Adversaries, Not Enemies

Democracy is built on an agonistic model of politics - one where we can be opponents on issues while still recognizing each other as partners in a shared civic project. We are adversaries, not mortal enemies. In a healthy republic, we contest passionately inside a constitutional friendship - opponents, not existential foes. That means that however much I think you are wrong - even dangerously wrong - I still accept that you are a legitimate member of our political community, entitled to your voice and vote. As one commentator put it recently, “democratic self - governance depends on civic friendship, whereby everyone accepts that their political opponents are worthy of respect, even if they seem deeply misguided or misinformed.”. I think of it as a kind of civic pact: we all may be rivalrous siblings in the family of our nation, but we are still family. We might squabble ferociously at the dinner table over politics, but at the end of the day we won’t burn the house down simply because we dislike our siblings. In the United States, we literally swear by the same Constitution even when we interpret it differently or champion different policies. That is the ‘friendship’ beneath the feud - a shared loyalty to the framework that lets us feud safely.

In an agonistic model, we contest passionately inside a constitutional friendship, opponents, not existential foes. To uphold this ethic, we must be honest about the passions that political conflict arouses. These include very human emotions: the sting of humiliation if one is out - argued, the instinct of pride and status (no one likes to look foolish or weak in front of their peers), the deep craving for belonging to a side or tribe, and the fear of loss - loss of face, loss of influence, or even loss of cherished values if the other side wins. Indeed, psychologists will tell you that being publicly embarrassed can trigger the same fight - or - flight response as a physical attack. Our hearts race, our vision narrows, we feel an impulse to strike back (if only verbally). That is why a forum must incorporate ways to mitigate humiliation. For example, even the simple rule of giving each side equal time helps - no one feels disrespected or sandbagged by an ambush. When opponents shake hands or acknowledge each other’s good points, it relieves the sting of competition without pretending they do not exist.

These passions are natural; a forum does not magically erase them. Instead, a good forum contains them - much like walls contain a fire to a hearth. For example, consider humiliation: in a poorly moderated debate, a clever debater can go beyond refuting an opponent’s point and start making them a laughingstock. That humiliation can curdle into personal hatred and a desire for revenge. But if we have a rule (enforced by moderator and culture) that personal insults are out of bounds, then even a defeated debater can exit with dignity intact. Similarly, the fear of losing status can lead people to double down and escalate aggressively. We counteract that by celebrating fair concessions. Imagine a debate where, when one side says, “You make a fair point on that sub - issue,” the audience softly claps in appreciation. It sounds idealistic, but I have seen rooms where this norm is established - it transforms the dynamic. People no longer feel that any concession is an unforgivable show of weakness. Instead, it’s seen as a sign of confidence and integrity, which ironically boosts status. A debater who can graciously concede a minor point gains in ethos (credibility) what they lose on that particular point. The audience thinks, “If she’s willing to admit that, she’s probably trustworthy on her other claims.” In contrast, someone who refuses to admit even obvious facts looks insecure or fanatical. So, encouraging a culture of honorable concession is in everyone’s interest. One method some moderators use is to explicitly ask during a debate: “What is one thing you admire or agree with about your opponent’s approach?” It’s amazing how this simple prompt can reset the tone.

When conflict is suppressed instead of aired, it doesn’t disappear - it festers in the dark, often mutating into something more toxic. If a segment of society feels they are not allowed on the public stage - that their grievances or questions are dismissed without hearing - they may retreat into conspiracy theories or embrace the politics of desperation. History offers plenty of warnings. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., referring to civil unrest, famously said, “a riot is the language of the unheard.” If people are systematically unheard - if their legitimate peaceful expressions are shut down - some will eventually conclude (wrongly but predictably) that violence is their only recourse. Likewise, when a university cancels controversial speakers over threats, it may buy temporary peace at the cost of long - term polarization: the disinvited ideas don’t vanish, they go online or underground, often in more radical form. Thus, allowing robust, if uncomfortable, debate in public is a safety valve. It exposes extreme ideas to scrutiny (often debunking them) and gives those who hold them a chance to participate in discourse rather than plotting from the shadows. The civic cost of pretending we have consensus when we don’t is very high. Buried antagonism tends to resurface as uglier phenomena - wild rumors, demonization of opponents, or even lone - wolf violence. By contrast, a society that openly argues with itself - in town halls, in op - eds, in legislatures - is actually more stable, because conflicts are worked out through words and democratic decisions rather than sucker punches or sabotage.

