Why we need to have ‘anti-fragile’ conversations

Brace yourselves. Jordan Peterson is coming. The Canadian academic, one of the world’s most controversial speakers, is visiting New Zealand this week. His visit may well be the next round of the contest over free speech that has erupted in the last year, following hard on the heels of the recent skirmish over Don Brash’s appearance at Waitangi.

Peterson, described as ‘‘a would-be prophet to lost boys’’, is famous for his YouTube videos (he has 1.8 million subscribers) and public statements on a range of thorny issues, and his bestselling book, 12 Rules for Life: An Antidote To Chaos.

I find his book underwhelming; while it contains some truths they’re mingled with pronouncements that range from the banal to the bizarre. Despite this, I think there is value in his visit.

This is less about what he has to say, though there’s public benefit in having someone unafraid to tackle otherwise taboo issues.

Instead, the value lies in observing the response to Peterson. For example, his book seems to me to offer sources of meaning and authority in an uncertain world, and to the extent that his fans like it for that reason it reflects not only a very human hunger, but an unmet need. For Peterson to expose this gap is a real service, whatever anyone thinks of his solutions, or the gap itself. Once revealed, it can be reckoned with; we can ask why it exists, and how else it could be filled.

That’s one of the benefits of allowing people to speak, even when their message is controversial or offensive. It’s described well by the concept of antifragility, used by professor Jonathan Haidt and lawyer Greg Lukianoff in their book, The Coddling of the American Mind.

They say, ‘‘Many of the important systems in our economic and political life are like our immune systems: they require stressors and challenges in order to learn, adapt, and grow. Systems that are anti-fragile become rigid, weak, and inefficient when nothing challenges them or pushes them to respond vigorously.’’

In other words, the test provided by Peterson’s visit creates an opportunity for learning and growth as we not only hear what he has to say, but observe the reaction to him.

Of course, this is a two-way street. Others can respond to Peterson’s message just as they can to any speaker, up to and including vigorous protest, and we can learn from those speakers and their responses too.

This isn’t a free pass, and there are some things that genuinely shouldn’t be said. That’s why things like defamation, incitement to violence, and some forms of racial abuse are illegal. We must also acknowledge that, while we can learn from what others have to say, challenge is still costly, including the cost of having to defend and explain core elements of who we are to someone who’s calling them into question.

But as hard and as frustrating as it may be, the benefits from exploring our competing ideas can make that cost worthwhile, if we can get the ground rules of a constructive and civil debate in place.

This is why I admire Reuben Taipari’s decision to invite Brash to speak at Waitangi. When questioned about the invitation, he replied that he wanted to expose people to ‘‘a new type of discussion’’. Citing Brash’s time in ‘‘high positions [including] financial ones’’, he said: ‘‘We want to create our own financial freedom, stop being dependent on the Government . . .’’

To do this, he said, ‘‘we’ve got to go to every corner of the community to get the information we need’’, and ‘‘take that opportunity . . . to listen’’. That’s antifragility in action.

I won’t be going to hear Peterson speak, or recommending his book. But if his visit provokes us to have anti-fragile conversations, the kind that ultimately make us stronger, I’ll be grateful to him.