People often extol the virtue of open-mindedness, but can there be too much of a good thing?<\/p>\n
As a\u00a0college dean<\/a>, I regularly observe campus controversies about the Israel-Hamas war, race relations and other hot-button issues. Many of these concern free speech \u2013 what students, faculty and invited speakers should and shouldn\u2019t be allowed to say.<\/p>\n But free speech disputes aren\u2019t merely about permission to speak. They are about who belongs at the table \u2013 and whether there are limits to the viewpoints we should listen to, argue with or allow to change our minds. As\u00a0a philosopher<\/a> who works on ‘culture war’ issues<\/a>, I\u2019m particularly interested in what free-speech disputes teach about the value of open-mindedness.<\/p>\n Free-speech advocates often find inspiration in the 19th century philosopher John Stuart Mill, who argued for what we might call a \u201cbig tent\u201d approach: engaging with a variety of viewpoints, including those that strike you as mistaken. After all,\u00a0Mill wrote<\/a>, you could be wrong. And even if you\u2019re right, the clash of opinions can sharpen your reasons.<\/p>\n Some critics believe that Mill\u2019s arguments haven\u2019t worn well, especially in an age of demagoguery and \u201cfake news.\u201d Do I really need to listen to\u00a0people who believe the Earth is flat<\/a>?\u00a0Holocaust deniers<\/a>? My relatives\u2019 crackpot conspiracy theories at the holiday dinner table? Whose benefit would such openness serve?<\/p>\n The primary argument for the big tent approach is rooted in\u00a0intellectual humility<\/a>: properly recognising the limitations to what each of us knows. In one sense, it is a recognition of human fallibility \u2013 which, when combined with hubris, can have disastrous results.<\/p>\n More positively, intellectual humility is aspirational: There\u2019s a lot yet to learn. Importantly, intellectual humility does not mean that one lacks moral convictions, let alone the desire to persuade others of those convictions.<\/p>\n Having spent several decades advocating for same-sex marriage \u2013 including participating in dozens of campus debates and two\u00a0point-counterpoint<\/a>\u00a0books<\/a>\u00a0\u2013 I\u2019m convinced of the value of engagement with \u201cthe other side.\u201d At the same time, I\u2019m acutely aware of its costs. All things considered, I believe that the marketplace of ideas should err on the side of a big tent.<\/p>\n The contemporary\u00a0philosopher Jeremy Fantl<\/a> is among those concerned about the big tent\u2019s costs. In his book The Limitations of the Open Mind<\/a><\/em>, Fantl notes that some arguments are cleverly deceptive, and engaging with them open-mindedly can actually undermine knowledge. Imagine a hard-to-follow mathematical proof, its flaw difficult to spot, that indicates 2 + 2 = 5.<\/p>\n Interestingly, Fantl sees his stance as consistent with intellectual humility. No one is an expert on everything, and we\u2019re all unlikely to spot fallacies in complex deceptive arguments outside our expertise.<\/p>\n There\u2019s another worrisome cost to engaging with deceptive counterarguments. Some of them harm people. To engage open-mindedly with Holocaust denial, for example \u2013 to treat it as an option on the table \u2013 is to fail to express appropriate solidarity with Jews and other victims of the Nazi regime. More than giving offense, engaging those views could make someone complicit in ongoing oppression, possibly by undermining education about genocide and ethnic cleansing.<\/p>\n What about closed-minded engagement \u2013 that is, engaging with opposing viewpoints simply in order to refute them publicly?<\/p>\n Fantl grants that such engagement can have value but worries that it is often ineffective or dishonest. Ineffective, if you tell your opponents from the outset \u201cYou\u2019re not going to change my mind\u201d \u2013 a conversation-stopper if anything is. Dishonest, if you pretend to engage open-mindedly when you\u2019re really not.<\/p>\n I\u2019m convinced of the value of engagement with \u201cthe other side.\u201d At the same time, I\u2019m acutely aware of its costs. All things considered, I believe that the marketplace of ideas should err on the side of a big tent.<\/strong><\/p><\/blockquote>\n In my view, Fantl misunderstands the goals of engagement and thus sets up a false contrast between open- and closed-mindedness. There\u2019s a space between these two extremes \u2013 and that may be where the most constructive conversations happen.<\/p>\n Consider again my same-sex marriage advocacy. When I debated opponents such as\u00a0Glenn Stanton<\/a>\u00a0of Focus on the Family and\u00a0Maggie Gallagher<\/a>\u00a0of the National Organization for Marriage \u2013 a prominent nonprofit group opposing same-sex marriage \u2013 did I strongly believe that I was right and they were wrong? Of course I did. And of course they believed the reverse. Did I expect that they would convince me that my position on same-sex marriage was wrong? No, never \u2013 and neither did they.<\/p>\n In that sense, you can say I wasn\u2019t open-minded.<\/p>\n On the other hand, I was open to learning from them, and I often did. I was open to learning their concerns, perspectives and insights, recognising that we had different experiences and areas of expertise. I was also open to building relationships to foster mutual understanding. In that sense, I was quite open-minded.<\/p>\n Audience members who approached the debates with similar openness would commonly say afterward, \u201cI always thought the other side believed [X], but I realize I need to rethink that.\u201d For example, my side tended to assume that Maggie\u2019s and Glenn\u2019s arguments would be primarily theological (they weren\u2019t) or that they hated gay people (they don\u2019t). Their side tended to assume I didn\u2019t care about children\u2019s welfare (quite the contrary) or that I believe that morality is a \u201cprivate matter,\u201d which I emphatically do not.<\/p>\n At the same time, there were prominent figures whose position on the marriage question did change.<\/p>\n David Blankenhorn, founder of the think tank the Institute for American Values, had been\u00a0a same-sex marriage opponent<\/a> for many years, albeit one who always recognised some good on both sides of the debate. Eventually he came to believe<\/a> that instead of helping children, as he had hoped, opposition to same-sex marriage primarily served to stigmatise gay citizens.<\/p>\n So sometimes the clash of opinions can surprise you \u2013 just as Mill suspected.<\/p>\n Does this mean that I recommend seeking out Holocaust deniers for dialogue? No. Some views really are beyond the pale, and regular engagement has diminishing returns. There are only so many hours in the day. But that stance should be adopted sparingly, especially when experts in the relevant community are conflicted.<\/p>\n Instead, I recommend following Blankenhorn as a model, in at least three ways.<\/p>\n First, concede contrary evidence even when that evidence is inconvenient. Doing so can be difficult in an environment where people worry that if they give the other side an inch, they\u2019ll take a mile. Blankenhorn\u2019s opponents would often gleefully seize on his concessions, for instance, as if a single positive point settled the debate.<\/p>\n But keeping beliefs proportionate to evidence is key to moving past polarised gridlock \u2013 not to mention discovering truth. Indeed, Blankenhorn has since founded an organisation<\/a>\u00a0with the explicit goal of bridging partisan divides.<\/p>\n Second, strive to see what good there is on the other side, and when you do, publicly acknowledge it.<\/p>\n And, third, remember that bridge-building is largely about relationship-building, which creates a space for trust \u2013 and ultimately, deeper dialogue.<\/p>\n Such dialogue may not always uncover truth, as Mill hoped it would, but at least it acknowledges that we all have a lot to learn.<\/p>\n This article was originally published in The Conversation<\/a>.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n