So how do we practice the ethos of adversaries - not - enemies in everyday interactions? We can start by remembering examples of fierce political rivals who kept their personal respect intact. There are some proven techniques, almost like scripts or exercises, that can help. One crucial practice is to always introduce your opponent (or their argument) with a measure of respect. For instance, if you’re about to refute someone, you might start, “My colleague has just laid out the case for X, and it’s clear she’s thought a lot about this and cares deeply about the outcome. She raised points A and B. I’d like to offer a different perspective on those.” This kind of opening signals that you are addressing ideas, not attacking the person’s character or ridiculing them. Another powerful tool is to restate your opponent’s position fairly - even so fairly that they say “Yes, that’s what I mean.” This is often called steelmanning the argument, as opposed to straw - manning it. Philosopher Daniel Dennett, channeling the game theorist Anatol Rapoport, put forth a set of rules for constructive criticism: first, “attempt to re - express your target’s position so clearly, vividly, and fairly that your target says, ‘Thanks, I wish I’d put it that way.’” Then, list points of agreement and what you’ve learned from them, only then offer criticism. Following such rules in a heated debate can feel counter - intuitive, but it is remarkably disarming. The wisdom of this approach has been echoed by many experienced debaters and peacemakers. When you accurately articulate your opponent’s viewpoint, it shows you regard them as worth understanding, not just defeating. It defuses the zero - sum mindset and creates the possibility of finding common ground or at least narrowing the scope of disagreement. In my own moderating work, I sometimes summarize each side’s main argument after their opening statements, to demonstrate to the audience (and the speakers) that both perspectives have been heard and acknowledged in good faith. It doesn’t mean you soft - pedal your disagreement; it means you show you have truly listened and understood. Often the simple act of articulating the other side’s logic takes much of the poison out of the air. Your opponent, hearing themselves described charitably, nods instead of scowling. The audience realizes this is not a blood feud but a contest of ideas.

Relatedly, knowing how to concede a point is a skill that separates mature debaters from demagogues. A concession need not be a grand surrender. It can be small: “I agree with you that policy X has these benefits. Where we differ is on the costs.” Or, “That’s a fair concern you’ve raised; I don’t have a perfect answer to it, but here’s why I still favor my approach…” Saying something like this shows confidence - you are secure enough in your stance to admit its limits or nuances. And it deprives your opponent of an easy target. If you concede a minor point, the discussion can move on to the major ones without getting stuck in defensiveness. Moderators can encourage this by even asking during events: “Could each of you name one aspect of the other’s argument you find valid?” In a culture of enemies, that request would be scoffed at; in a culture of adversaries, it’s seen as a mark of good faith. A debater who can graciously concede a minor point gains in ethos (credibility) with the audience. The audience thinks, “If he’s willing to admit that, he’s probably fair - minded on the rest.” Another example: if a speaker acknowledges, “My opponent is correct on that statistic - I must adjust my argument,” the audience actually trusts that speaker more. A genuine concession can actually strengthen credibility - it signals honesty. Conversely, someone who refuses to concede anything, even trivial mistakes, comes off as rigid or dishonest.

