Your Mileage May Vary is an advice column offering you a new framework for thinking through your ethical dilemmas and philosophical questions. This unconventional column is based on value pluralism — the idea that each of us has multiple values that are equally valid but that often conflict with each other. Here is a Vox reader’s question, condensed and edited for clarity.

My parents and siblings are all highly religious, living in a Southern state. My wife and I have both moved away as well as left our religion, so obviously that has led to some changes in values. Nowhere has that been more obvious in this recent election cycle than with abortion.

Nearly all my relatives chose to vote for Trump this election, and limiting access to abortion is one of the major reasons why. For my wife and I, it’s mind-boggling how they can be fully aware of how many women are being harmed and even killed by these new restrictions and just brush it off by saying, “Well, I do think there should be SOME exceptions,” and then vote for people who do NOT think that, without any tension whatsoever. It almost feels like the only way they could be persuaded to care was if somebody close to them was the victim of one of these laws.

We’ll be home to see them around Christmastime, and we are still struggling with navigating the dynamic. How do we interact like everything is fine with them while knowing that their values are so diametrically opposed to ours? That they are completely fine with dramatically increasing human suffering to check a religious box? I do love my family, and they’ve never taken their beliefs out on us in the “You’re going to hell!” kind of way, but I still have trouble wrestling with this and trying to act like we can just gather up ethical issues in a box called “politics” and never talk about it. Any advice?

Dear Tongue-Tied,

Right now, your family members are not morally legible to you. What I mean is that you’re having trouble understanding how they could possibly vote the way they did. It’s “mind-boggling,” as you put it. But I want to suggest that it’s mind-boggling in part because you’re making two core assumptions.

The first assumption is that “their values are so diametrically opposed to ours.” The second is that “they are completely fine with dramatically increasing human suffering.” These assumptions are sticking you with a dilemma: You don’t know how to talk to your relatives about their choice to vote for Trump — but it also feels wrong to just hold your tongue.

So consider this: Just as your tongue has taste buds, your mind has moral taste buds. That’s according to social psychologist Jonathan Haidt, who co-developed moral foundations theory. His research suggests that people in different political camps prioritize different moral values. Liberals are those whose “moral taste buds” make them especially sensitive to the values of care and fairness. Conservatives are those who are also sensitive to the values of loyalty, authority, and sanctity.

It’s not like some of these values are “wrong” and some are “right.” They’re not actually “diametrically opposed” to each other. They’re just different. And each one captures a dimension that’s important in human life.

So, when we’re trying to communicate with people across the political aisle, it’s best not to assume that they’re morally bankrupt — or “completely fine with dramatically increasing human suffering.” Maybe they’re operating on the basis of moral values, just as we are, but the values that are salient for them are not the ones that are most salient for us.

Haidt’s research suggests that we should enter into these conversations with genuine curiosity — what are the moral values behind the opposing political views? — and a recognition that others’ values have worth, too. You may not be a conservative, but I imagine you still feel that there’s some value to loyalty, say, or sanctity. It’s helpful to get in touch with that, because people are much more receptive when they sense that you’re trying to find shared moral ground than when you’re just trying to win an argument.

To be clear, attuning to the underlying values of the other person does not mean you have to end up agreeing with their position on, say, abortion. Nor does it mean you slide into moral relativism, believing that every position is equally worthy. You can recognize the validity of the underlying moral value even as you dispute the particular way that the person is expressing that value in the world.

The Canadian philosopher Charles Taylor offers some language for thinking about this. In his book The Malaise of Modernity, he writes that we need to “undertake a work of retrieval, [to] identify and articulate the higher ideal behind the more or less debased practices, and then criticize these practices from the standpoint of their own motivating ideal. In other words, instead of dismissing this culture altogether, or just endorsing it as it is, we ought to attempt to raise its practice by making more palpable to its participants what the ethic they subscribe to really involves.”

Taylor is in favor of trying to persuade others of your views. But he says you need to be very clear about what level your persuasion is operating on. It’s a mistake to attack the underlying value, because there’s nothing actually wrong with it. Instead, you should be trying to show what it would look like to honor that value properly and fully.

Since you mentioned abortion is a particular sticking point in your family, let’s take that as an example. As someone on the liberal end of the spectrum, I’m guessing you’re in favor of abortion rights in large part because you believe in a person’s autonomy over their own body and you want to prevent harm to the pregnant person, whether physical or psychological (care, or preventing harm, is one of Haidt’s classic liberal “taste buds”). That makes a ton of sense!

At the same time, maybe you can also see how someone else may be focused on another value, like the sanctity of life. (Sanctity, or the idea that something is so hallowed that we want to protect it, is one of Haidt’s classic conservative “taste buds.” He notes that although it’s often invoked by the religious right, it’s not exclusive to that camp. I’m thinking of a sign I saw at a Black Lives Matter protest: “Black lives are sacred.”) Maybe the sanctity of life is not your top value, and maybe you disagree with your relatives about when life truly begins. But regardless: Attuning to the underlying value — which is relatively easy to relate to, because life really is precious! — makes the other position morally legible.

Recognizing that doesn’t mean the argument is over. It’s here that the real argument, the one we should be having, actually starts. Because if your family members believe that a fetus is a life and therefore deserves moral concern, they still have to weigh that against the claims of the pregnant person, who definitely represents a sacred life and whose needs definitely carry moral weight.

The beauty of framing the conversation this way is that we’re no longer locked in an either/or — either you’re right or I am — but suddenly we’re in a both/and. We want to prevent harm and we want to protect life. Having moved beyond the fight over values, we can now discuss the real question that should be occupying us: What would it look like to give both values appropriate consideration?

For example, I could argue that I should be free to choose whether to carry a pregnancy to term, not because I’m 100 percent certain that a fetus deserves zero moral concern, but because I’m 100 percent certain that I do deserve moral concern, and I want to prevent harm to myself, and I am best placed to know what the consequences of childbearing would be for me. In other words, I can grant the possibility that there’s something in their view worth weighing, but point out that it’s outweighed by the certainty on the other side of the scale — a certainty that their own values commit them to caring about. If they vote for politicians who thoroughly oppose abortion, they’re not acting according to their stated values.

A word of caution from Taylor: Don’t expect that you’ll successfully change your relatives’ minds. It would be naive to assume that people are swayed by argumentation alone. He writes that human life is fundamentally “dialogical,” meaning that we form our identities through our conversations and relationships with others, not just through rational thinking.

That means we have to consider the context your relatives are in. Since they’re in a religious community in a Southern state, the vast majority of their social circle may oppose abortion rights. If they don’t have access to a community that makes a pro-abortion rights position seem praiseworthy, it may feel psychologically threatening for them to entertain that position. Your relatives are also, like the rest of us, living in a certain technological climate. News media and social media algorithms push some content at them and suppress other content. If they’re flooded with conservative content, it may be extremely hard for you to make a dent.

That’s okay. It’s not your job to successfully change their views on abortion — you ultimately don’t have much control over that, given that their views are conditioned not just by values or reasoned argumentation but also by the social and technological web they’re embedded in. Your job is to show up as your full, loving self.

Being your full self means that you don’t just hold your tongue. But when you feel yourself tempted to let loose some harsh or judgmental words, you might run your tongue over the roof of your mouth as a way to remind yourself: You have moral taste buds — and they do, too. If you feel like you’ve situated yourself in that truth and, from that place, you want to open a discussion with your relatives about their votes, go for it. But it’s also highly possible that you, like so many of us in this highly polarized country, could use more practice with the first part. If that’s the case, feel free to just practice that this holiday season — and enjoy some loving time with your family.