The Case for an Open Republic

May 13, 2025

By Jeffery Tyler Syck

Since taking office in January, President Donald Trump has unleashed a torrent of executive orders and administrative regulations designed to remake the United States government. Many of these actions have gained both widespread attention and criticism. These debates tend to focus on specific issues, such as whether colleges and universities should be allowed to practice DEI. Yet the focus on culture wars obscures the deeper cause of the conflict: a dispute over whether the United States should be considered a pluralist nation or not.

  Forty-some years ago, pluralism was the hot idea in the world of political theory. Volume upon volume ruminated on its virtues or raged against its vices. Things have changed drastically since that time. We have a multitude of phrases that have surpassed pluralism in our civil vocabulary: woke, fascist, reactionary, nationalist, left wing, progressive, Trumpy, and so on. The alterations in political terminology reflects a change in our politics itself. The difficult discussion over how culturally and ideologically distinctive people can live in harmony has been replaced with accusatory descriptions we can sling at our political opponents.

  Most of us–regardless of our particular political persuasion–do not really like this state of affairs. Yet we disagree about its cause. Some people see the fundamental problem as an inability of citizens to live with those different from them. In other words, they see a deficit of pluralism.

  For many others, however, this diagnosis is the exact opposite of the problem. In their view, the challenge is not that we cannot accept that people will disagree and live differently with us. It is that there is no consensus on big questions—the existence of God, the meaning of life, the best kind of existence, the purpose of a job, and so on—in the first place. In other words, these citizens see a surplus of pluralism.  

  Like most great political issues, this is fundamentally a question about what sort of regime America should have. Should we strive to be an “open republic” that sets broad values–freedom, equality, self-government—at the heart of the nation but otherwise encourages diversity of thought and background? Or  should we pursue a “closed republic” that is built on a consolidated culture?

The Case for the Closed Republic 

Like most important political debates, this is not an entirely novel question. Most people, in most times, have on some level been forced to determine whether they will live in a closed or open society. In North America, our very earliest European settlers confronted this question. The dour Puritans of New England sought to build a shining closed city upon a hill–a city whose moral excellence to some extent rested on its cultural and religious homogeneity.

  Other colonies – Rhode Island, Pennsylvania, Maryland – all permitted broad religious toleration. In no small part, that was because these colonies were founded by persecuted religious minorities who had suffered firsthand the negative consequences that can emerge from a society without religious freedom. Rhode Island emerged from a plethora of dissident groups fleeing the rest of Puritanical New England. Pennsylvania was founded by Quakers, who faced significant hostility in England.

  Given these diverging models, it is unsurprising that the North American colonies had not settled the debate by the time of the American founding. As the colonies became more tightly linked in their move towards independence, they momentarily paused the argument to fight in the American Revolution. The Revolution accomplished, though, the question of the open and closed society returned. In particular, the creation of a new form of government made this philosophical quandary a pressing issue.

  On the surface, the Constitution of the United States is not necessarily pluralist. It does not obviously support the creation of an open society. This is not so much because it openly supports a closed Constitution as for the fact that the founding document of the nation seems to ignore such deep philosophical questions to focus instead on dry institutional frameworks.   

  However, the men who would become the opponents of the Constitution – so called Antifederalists – quickly began to realize that though the new government did not openly advocate for an open society, it certainly squinted in that direction. The anti-federalists understood that by necessity, the geographic expansion of the nation would mean that it contained a multitude of religious views, regional concerns, and cultural outlooks. They knew that a large American republic would have to be an open society because the individual colonies already were quite diverse. Thus by expanding the republic the Constituion, in its way, could not help but create an open republic.

  The reasons the Antifederalists gave for opposing the open society came inn two primary forms: practical and moral. Practically, the Antifederalists simply did not believe that such an open republic could ever work. In a republic where people are too different, they believed, government cannot function. They argued that we need some common cultural backdrop that can serve as a foundation for the creation of public policy. This is because the Antifederalists believed that without religious and cultural unity, disagreements over moral questions will tear the people apart.

  Morally, the Antifederalists found an open republic lacking because they believed that small, closed, intimate societies were vital for forming a virtuous citizenry. In this respect, the anti-federalists are closer to the Ancient Greeks and Romans in their political thought than most of the other founders. Closed republics are better at encouraging virtue because the Antifederalists believe active self-government is vital to becoming virtuous. To discard our worst, selfish, instincts, we have to be able to deliberate with our fellow citizens. We need to assemble and solve the problems that face our community. By coming together in this way, we gain sympathy for fellow members of that community, coming to see their interests as the same as our own. We are also better able to pick wise and noble leaders because we have direct insight into their character.

