 1). In this case, this is the experience of watching the footage of the attack; the way it appears to me as spectator.

Next, I take note of the experience (step 2). I see a man standing in front of a house making gestures which seem to indicate that this is the right building and that his “friend” should come. Then, I see two men approaching the building a bit hesitantly. Man 1 is leading the way and stops to check his pockets. He seems to be looking for something. Man 2, carrying a black garbage bag and two beer bottles with paper coming out of the top, shows Man 1 a lighter and lets it burn for a second. In response, Man 1 aborts his pocket-search and continues towards the building, out of camera sight. Man 2 follows. From another camera, we see them walking up the stairs towards the front door. Man 1 is wearing sunglasses, a Superdry hoodie, and a balaclava. They light three of their Molotov cocktails. Man 1 throws one of them towards the door and the video ends abruptly.

That was quite a detailed description of what I saw. But is it really how I experienced the phenomenon? Martin Heidegger would probably disagree. He differentiates two modes of being for non-human objects: presence-at-hand and readiness-to-hand. Perceiving an object as present-at-hand occurs when you think about an object in terms of properties like colour, weight, and material. Presence-at-hand refers to properties that supposedly exist independently of the observer. On the other hand, perceiving an object as ready-to-hand is about how you can use it and how the object relates to you and other entities in the material world. To make this distinction clear, take for example our present-at-hand description of the lighter: “Man 2 (…) shows Man 1 a lighter and lets it burn for a second.” This description is extremely neutral and talks about the phenomenon without referring to the web of significance enclosed in the lighter’s use and its relationships with other entities. A more ready-to-hand description would refer to the lighter’s use for igniting the beer bottles with paper coming out on top. The lighter’s role as a tool to terrorize journalists. The lighter as a weapon of fear. Consequently, the footage of Man 1 struggling to find a lighter is no longer as innocent as it may seem in the description. The scene becomes malicious.

This gives a simple but important insight: political violence is not only about what happens, but also about how things take on meaning within that situation. The ready-to-hand view shows how an ordinary object, like a lighter, can suddenly become part of something threatening.

The second case of political violence that I will discuss concerns threats against politicians. Specifically, I will investigate an excerpt from a television interview by Eva Jinek with the former mayor of Rotterdam, Ahmed Aboutaleb. Following the phenomenological method, I first select the phenomenon to study (step 1). Again, this is my experience as a spectator.

Next, I take note of the experience (step 2). In the video, Aboutaleb talks about a conversation with one of his children who said to him: “You are a hero to me, but a dead hero is no good to me.” You can feel the emotion in Aboutaleb’s face and voice. “What did you say?” Jinek asks carefully. “You cannot say anything back,” he replies. After a moment of silence, he gets the question whether his job is worth the troubles. Without hesitation, he answers: “Yes, absolutely. I would do it again without a second thought.”

The video demonstrates clearly why it is important to draw a distinction between present-at-hand and ready-to-hand. For the conversation would lose all its meaning without the spectator-dependent web of significance that surrounds it (e.g., prior experience with political murders). To get back to the phenomenon itself, I need to include this web as it shapes my experience profoundly. Otherwise, this video would be no more than two people exchanging hollow phrases.

Taking this into account, I can see that the interview with Aboutaleb is more than an example of the emotional consequences of political violence for politicians. Rather, the video shows me something about myself, the spectator. I feel sorrow when hearing the words of Aboutaleb’s children, and I feel awe when hearing Aboutaleb’s resilience. I feel his deep sense of insecurity and I empathize with him for it. I experience a sense of injustice because people should not have to risk their lives to perform public functions, and I experience anger because the world should do better. I appear to be affected by the phenomenon in my essence.

Having described both cases, I now turn to phenomenological reduction (step 3). What are the commonalities in these two examples and what do they tell us about how political violence relates to polarization?

