The problem with winning the battle is that you can still lose the war

(to save democracy, that is)

Photo by Joshua Hoehne on Unsplash

A chorus of voices has sounded the alarm about the possibility of a Trump victory in November. They tell us that such an outcome would be “catastrophic.” That Trump is “just plain weird.” And that his rhetoric is “incendiary” and “irresponsible.” While the specific reason for the concerns often varies, perhaps the throughline is the perception that he poses a unique and existential threat to democracy itself. 

When it comes to Trump, the reasons for this are practically self-evident. To take a single example, his comment that “in four years, you don’t have to vote again” doesn’t exactly inspire a sense of security when it comes to democratic stability. And while it’s possible this is simply more of the usual Trump rhetoric, for many people, it confirms their greatest fears. 

To be clear, Trump may well be a menace in all the ways described. The problem is that, even if he is, the way we think and talk about the risks he poses can imperil the very thing we’re supposedly trying to save. 

We tend to think of threats to democratic stability as coming from the political left or the political right. This framing leads to unwinnable arguments over, for instance, whether the bigger problem is “wokeness” (in quotes because of its ambiguous meaning) or an unwillingness to peacefully transfer power. But thinking about the risks we face in this manner gives each side permission to ignore their own role in creating and sustaining the problems we face. I’m not arguing that the threats from either side are imaginary; I’m saying they’re interconnected. And that we need a mental model of democratic stability that reflects this. 

Rather than thinking about threats as coming from the left or the right, imagine a tower with three blocks—each one of which depends on the integrity of the one below it and all of which are necessary for a democracy to thrive. 

The top block is the “machinery” of democracy. It includes things like free and fair elections, the separation of powers, limits on executive power, and the like. When people talk about the threat posed by Trump, they’re mostly referring to the potential for him to wreak havoc at this level. And to be sure, shattering the processes and institutions that democracy needs to function could be devastating. 

The middle block in the tower is a commitment to political pluralism. While there are multiple ways to think about what this means, it generally includes a broad commitment in our words and actions to ensuring that everyone has a voice in the political process. After all, if I don’t think my political opponent deserves to participate—perhaps because I think he’s an idiot or immoral—it becomes all too easy for me to justify the erosion of his rights. 

We tend to instinctively understand the importance of this commitment. It’s part of why we have centers for civic engagement, programming on civil discourse, and efforts to get people to meaningfully engage with those across the political aisle. 

And yet, at the bottom of this three-tiered tower sits one more block. Without it, there can be no serious commitment to political pluralism, and the machinery of democracy can start to break down. We might call this bottom block neutrality or openness, although the absence of contempt for people who disagree is probably closer. By contempt, I’m referring to the idea that the person who disagrees is unworthy of being taken seriously or is otherwise morally devoid. And it can topple the entire tower by breeding resentment, destroying social trust, eroding trust in institutions, and pushing people to political extremes. 

Neutrality in this case is not meant as an airy vision of people hugging it out. I’m referring to a change in the way we think when it comes to judging harshly people who disagree with us on the most heated issues we face. 

Perhaps the easiest way to think about the difference between the middle and bottom blocks is this: it’s entirely possible to have a room full of people following all the norms of civil discourse, who still view those on the other side of the political aisle as morally bankrupt, stupid, or lacking in some other crucial and characterological way. 

We need to address the problem in how we think that has led to the contempt in the first place. Because the three levels are interconnected, focusing exclusively on the threats at the top weakens the foundation.

We address by thinking through a version of our opponent’s position that makes sense to us—even, or especially, if we strongly disagree with it. If we’re doing it right—and this can be the hardest part—the version we come up with doesn’t rest on any assumption we make about the other person’s bad intent or ignorance. The upshot is this: Winning the battle for the White House isn’t likely to matter for long if we weaken democratic stability in the process. 

The Certainty Trap book will be available on September 2. Pre-order now!