Let me share a short scene from a debate I moderated last year. The topic was extremely contentious (a national policy that had people very emotional). At one point, the two debaters - I’ll call them Rose and Bill - were talking past each other and getting frustrated. Rose was convinced Bill was advocating something dangerous and began raising her voice, and Bill in turn started shaking his head and interrupting. The temperature was rising; you could see the audience tensing, choosing sides. At that moment, I intervened with a phrase that I’ve come to consider almost magical: “Let’s pause - I want to make sure we’re all understanding each other. Rose, can you take a moment and rephrase Bill’s core argument in your own words, in the best form you can? Then Bill, I’ll ask you to do the same for Rose’s point.” There was a brief silence - a kind of “reset” in the room. Rose collected herself and, to her credit, summarized Bill’s position accurately, without the loaded language she had been using. Bill nodded and said, “That’s basically right.” Then Bill tried to summarize Rose’s position and she clarified a bit until he got it correct. This only took two minutes, but the effect was dramatic. The tension defused as both realized they had some common ground (or at least, they saw exactly where they differed rather than assuming the worst). From there, the debate proceeded with far less crosstalk. That single phrase - “take the best version of your opponent’s claim” - acted like a splash of cold water in a heated moment. It forced each side to momentarily step into the other’s shoes, turning down the emotional volume and turning up the intellectual clarity.

These techniques and moments show that treating each other as adversaries, not enemies, is not just a lofty ideal - it’s a practical approach that yields results. It creates debates where, at the end, you might still firmly disagree, but you shake hands (literally or metaphorically) and perhaps even thank each other for the exchange. It allows the possibility that opponents might collaborate in the future on other matters, because you haven’t burned the personal bridges between you. And for the wider community, it sets an example: this is how we handle conflict here. Not by purges or takedowns or character assassination, but by civil contention.

We can start by remembering examples of fierce political rivals who kept their personal respect intact. History is full of such friendships. Supreme Court Justices Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Antonin Scalia were ideological opposites on nearly every issue, yet they shared a famous friendship - attending the opera together, even joyfully mocking each other’s positions in private while maintaining utmost respect in their written dissents. President Ronald Reagan and Speaker Tip O’Neill battled daily over policy in the 1980s, but at 6 p.m. they would share a drink and Irish jokes, professing that beyond the politics they cared about each other. These pairs disagreed passionately, but they did not treat each other as mortal enemies. They exemplified constitutional friendship.

To be clear, this model demands courage and discipline. It is much easier to lapse into treating the “other side” as monsters, especially if you live in a media ecosystem or social circle that constantly reinforces that view. It takes courage to stand in front of a hostile crowd and argue against popular opinion - just as it takes courage to refrain from punching back when you feel attacked. Earlier I quoted King on riots; elsewhere he also reminded us that meeting physical force with soul force (i.e. nonviolent resistance) requires great bravery and strength of character. In our context, enduring offense without silencing the offender is a civic act of courage. It doesn’t mean accepting abuse - our forum rules forbid personal abuse - but it means tolerating the discomfort of hearing views you despise, and responding with arguments instead of trying to banish the speaker. And conversely, if you are the one with an unpopular view, courage means voicing it firmly but without dehumanizing those who disagree. We can think of it this way: the civic virtue of tolerance is not needed when speech is polite and consensus is easy - it’s needed precisely when speech is rough and disagreements run hot. It takes a kind of civic courage to say, “I fiercely oppose what you say, but I will defend your right to say it - and I will try to convince you you’re wrong through reason, not through silence or violence.”

Another example of adversaries finding respect: during the famous Lincoln - Douglas debates, while the two Senate candidates were bitterly opposed on slavery, they maintained decorum. At one point, Lincoln even said of Douglas, “He is a fierce opponent, but an opponent still bound to the same principles of the American Union.” The crowd in those days expected some gentlemanly conduct amid the verbal combat. It’s a reminder that even in an era as polarized as the 1850s, there was an understanding that the Union (the constitutional order) was a shared value that no dispute should obliterate.