Although both examples focus on different aspects of the term ‘political violence’ (that is, the offender and the victim), we can see that political violence evokes feelings of injustice in me as a spectator in both cases. In the first case, a Molotov cocktail was used to silence a journalist who wrote critical articles about covid conspiracy theorists, and my feelings of injustice are directed towards the perpetrators. In the second case, the children of a mayor fear for his life because of his public function and by absence of a direct perpetrator, my feelings of injustice are oriented towards him; I feel empathy and awe. And I am likely not the only one: just scroll through the comment section of the video which is overflowing with comments like “Can this man please be our new prime minister?”

It is not hard to see how this contributes to the process of polarization. Whether I am aware of it or not, my connotations of the term “covid conspiracy theorists” become less positive and my connotations surrounding Aboutaleb and his political party are lifted. Even if I recognize that the man in his Superdry hoody is just one member of the ‘covid is a conspiracy’ group, I still ascribe similar properties to the rest of the group. At the same time, I ascribe Aboutaleb a disproportionate amount of praise. Yes, resilience against death threats is of course admirable, but it is in no way enough to qualify as prime minister. In both cases, my judgement is thoroughly obscured by the emotions associated with political violence.

Besides polarization being driven by political violence through the spectator, we can also recognize polarization as a cause of political violence when perpetrators take on more extremist views and allow the debate to become personal. An illustration of this dynamic can be found in the motives of one of the perpetrators in the Molotov cocktail case. In his psychological report (described in the court ruling), a disturbing image arises of how polarization took hold over him: “Over time, he built up a considerable amount of anger toward the government’s freedom-restricting measures (…) and the complainant as representer of this policy.” The perpetrator became focused on the journalist and “increasingly adopted an us-versus-them position.” This led him to commit an act of political violence, thereby reinforcing the polarization dynamic even further. It is a vicious cycle.

Now that we have concluded our phenomenological reduction, it is time to move to the final step of the method: learning from the phenomenological approach and considering how it can help us address the vicious cycle of polarization and political violence outlined above (step 4).

As we have seen, we should not assume that the way others appear to us is the way they truly are. Phenomenology invites us to notice how members of opposing groups appear in our experience and to recognize that these appearances are shaped by our own emotions. Political violence makes this visible because it amplifies feelings of fear, admiration, anger, or sorrow. When we fail to reflect on this, we risk mistaking our emotionally charged impressions for reality itself, and polarization deepens.

Fortunately, this insight also shows that it can be otherwise. And the good news is: this is very doable! When you encounter acts of political violence, recognize them as warning signs that your judgment is about to be obscured. Yes, you can let your feelings overtake you in the heat of the moment, but be aware of that happening. Acknowledge your feelings towards the phenomenon, yet keep them separate from your view of other members of the opposing group. Allow yourself to move from being a passive spectator to an active one and help to break the toxic cycle of polarization and political violence.

Phenomenological reconstruction of past and current events

Polarization and the functional mindset

When we talk about polarization, we usually think of cases such as left versus right, ecologists versus farmers, old versus young. But underneath those social divides lies something more profound; a more fundamental split in how we see one another. Polarization, in essence, is a way of approaching or regarding something other. And it happens when we stop perceiving the other as a subject that experiences and feels things, and start viewing them as an object.
Often, this happens as functional or causal thinking. We say people vote a certain way because of their education, their subculture, or the media they watch. These might all be true, but by using them to explain someone’s behaviour, we distance them from ourselves. The other person becomes a product of explicable causalities, rather than someone living in a world of experience, like ourselves. The more we explain others functionally, the less we understand them phenomenologically, from within their actual lived experience.

This functional perspective doesn’t only create polarization in our current society; it is also seen in how we look at human life more broadly, such as what sometimes happens when we study history. The way we look at the past sometimes shows the same polarizing logic; when we divide humans into us and them, civilized and primitive, enlightened and ignorant. And we explain their actions in ways we would rarely instinctively apply to our own. For example, when an archaeologist finds beads, they often ask what function it served. When we put on a necklace, most of the times we don’t.
This part argues that such asymmetries reveal a form of epistemic polarization. Not between political camps, but between different ways of seeing humanity. We explain the past functionally while we live the present phenomenologically. This difference in approach distances us from our ancestors but more importantly, it also shows that the same cognitive habits enforce polarization in our society today. By using the phenomenological method to reconstruct lived experience in historical contexts, we can learn to perceive others (past or present) as experiencing beings rather than as functional outcomes of their environments.