  Some of these observations seem true. When we have to engage with the people we disagree with, it helps us sympathize with in our opponents. Even when we fail to find common ground, by having to hear them out and make concessions, everyone participates in the solution. This teaches empathy, self-sacrifice, and other important characteristics to sustain republican government.

  But all of this hinges, for the Antifederalists, on a closed society because they assume that the only way to really know and work with the people of the community is if they are alike. So the practical and moral problems with an open republic are deeply linked. Unless citizens are very similar to each other, the argument goes, then they cannot really develop the virtues they need to govern themselves.

  There is a flaw in that argument. If citizens are really similar, why is deliberation necessary at all? Rousseau, who took the case for a closed republic even farther than the Antifederalists, suggested that collective decisions could be taken in silence because virtuous citizens would already agree. Having dialogue with people different from you so you can learn to appreciate them is pluralism. And so, baked into the Antifederalist argument against the open society is a hint that the closed society is something of a myth. Because if you already have to conduct debate even at the local level, then you have already accepted the reality of diverging opinions and interests.

The Practical Case for an Open Republic

Antifederalist advocates of a closed society remain important because their outlook seems increasingly common in portions of the American right and left. In particular, the postliberal movement frequently push the same case for homogeneity and consensus provided by the Antifederalists. The recurrence of this issue makes it all the more important to highlight why the Antifederalists were wrong and why, ultimately, an open society is the path towards civilizational excellence.

  The shortest and most blatant defense of the open society at the time of the American founding is James Madison’s Federalist 10. The Federalist Papers were a series of essays that set out to defend the new Constitution against its critics. Federalist 10 aims to prove that a large, diverse, contentious republic is preferable to a small, culturally unified one.

  To make his case, Madison starts with a simple question: what has killed most previous republics? His answer is faction, which he defines as a group of citizens united by some common passion or interest that they pursue to the determinant of everyone else. Factions of this sort destroyed Athens, Rome, Florence, and all other republics Madison can recall.

  The problem is difficult to solve because the causes of faction are part of human nature. Madison says: “A zeal for different opinions concerning religion, concerning government, and many other points, as well of speculation as of practice; an attachment to different leaders ambitiously contending for pre-eminence and power; or to persons of other descriptions whose fortunes have been interesting to the human passions, have, in turn, divided mankind into parties, inflamed them with mutual animosity, and rendered them much more disposed to vex and oppress each other than to co-operate for their common good.”

  In short, as long as people have differences of opinion or divided loyalties there will be factions. To put it another way, as long as we live in an open society–where people are allowed to be different–then there will be factions. At first blush, this creates an odd contradiction in Madison’s political thought. If factions are the greatest threat to republican government and open societies create factions, then why is James Madison not an Antifederalist who wants to minimize diversity?

  The answer is a subtle one. The Antifederalists want a small, closed, republic because they believe that history has shown that those are the only ones that survive. But Madison calls into question this analysis. All republics he says, have eventually been killed by faction. What Madison is saying is that there will be differences of opinion everywhere. Just because a society is small and local does not mean it can be kept closed any more than a large one.

  To extend Madison’s claim, suppose there was once such a thing as a closed society before the Reformation and the rise of modern capitalism. But even then, one suspects we could find wide and significantly diverging opinions on the purposes of human life. Otherwise, why burn heretics? Why launch religious crusades? Why fight over government and rival claims to the throne of St. Peter in Rome?

  Madison’s argument is thus an empirical one: over time, there is no such thing as a closed society. Maybe it would be nice to live in the Shire or attend Hogwarts. However, none of these is possible. We live in the real world of things and people that we can touch and see, not the world as we wish it could be.

  It is worth noting too that Madison’s idea of an open republic does not necessitate the destruction of local democracy the way Antifederalists feared. In fact, a pluralist government is far more likely to accept and respect the cultural, moral, and religious differences that exist between the nation’s many communities. After all, if the government has no answer to the question of “What is the best way to live?” then it has little reason to force communities into broad obedience to its ethical whims.

