As part of an ambitious, goodwill initiative to implement National Dialogue practices across Lithuania, I had the opportunity to sit down with Kai Alhanen. A distinguished Finnish philosopher, author, and pioneer in dialogical methods, Alhanen has dedicated his career to exploring how structured, face-to-face communication can counter societal polarization and strengthen democratic engagement. He is the director of Dialogue Academy (Dialogi Akatemia) in Finland and has been instrumental in developing the “Timeout” (Erätauko) and “Dialogue Circle” models—structured methods designed to bring diverse groups of people together, build trust, and discuss complex societal issues in a constructive, egalitarian environment.
Against the backdrop of the Baltic region’s complex history, our conversation delved into the profound intersections of dialogue with Jungian thinking, neuroscience, and the enduring, humble spirit of the Socratic tradition.
Kaunas is a city shaped by interwar modernism, lingering Soviet memories, and a strong cultural revival today. In such a layered environment, what role can dialogue play in helping people relate to different historical narratives?
In general, dialogue is an essential approach in all situations where we need to reconstruct our ways of looking at the world. If you look at many historical periods, especially in Western culture, you can see that during these major transitional phases, people very often start writing and publishing dialogues. Dialogue proves to be a good way of trying to figure out how the past is—or is not—relevant to the future, and what kind of meanings we can give to the past in the present.
In a city where you have so many layers of history and many questions about the past—what has happened and what it means to us now—I think it is a great idea to bring people together and rethink those things from an individual perspective. What does it mean to different people? Furthermore, we can try to find some common meanings: how do we see these different fragments of the past at this moment? I believe dialogue is an excellent tool for this type of historical reconstruction.
You describe dialogue as a means to form questions and come together, yet we also live in increasingly polarized societies. Is dialogue still possible today?
I mostly think, talk, write, and teach about face-to-face dialogues because I believe they are a medicine or a counterforce to the polarizing powers we experience in the digital world. When you face other people while sitting in a circle, seeing them there as whole human beings, you are less likely to demonize or dehumanize them.
You are forced to deal with disagreements and different perspectives in a more constructive way, because you cannot simply express your anger or frustration without regarding the consequences in the immediate communication situation. Also, you cannot just “click yourself away” or flee from the situation with one press of a button, as you might in a digital environment. You need to stick with the trouble alongside other people.
Thus, dialogue brings a necessary counterforce to the digital space where we have become accustomed to not even trying to understand those who disagree with us. Seeing another living being in the same space as you, and making an effort to understand their perspective—even if you do not agree with it—makes face-to-face dialogue fundamentally different from digital encounters.
These efforts also happen in our heads—people constantly experience an inner dialogue. How does becoming aware of it change the connection we have with ourselves and shape our relationships with others?
A human being is not a single, monolithic thing. We contain many different perspectives and voices within ourselves. If we understand ourselves better and discover this multiplicity within us, we realize that these are genuine possibilities for others as well. For example, I can think about an issue in many different ways, even from my own perspective. In this way, my thinking becomes more flexible. I can begin to understand why other people see things differently.
Digital platforms do not really encourage us to do this. This ability is connected to the mechanisms we use when expressing our thoughts on social media—usually in writing. When we write, we are often forced to choose one limited perspective instead of exploring the more conflicting or diverse poins of view we might have in our minds. Therefore, we constantly respond to monological comments with another monologue.
When people practice genuine dialogue, they become much more aware of the different dimensions of their own experience. People very often say that after a dialogue they feel a little less certain about their opinions. In many situations, I believe this is a good thing—realizing that your way of looking at things is not the only right one triggers a desire to learn. We realize we are not as clever and wise as we like to think. We come to see how much we don’t know, how much is uncertain, and that there are many other ways of looking at things.
I don’t think social media mechanisms encourage this way of thinking. They push us to “like” or “share,” which basically means “I am repeating this idea exactly as it is.” Or they encourage us to completely disagree, but they do not encourage us to find different perspectives or acknowledge that things are usually much more complex than they appear on the surface.
In this way, could you say that the dialogue method is a way to build empathy? Research from around 2012–2014 suggested that Lithuania and Venezuela had the lowest empathy scores in the world. It seems dialogue is deeply needed here. I see your raised eyebrows—what do you think about this research?
I was just a bit surprised by that result. I work in all the Baltic countries, and I’ve noticed that there isn’t a huge difference between Lithuanians, Latvians, and Estonians. It is obvious that we are encountering post-Soviet consequences, which have a lot to do with trust and the perceived danger of being open about one’s inner thoughts and feelings.
