Why protecting openness sometimes requires drawing a line.
“Unlimited tolerance must lead to the disappearance of tolerance. If we extend unlimited tolerance even to those who are intolerant, if we are not prepared to defend a tolerant society … then the tolerant will be destroyed, and tolerance with them.”
— Karl Popper, The Open Society and Its Enemies (1945)
There’s something beautifully idealistic – and dangerously naive – about believing that tolerance, on its own, is a virtue without boundaries. We’re told to keep an open mind, to listen without judgment, to understand before reacting. We encourage empathy, civility, and the broad, expansive idea of freedom of thought. But what happens when those we tolerate don’t share the same values? What happens when intolerance wears the costume of conviction and weaponizes our openness against us?
Karl Popper warned us, but in the modern world of polite debates and performative inclusivity, we often forget just how fragile the idea of tolerance really is. It doesn’t crumble because of disagreement – it crumbles when we permit hate, oppression, and dehumanization to sit at the same table as justice and call it dialogue.
This isn’t just a philosophical dilemma. It’s a leadership challenge. A cultural challenge. A societal one. It’s the reason people watch civil rights get chipped away in the name of “balance.” It’s why sometimes, in moments of hard truth, leaders must abandon the comfort of neutrality and take a stand – not against people, but against principles that erode humanity.
I’ve seen it play out in boardrooms where abusive behavior is excused under the banner of “being direct.” I’ve seen it in classrooms where harmful stereotypes are laughed off as “free expression.” I’ve watched nonprofits wrestle with donors who push exclusionary agendas, and leaders who fear confrontation more than injustice. And I’ve felt the discomfort of being the only one in the room willing to say: this isn’t okay.
That discomfort is the price of leadership. Not the title. Not the visibility. The willingness to stand in that discomfort and draw a boundary – not because we want conflict, but because some things are worth protecting.
This isn’t about silencing dissent. It’s about recognizing that not all opinions are equal, and not all values deserve equal space. The idea that we must treat all ideas with equal reverence is itself a dangerous one. The belief that tolerance should extend even to those who actively seek to destroy it is a fast track to its extinction. And yet, many smart, thoughtful people fall into the trap of believing that the morally superior path is always the one that seeks compromise.
But compromise with intolerance is not virtue. It’s complicity.
This is true whether you’re building a team, designing systems, moderating communities, or parenting a child. At some point, leadership becomes the art of knowing when to listen – and when to say “enough.” It’s knowing that openness and boundaries are not in conflict. In fact, one cannot exist meaningfully without the other. Real tolerance isn’t passive. It’s actively shaped, constantly tended to, and, when needed, fiercely defended.
There’s a line that’s easy to forget in this age of social performance, where optics sometimes replace values: Inclusion doesn’t mean allowing everything in. It means deciding what you are building, and who it’s for – and then protecting that space with care, not aggression. The goal isn’t to build echo chambers, but to ensure that the conversations happening within your walls don’t leave people harmed or erased.
We live in a world where words like “freedom,” “tolerance,” and “opinion” are routinely co-opted by those who want to excuse hate. They wrap vitriol in intellectual language and call it courage. They challenge institutions and call it truth-telling. And many people – good, decent people – stay silent, hoping it’ll pass. But it doesn’t. It festers. Because tolerance of intolerance is not neutral. It’s permission.
And the more permission we give, the more we normalize what was once unthinkable.
So what do we do? We start by understanding that true leadership is not measured by how agreeable we are, but by what we’re willing to protect. We recognize that drawing lines is not divisive – it’s clarifying. We stay kind, but not passive. We remain open, but not naïve. We foster dialogue, but not at the cost of dignity. And we hold ourselves to the discipline of asking: What kind of space am I creating by allowing this to continue?
Tolerance, at its best, is an act of strength. But it is also a responsibility. And like all responsibilities, it comes with limits. Because when we tolerate intolerance in the name of appearing fair, we’re not being fair. We’re surrendering. And the cost of that surrender isn’t just philosophical. It’s real, it’s social, it’s political – and it’s personal.
So, yes – tolerance of intolerance creates full intolerance. It doesn’t happen all at once. It’s not a dramatic fall. It’s the slow erosion of values, the quiet silencing of dissent, the fading of the very freedoms we claimed to cherish. And if we’re not paying attention, it will look like nothing changed – until everything has.
Because in the end, a society doesn’t collapse when its enemies speak.
It collapses when its protectors go quiet.