  Because of Madison’s acknowledgment of man’s factional nature, Madison and the framers of our Constitution built an open republic whose national government relies upon tolerance for regional and cultural differences. The institutional arrangements that promote pluralism can be found in the size of the nation but also in the restrained nature of our government. The United States Declaration of Independence and the Constitution do not provide our national government with a comprehensive worldview. Instead, they merely outline the purpose of all good government, protecting the rights of the people. As a consequence of that purpose, the government is responsible for making sure different cultures coexist peacefully and respect one another.

  This does not mean that the United States has easily settled into being a pluralist regime with an open society. The debate over the best sort of society continued for most of our history.  As a result, it would be disingenuous to say that America is simply a pluralist nation. From the Antifederalists down to today, many Americans have disputed that. Yet the very fact of continuing disagreement about the right measure of pluralism shows that Madison’s practical reasons for forging an open republic remain as relevant as ever.

  And the sheer diversity of human life has increased. The rise of social media and the internet more broadly, have created a more linked world than has ever existed before. People across far flung reaches of creation are now regularly exposed to American culture and vice versa. Nowadays it is simply impossible not to be witness to wildly divergent voices that daily challenge our most deeply held beliefs. Politics cannot change this reality, so it must accommodate it.

The Moral Case for an Open Republic

James Madison’s arguments continue to ring true. The ideal of a closed society remains as impractical and fictional today as it was some 200 years ago. However, Madison’s practical defense of the open republic should be extended into a moral one. Pluralism must not just be a compromise we make because we have no other options. An open society, an open republic, is a good thing in its own right.

  Let’s think of what pluralism asks of each of us. It demands that you take people who are very different from you, people who perhaps live in ways you find personally morally repugnant, and accept them. It asks you to love them. One of the chief teachings of Christianity is to love our fellow man. This is a complicated expression and there is little room to unpack all of its glorious implications here, but loving people who are different from us is no doubt part of that command.

  To respect, much less love, our fellow man is a big moral ask. It is not an easy thing to accept people who are different from us. The natural human instinct in many ways is to force agreement with our own principles, our own beliefs, our own ways of seeing the world.

  Yet the human instinct for conformity does not come from a wholesome corner of our soul. It derives from a deeply selfish desire to make everyone else like us. In this way, pluralism helps us conquer our very worst instincts. Pluralism offers a chance, though it’s not guaranteed to work, to make us better people because we will learn to love and appreciate others who are not made in our own image.

Critics of pluralism often argue that an open society is destructive of virtue, that it levels culture and leaves us without traditions and beliefs that can guide our lives. No doubt pluralism can run the risk of undermining local customs. But the broader point, that pluralism is damaging to virtue could not be further from reality. Pluralism is conducive to virtue because to work properly it requires that we behave virtuously. To accept those different from us in practice does not guarantee we will accept them in our souls. But the funny thing about human beings is that how we act very often changes who we are. Being accepting and tolerant in deed will usually make us more accepting and tolerant in our hearts.

  It's important to make something clear about this. Pluralism does not mean that you cannot or should not debate the best form of human life. We absolutely can. We absolutely should. The difference is that in a pluralist society, such debates should take on a far more civil tone. Because the goal should no longer be to conquer those different than us, but to instead have a genuine dialogue in pursuit of truth. Another way pluralism makes for a better society is by opening up the possibility of inquiry far more than a closed society ever can. And without the pursuit of truth no knowledge–moral or technical–can long flourish.

  Having said all of this, do we live in a pluralist society today? One where people accept one another with open arms and feel no need to make everyone like us? Think about what politics is like when you turn on the news. Think about the attempts of the left and right to remake every facet of society in their own image. The obvious answer is no. We have lost sight of our pluralist roots.

  The problem of modern America is not that we lack a common understanding of morality. The problem of modern America is that we have become incapable of living with people who are different than us. We do not want to accept that human decency demands that we be accommodating and open minded. We have become blind to the simple reality that human diversity is natural. And the great irony is that many of those who are most opposed to pluralism are those who most often refer to their love of the American founding. There could be nothing less American than to demand we all think, hope, and believe the same things. We are a country founded on differences and if we wish the great American experiment to continue, we must recommit ourselves to the noble dream of an open republic.

Jeffery Tyler Syck is an Assistant Professor of Politics and the Director of the Center for Public Service at the University of Pikeville in his native Kentucky. A version of this essay was originally delivered as the 2024 Constitution Day Address at the University of the Cumberlands.