It is totally understandable that a lack of trust, openness, and transparency on a personal level damages empathy and the willingness to put oneself in another’s shoes. For us to truly want to understand each other, it requires a willingness to open up. If history has taught you that saying what is on your mind can lead to big trouble, in the long run, it leads to less sympathy and empathy for others.
I see these traces in all the Baltic countries, so for me, as an outsider, it is difficult to say “Lithuania is different from Latvia and Estonia on this issue.” However, I can certainly see a difference when I compare this to my work in the Nordic countries. It takes more courage for people in the Baltic countries to genuinely engage in dialogue because many still need to fight the psychological consequences of Soviet oppression. At the same time, I believe there is a great hope in the Baltics to overcome that past and build a more humane society. People are not doomed to this condition; it is a struggle, but a hopeful one.
Some would say we live in the “eternal now” of regaining independence, but the collective liberation is happening right now. This brings us to psychoanalysis. Would you like to share some connections between dialogue practice and Jungian thinking?
This is something I have thought about a lot over the years. I believe it comes from a very practical, concrete personal experience of facilitating many dialogues with diverse groups. When we focus on understanding the topic, others, and ourselves, people are encouraged to talk openly about how they experience the world. We end up with a lot of unexpected experiential material entering the dialogue, especially if there is trust and a sense of playfulness in the group.
People are willing to be playful in the sense that they are prepared to say something without knowing where it might lead. Associations or emotions arise during the dialogue. One could say that dialogue is a way of getting in touch with the unconscious material of the human mind. It is special because it is not the same as seeing a psychoanalyst, but the group setting brings up different material than one might find in one-on-one discussions.
Most of the dialogues I facilitate happen in groups of 5 to 15 people. Material emerges that you don’t necessarily need to “do” anything with. You can just pay attention: “Oh, interesting, this kind of image, this metaphor, or this emotion is arising in me or others while we talk about this topic.” Thus, dialogue is a good way to train the mind to let these contents from the unconscious arise without the necessity of acting on them immediately.
Jung wrote about “active imagination”—a vehicle for analytical therapy involving drawing, dancing, or other creative ways to work with unconscious content. Is this similar to dialogue?
It has similarities in the sense that you try to let things emerge and then “play” with them a little bit. In a dialogue, you can play with things that come into your mind. You can say to others, “You know, I started thinking about this, I started feeling this way, I have this image in my mind.”
You don’t necessarily know what it is about, but you can test it aloud. You can observe what happens when you recognize your own thought process. And if you talk about these contents in the dialogue, others can also react to them experimentally. There is no need to decide if they are true or false, right or wrong. We can just explore together. The more you do that, the more flexible and aware your mind becomes of that side of the psyche.
You mentioned images and metaphors. Dialogue often seems to thicken through metaphors rather than literal statements. Why are metaphors so powerful?
This goes back to why I emphasize the importance of experience. Instead of talking about opinions, we encourage people to share the experiences behind them. What has happened in my life? If we are having a dialogue about friendship, I might tell you about my childhood, my family, my workplace, or even books and films that were important to me.
When I open up about my experience, I am telling a “story.” I convey a part of my life history through perceptions, images, thoughts, and emotions. Usually, something in that story resonates with the experiences of others. My story evokes your stories. At this level, information comes not just as explanations, but as images or metaphors.
Often, a particular metaphor starts to resonate with many people—they begin to use it together. For example, one person says they feel “lost at sea,” and then someone else picks up that image. When that happens, it is a signal of something emerging collectively. We can then explore: What is behind the metaphor? Why the sea? Is it stormy, calm, or misty? Are we in a boat, or are we birds? Whatever it is, new metaphors emerge.
In my understanding, these metaphors draw material from the unconscious that we wouldn’t be able to reach otherwise. The unconscious part of our mind cannot speak to us rationally; it has a different language, and one of its modes of communication is through images. We know this from our dreams. Dream-like images come up quite often in dialogues—they help us touch things that our conscious minds cannot handle alone.
This is an interesting question because it is rarely discussed in literature on dialogue. Furthermore, images usually arise from one participant, but if they resonate with others, we can hypothesize that it is something valuable for the whole community or society. It is not just the individual’s psyche, but the collective dimensions of our coexistence that emerge. People don’t usually choose these metaphors deliberately; they just pick them up. It happens naturally, but during a dialogue, we can also talk about it consciously: “Why are we using these specific images?”