At this point, a voice from ancient times might well interject: What happens if a society refuses to live by these principles? What if, instead of engaging its dissidents and gadflies in debate, the city casts them out or puts them to death? We have an example from 2,400 years ago. The figure of Socrates stands as a warning and an inspiration - a warning of how a city can harm itself by silencing a critic, and an inspiration for how a citizen can remain committed to reason and virtue even when under attack. Closer to home, American history has its cautionary tale: the Caning of Charles Sumner in 1856. A U.S. Senator (Sumner) was beaten unconscious on the Senate floor by a Congressman from the opposite faction, over a political insult. That shocking incident - a literal physical attack in the halls of Congress - symbolized the utter breakdown of adversarial respect. It was soon followed by the collapse of compromise and the eruption of the Civil War. When political actors start treating opponents as hated enemies, violence is not far behind. We must never let it come to that point again. (When I mention a constitutional friendship, I am thinking of the opposite of that Sumner incident - a politics where, no matter how heated things get, no one raises a hand in anger. Sumner’s assailant thought he was delivering justice for the insult to his side; in reality he delivered a blow to the entire nation’s democratic norms.)

Ok, let us take a pause here. In the Interlude that follows, I imagine a dialogue with Socrates - a gadfly. It is a chance to reflect on the deeper philosophy behind all these rules and norms we’ve discussed. Ultimately, the reason we uphold the line against political violence and hatred is not just utilitarian (though it does make society safer); it is moral. We uphold it because to do otherwise is to betray the very soul of our republic. As we conclude Part I, let us make a vow in the spirit of Socrates and all who have sacrificed for open discourse: We will not settle arguments with bullets; we will secure the place where the argument lives.

Interlude I: The Gadfly and the City

Socrates: Hello Kevin, you seem troubled, my friend. What is on your mind?

Kevin: Socrates - it’s the city. We’ve had a terrible event. A public man was killed for his speech. The city is angry and afraid.

Socrates: I am sorry to hear that. Killed for his speech, you say? Then he was what you would call a gadfly, perhaps - one who stings the city with opinions?

Kevin: In a way, yes. Karolus Ecclesius was a sharp voice on one side of our politics. Not an outsider exactly, but very provocative to many. Someone apparently decided to silence him with a bullet.

Socrates: Ah, the old mistake. Kevin, you know they once sentenced me to death for my speech as well. And I told them at my trial - do you recall what I said to the men of Athens?

Kevin: I do. You warned them that by killing you, they would harm themselves more than you. That they would not easily find another gadfly like you to awaken them.

Socrates: Smiling. You remember well. I said, rather boldly, that I was God’s gift to the city, a gadfly to a great sluggish horse. Perhaps it sounded arrogant. But I believed it. My role was to prod the city to examine itself. By swatting me away, Athens thought it would enjoy peace and quiet - instead it robbed itself of an irritant it actually needed.

Kevin: Needed how? Surely constant irritation can be exhausting for a community.

Socrates: True, no one likes to be told they are wrong or ignorant. My presence was annoying at times - I knew that. But an unexamined city, like an unexamined life, risks great hubris and error. The irritation, the questioning, is what makes the city adjust, correct course, and stay healthy. When Athens silenced me, it thought it was defending its honor, but it was really impoverishing its soul. A city without criticism is like a man who never checks his own blind spots.

Kevin: In our case, Socrates, it wasn’t the city officially silencing Karolus Ecclesius - it was an assassin. But I worry about the wider attitude that produces such hatred. Some people truly view their political opponents as monsters to be destroyed. How do we convince them to step back from that?

Socrates: Let me ask you a question - in your forums and debates, do you allow harsh and offensive speech?

Kevin: We allow offensive ideas to be expressed, yes. We try to moderate personal insults or direct threats. But many would say even some ideas themselves are offensive.

Socrates: Indeed. In my time, people found it offensive that I questioned the gods of the city and the politicians’ wisdom. They said I “corrupted the youth” with impiety. Tell me, do you think I truly harmed the young by teaching them to question?

Kevin: No - you taught them to think critically. But it threatened the authorities.