The phenomenological method

The phenomenological method can help us see beyond functional explanation and move toward understanding. As explained earlier, in the introduction, epoché asks us to bracket our assumptions: to suspend the explanatory reflex that we have and to just describe what appears in the experience. Intentionality directs us to what consciousness is about; to what matters, what someone cares for, what they pay attention to. And lifeworld and intersubjectivity remind us that experience is never private: meaning arises in shared worlds where recognition, belonging, and visibility take shape.

These tools of phenomenology can be applied to historical events. With this, they can be reconstructed to let past consciousness appear for us through sensory, intentional, and intersubjective details. In the next section, I apply this reconstruction to two different moments in time: prehistoric ornamentation and twentieth-century bureaucratic compliance. Both could be explained functionally, but they will be redeveloped in a phenomenological way. Firstly, through epoché we bracket functional, moral, and causal explanations. Then we apply phenomenological reduction, which shifts attention to the experience. Hereafter, we explore the horizons of experience and situate it within a shared lifeworld.

Example 1: prehistoric ornamentation

The functional view

Evolutionary anthropology often explains ornamentation as adaptive. Beads and jewellery signal fitness, mark social hierarchy, or create group identity. These explain function, but they don’t say anything about the more psychological driving force for ornamentation. The prehistoric person is in this explanation seen as a product of selection pressures, not as someone who cares about beauty, recognition or social approval, like we ourselves do. It eliminates the reason why it mattered phenomenologically: what it was actually like for our ancestors to make and wear those beads.

Phenomenological reconstruction

The shell was sandy and wet, glistering in the afternoon sun. When she picked it up, it felt smooth and cold to her fingers. Contented she walked back to the others; she had found exactly the one she needed, pale, round and firm. Her mother had once shown her which shells she needed to use, and which would break too easily.
She sat by the fire, steadily drilling the hole with a pointed bone. The rhythmic scraping sound and the warmth of the fire made her feel drowsy. But when the hole finally broke through, she felt a small satisfaction. She threaded the bead onto the cord, uniting it with the other beads. Some dark, some light, all in different sizes. She tied the strand around her neck, feeling the weight of it rest against her collarbone, moving slightly when she moved.
That evening, when the others returned, she saw their eyes flicker in her direction. One of the women came closer, curiously touching the shells with her fingers, asking where she had found them. The attention felt warm and affirming. She felt seen and special; she felt beautiful. When she lay down by the fire to sleep, keeping the shells around her neck, their weight made her feel proud and seen.

Phenomenological method analysis

Through epoché, we set aside adaptive explanations, and through phenomenological reduction, attention shifts to how the activity of ornamentation is constituted in lived experience. What appears is a world structured by care, attention, and recognition. The woman acts intentionally towards beauty and belonging. The horizon of this experience includes craftsmanship, visibility, and social recognition. The lifeworld here is very communal: people share practices of making themselves beautiful, of seeing and being seen, of expressing something through appearance. Meanings arise intersubjectively, by acknowledging others. The ancestor becomes not just defined by survival, but rather a person embedded in meaning.

This matters because functional explanations, while in a way very useful, create a subtle polarization. They create a difference between us, the experiencing beings, versus them, the functional beings. A phenomenological view closes that gap. It reminds us that things like the desire to be aesthetically pleasing and social recognition don’t only belong to the present. Rather, they’re fundamental features of being human.

Example 2: Twentieth-century compliance

The functional view

In 20th century history, mass compliance occurring during authoritarian regimes is sometimes explained through structural factors such as ideology, propaganda, and bureaucracy. People are said to have obeyed because they were indoctrinated or because disobeying was dangerous. These explanations describe the reasons why people obeyed, but not the experience and how the obedience felt.