Water as a symbol for the emotional world?
Yes. In general, I think metaphors are often manifestations of emotional attitudes. From a Jungian point of view, these unconscious images are seen as manifestations of our biological powers and instincts. They are constantly present but haven’t yet been able to manifest. They can provide information valuable for our well-being. Jung spoke a lot about homeostasis—the constant movement to reach a psycho-physiological balance. Unconscious impulses can be disturbing if we don’t have the tools to process them.
Today we live in a society largely governed by images, unlike the past, which was ruled by text. Do you think we live closer to our unconscious because of that?
No, I actually think it’s a big problem. We live among images made by other people and forced upon us. It often becomes more difficult to recognize images arising from within because we are so saturated with external ones. Images act on our unconscious in ways that leave very little room for us to process them.
Another problem is that current technologies give us very little time to reflect. We need moments where nothing happens: boredom, waiting, or listening to someone else struggle to formulate an unclear thought. But that is exactly where the mind has the possibility to open itself to the unconscious. In that sense, it is now much more difficult for us to understand the images arising from our own minds.
Regarding neuroplasticity—do you think it is still possible to regain these weakening skills?
I believe there is scientific evidence that we can regain these abilities. I don’t know if there is permanent damage if certain practices were missing in childhood, but we know the brain is capable of regaining a lot through practice. I think dialogue is one of the most powerful ways to do this because our nervous system is genetically wired to cooperate with the nervous systems of others.
We are our own best tools for regaining these skills. We can do it together—thinking and talking in a group. In those moments, our nervous systems are constantly interacting. This is how we are wired as mammals. Especially important is the interaction where one being tries to understand another as a unique individual with unique experiences.
This individual focus is crucial, as backed by neurological research. It comes back to our fundamental ability for sophisticated cooperation. We know how important it is for a baby that the caretaker tries to understand them as a unique being with individual needs. We have the genetically wired skills to do this, but our current environment often prevents us from using them. The consequences are serious, but we are not helpless.
What other neuroscience insights about dialogue could you mention?
There are many interesting things. My colleagues and I are currently rethinking how dialogue helps us achieve integration. Many different integrations happen in our mind-body system. According to interpersonal neurobiology, dialogue helps our brains be more holistic—integrating rational, emotional, and intuitive functions.
When this happens, we are more capable of dealing with complexity. We get more “brainpower” to solve problems. Moreover, integration increases our well-being. We function better as living beings when we can integrate our nervous system and our relationships. This all comes back to the idea that the human mind and body are not designed to function in isolation.
If you look at the world—starting with architecture—we have designed so many environments that hinder us from living as we are supposed to. It is important to ensure we are living in a world suitable for herd mammals who also need to be individuals. We should design our environments to support this fundamental feature of our existence.
Your work continues an ancient philosophical tradition, such as Socratic practice. What have we lost from that tradition?
Socrates didn’t write anything himself; we know his method through Plato and Xenophon. The early Platonic dialogues often end in what is called aporia—an inconclusive situation. The dialogue ends with the recognition that the interlocutors do not understand, for example, what courage is. People become aware of how little they actually know.
This returns to the idea that dialogue is needed so we can become more individual, humble, and curious. In a time when everyone seems so sure about everything, especially on social media, we have lost a large part of that. Furthermore, Plato’s dialogues describe a transformation of the soul. People who talked to Socrates often left feeling confused. It is not so much about finding the “right” idea as it is about starting a longer journey. Growth through dialogue includes necessary moments of confusion and even pain.
In ancient times, philosophy was a way of life rather than just making theories about existence. It was about working on your soul and trying to live a good life. I worry about how many people today have the opportunity to do this together with others. And this brings me back to democracy. It is the only political system where we believe we can do this together with everyone, regardless of status or religion. The basic idea is that everyone can meet on an equal basis and learn from one another. Socrates showed that everyone can learn from everyone.
If dialogue were a physical place we could enter, what would it look like?
As a Finn, of course, I say it is the sauna. In a Finnish sauna, everyone is naked—we reveal ourselves to others in our vulnerability. But because the sauna is dimly lit, we are also in the shadows. We are free to talk as much or as little as we want.
We must constantly regulate the temperature. The sauna is a place of freedom—you can come and go as you please. It is a place of equality. You sit there with others, and there are no hierarchies. For me, the physical place that best captures the spirit of dialogue is the sauna.