Socrates: Exactly. Those in power often label dissent as “harm” when it’s really just challenge. Now, there are words that directly harm - incitements, frauds, slanders - and a good city does rightly forbid those. But robust debate, even if it offends, is generally a good. The courageous city will endure the sting of the gadfly, knowing it keeps the horse awake.

Kevin: That’s a beautiful metaphor. It still takes courage at the individual level. People today are quick to feel attacked even by questions. I encourage them to have thicker skin - to respond with arguments, not calls for censorship.

Socrates: You’re asking them to practice virtue, Kevin. Fortitude and temperance, specifically. Fortitude to withstand offensive words without fleeing or lashing out violently; temperance to control one’s own aggressive impulses. These virtues are hard, but they grow with exercise. In my dialogues, sometimes a young man would become angry when his beliefs were refuted. I would gently tease him, to show the folly of anger at mere words. When one sees that truth emerges from open dialogue, not from silencing others, one learns to value persuasion over force.

Kevin: Yet, some say certain people are so extreme or “evil” that they do not deserve a platform at all. They dehumanize them - call them rats, traitors, enemies of the people. We’ve seen this rhetoric lead to violence.

Socrates: Dehumanization - a perennial trick. It’s much easier to justify violence or extreme measures if you’ve convinced yourself the other is not human like you. It greases the path to cruelty. Tell me, did I ever call my accusers or those I argued with monsters or devils?

Kevin: Not that I recall. You could be scathing about their ignorance, but you addressed them as men capable of reason.

Socrates: Just so. Even when they called me a blasphemer and a corrupter, I spoke to them as fellow citizens. If I had instead yelled, “You are all villainous fools and I hope the gods strike you down,” would that have helped? No, it would just justify their hatred of me. So I kept to the argument at hand. A citizen who refuses to dehumanize his opponent affirms something profound: that we share a common human ground, however far apart our opinions. This is crucial. If you and I are both human, both children of the city or of God (however one sees it), then I have a duty to try to convince you, not destroy you.

Kevin: And if one cannot convince? If the argument reaches an impasse?

Socrates: Then we agree to disagree and carry on living together regardless. Perhaps the question goes unsettled for a time. In a democracy, maybe it’s put to a vote. The key is that we have contained our conflict within the bounds of discourse and law. We haven’t let it break those bounds and spill into hatred or violence.

Kevin: That’s exactly what I’m advocating. We have built, or are trying to build, a container for conflict - the secure forum, the fair debate. Now citizens must choose to use that container rather than the ammunition box.

Socrates: Well said. And I would add: beware the person who says, “There is no time for debate - we must eliminate the enemy now.” That is the voice of tyranny, even if it speaks in defense of a seemingly just cause. Athens, in fear and pride, couldn’t bear my questions - and in silencing me, it wounded itself. Healthy cities must endure dissent, even annoying dissent, as the price of wisdom and freedom.

Kevin: Your fate, Socrates, was a great cautionary tale for us. We don’t want to become a society that martyrs its dissidents. We want to protect our gadflies - even if we don’t always like them buzzing about.

Socrates: And you personally, Kevin - moderating all these heated debates - what keeps you going?

Kevin: Honestly, I draw inspiration from dialogues like yours. I’ve seen with my own eyes that even bitter rivals can find moments of understanding if they engage in good faith. And more than anything, I believe in the principle we’ve been talking about: that the alternative to words is violence, and violence is a dead end for a republic. The day we settle arguments with bullets is the day we’ve lost our republic.

Socrates: A grave truth. So, what do you propose as the citizen’s vow moving forward?

Kevin: We will not settle arguments with bullets. We will secure the place where argument lives. That is our vow.

Socrates: A wise and noble vow. Hold to it, and you will keep the spirit of philosophy - and democracy - alive in your city.

Kevin: Thank you, Socrates. Your life and death remind us what is at stake. We’ll do our best to honor that lesson.

(The gadfly falls silent, and the city’s chatter - peaceful, disputatious, alive - continues on.)