Phenomenological reconstruction

The repetition was endless: press the stamp on the paper, pass them forward. The ink smelled stale and soapy, the same scent every morning for almost a year now. The papers were already numbered and signed by other people working the same kind of job.
The office was warm, but outside it was icy and the snow was falling in silent flakes. People sitting at other desks were coughing and sniffling. The papers said “resettlement,” but everyone had heard the rumours. Whether they were true or not, the facts on the papers were names, numbers and destinations.
During the lunch break, he heard others talk about whether the cold weather would last for much longer, and about the upcoming birthday of one of them. Surely nobody talked about the trains, he himself never did that either. He felt a bit more distanced from it like that. He was quite sure the other workers thought the same as he did, and that they silently agreed never to wonder about the trains, as it was easier like this. Of course he could refuse, but what difference would it really make? He would be replaced by afternoon, the papers would continue to be stamped, the trains would still leave.
With the thought in mind that they were all doing what must be done, he returned to his desk and to his routine. The fact that everybody around him did the same, confirmed to him that this was just the way things were.

Phenomenological method analysis

By suspending moral judgment, we can describe what appears in consciousness: not cruelty, but rather duty, order, and routine. The lifeworld is one of normalization. It’s a shared reality where obedience is the horizon of possibility. Intersubjectivity works here through conformity: when everyone acts as though nothing is wrong, disobedience becomes almost unthinkable.
Obedience forms the horizon of the possibility. Present in experience is the routine of the task and the expectation to continue, while the consequences of this task remain distant and phenomenologically absent. Intersubjectivity is present in conformity. Everybody acts as though nothing is wrong, so disobedience is not only risky, but almost unthinkable.
Phenomenology reveals how systemic harm can feel ordinary in personal experience. Evil isn’t always driven by strong ideology. It can emerge from the comfort of routine. Understanding this doesn’t excuse the harm though. Instead, it humanizes past people and thereby it allows us to learn from them. Seeing how wrongdoing in the past felt normal helps us notice how similar mechanisms work today. Because today there exist also corporations where decisions feel very distant from the effects they have, and social media bubbles where harm to others is easily ignored, which makes moral distance to evil seem natural.

From historical understanding to polarization

Both the prehistoric and the modern case show the possible danger of functional thinking. In prehistory, it turns aesthetic creation into adaptation. In more recent history, it turns moral blindness into social mechanics. In both, human experience gets explained away rather than understood.
This is where the argument returns to polarization in today’s sense. Deviated social groups harden when we use the same functional gaze toward others that historians and scientists sometimes adopt toward the past. “They think this way because they were raised that way”. or “They vote like that because they’re afraid.” Each statement might be factually correct, yet it removes the possibility of empathy by stripping the other of their intentional world.
Polarization then isn’t just moral distance and hardening; it’s an epistemic stance. It’s done through the habit of reducing someone else’s lived reality to external, functional causes. To counteract it, we can do the same as phenomenology offers to historical understanding: we can bracket our assumptions, focus on how the world appears to the other, and recognize that their experiences are as strong and important as our own.
If we can approach political or ideological opponents phenomenologically – not to agree with them, but to understand what their world feels like from within – we start to depolarize.

Value of phenomenology

Phenomenology changes our relation to both history and to each other. If we apply it to the past, it reveals a continuity to the present: people in (pre)history are not alien, but variations of the same human species and nature. Applied to the present, phenomenology could reveal how meaning is made, changed, or silenced within our own shared lifeworlds.
This application of two approaches, the functional and phenomenological approach, shows that we need both to fully understand events. The functional one to reveal systems, and then we need phenomenological reconstructions to restore the humanity within these systems. Without the latter, knowledge dehumanizes, and without the former, it becomes too naive.

By reconstructing how the world appeared to consciousness we find continuities of humanity. The need for recognition, the comfort of routine, the ignorance that normality can impose on us.
Lastly, by depolarizing the past, we can learn how to depolarize the present. From explaining others to understanding them, and from separation to shared humanity. The phenomenological method then is an ethical tool and practice for living together in the present.