Introduction
Is our attraction to echo chambers simply “human nature,” or can technology channel more expansive instincts? Pundits often treat homophily—the pull toward like-minded peers—as an unavoidable fact of life, claiming it dooms us to online spaces that reinforce our biases. Yet history, as well as modern research, reveals a broader repertoire in the human psyche. Our species can slip into insular self-affirmation, but we also respond—under the right norms and social designs—to the excitement of genuine debate. The question isn’t whether we’re forever stuck with echo chambers, but whether we will allow them to dominate our public squares.
Last week, in Breaking the Echo Chamber: A Blueprint for Authentic Online Deliberation, I argued that big platforms harness our yearning for agreement and feed it back to us in a cycle of algorithmic reinforcement, all while calling it “free speech.” “None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free.” — Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. That cycle enriches the owners of such platforms, but smothers the critical friction that fosters democratic growth. Homophily isn’t an iron law: it’s an easy inclination that can harden into groupthink if we reward outrage and tribal loyalties. Yet the same “human nature” has shown itself capable of building societies (like the Iroquois Confederacy or the egalitarian San) that deliberately broaden horizons rather than narrow them. “Love, friendship and respect do not unite people as much as a common hatred for something.” — Anton Chekhov. Today, we find ourselves as architects drafting the blueprint of our digital society: will we replicate the familiar structures that entrench techno-feudal lords, or innovate designs that illuminate our innate curiosity, embrace nuance, and foster collaborative bridges across diverse perspectives?
In this post, I’ll present my vision of how we can nurture that “love of difference,” or heterophily, even within a milieu saturated with insular echo chambers. Drawing from cognitive science, social psychology, and anthropological evidence, we’ll see that humans are not stuck with one deterministic script–we should always be suspicious when the specter of human nature is summoned. And I’ll highlight a few present-day experiments, including our ManyFold platform, that strive to harness these potentials—elevating reasoned debate above the churn of viral outrage. If you’re tired of hearing “it’s just human nature” used to shrug off divisiveness, read on. There is ample proof that our nature holds more promise, if only we dare to cultivate it.
The Psychological Basis of Homophily
From a psychological standpoint, homophily has deep roots. Humans evolved in tribes where trust and survival often depended on sticking with “our own.” This legacy is evident in cognitive biases that lead us to favor information and people that confirm our pre-existing views. Confirmation bias causes us to seek and remember evidence that supports what we already believe while dismissing contrary information (Nickerson, 1998). In group settings, these tendencies can be amplified. The classic Asch conformity experiments demonstrated how people will even deny the evidence of their senses to align with a unanimous group opinion (Asch, 1955). In Solomon Asch’s studies, participants asked to judge line lengths went along with an obviously wrong consensus in 37% of trials, showing the powerful pull to conform (Asch, 1955). Our social brains dread being the odd one out – a fear that can keep us circling in comfortable consensus.
Group identity dynamics further reinforce homophily. Henri Tajfel’s “minimal group” experiments in 1970 showed that simply dividing strangers into arbitrary groups (e.g. by a coin flip) was enough for them to exhibit in-group favoritism, preferring members of their group even at cost to others (Tajfel, 1970). In other words, we easily slip into “us vs. them” mindsets, favoring those who share our label or worldview. This helps explain why echo chambers – environments where we only encounter agreeing voices – feel so natural. “Ideas don’t matter, it’s who you know.” — Dead Kennedys, “Chickenshit Conformist” (1986). Being surrounded by similar others affirms our identity and shields us from the cognitive dissonance of conflicting information. It’s comfortable, but also limiting. “It’s often safer to be in chains than to be free.” — Franz Kafka. Psychologist Irving Janis famously showed how cohesive groups can fall into groupthink, ignoring warnings and alternative ideas to preserve unanimity, often with disastrous results (Janis, 1982). We’ve all seen how online communities or friend circles can develop a kind of tunnel vision, reinforcing their own biases in a feedback loop. “In individuals, insanity is rare; but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule.” — Friedrich Nietzsche.
Extreme cases underscore how conformity to group roles and norms can override individual judgment. The Stanford Prison Experiment is a chilling example: in 1971, psychologist Philip Zimbardo randomly assigned perfectly average young men to be “guards” or “prisoners” in a mock prison – and within days the guards became cruel and the prisoners submissive, internalizing their group roles to an astonishing degree (Haney et al., 1973). Though ethical issues cloud the study’s legacy, it remains a potent illustration of how randomly chosen people can conform to toxic group dynamics. In everyday life, the dynamics are usually less dramatic but follow a similar pattern: we instinctively mimic our in-group’s attitudes and behaviors. Hearing the same views echoed back at us provides a sense of validation and certainty. Over time, this can lead to polarization, as like-minded groups drift toward more extreme positions unmoderated by outside input (Moscovici & Zavalloni, 1969). Cass Sunstein has warned that the “Daily Me” of personalized media leads to informational enclaves that exacerbate partisan divides (Sunstein, 2001). Eli Pariser’s concept of the “filter bubble” (2011) expands on this dynamic by showing how social media algorithms, optimized for user engagement, reinforce homophily. By consistently feeding people content that validates their pre-existing views, these algorithms generate information silos in which contrary perspectives are seldom encountered, thereby magnifying bias and polarization (Pariser, 2011). “Don’t question authority see… Be a little zombie that agrees with you.” — Fishbone, “Behavior Control Technician” (1991). Renée DiResta’s work (2024) takes this further, revealing how bad actors manipulate these same systems to disseminate misinformation. According to DiResta, the very mechanisms that foster group cohesion can also be exploited to widen ideological rifts and fabricate a false sense of consensus (DiResta, 2024). In short, a variety of psychological studies suggest that without intervention, our default wiring encourages us to seek the familiar and filter out discordant views.
However, homophily is only one potential manifestation of our nature. Humans may gravitate toward the like-minded, but we are not prisoners of that impulse. Just as importantly, psychology offers insight into our capacity for openness, change, and bridging differences – given the right circumstances.
The Potential for Heterophily
Counterbalancing our tribal instincts is an ability – even a need – to connect across differences. Psychological research shows that people can overcome biases and embrace diverse perspectives, especially when certain conditions foster trust and empathy. One powerful mechanism is perspective-taking – actively imagining another person’s viewpoint. In a series of experiments, Galinsky and Moskowitz (2000) found that when participants were instructed to take the perspective of someone from an out-group (for instance, to imagine a day in the life of an elderly person), the participants subsequently expressed fewer stereotypes and more positive attitudes toward that group (Galinsky & Moskowitz, 2000). Remarkably, simply imagining the world through someone else’s eyes can measurably reduce prejudice. Related studies have shown that asking people to consider why an opposing view might be true, or to explain the rationale of their opponents, can reduce biased reasoning. In one experiment, college students with strong opinions on a social issue became significantly more moderate in their stance after being asked to “consider the opposite” – to think about how an intelligent person could come to the opposite conclusion (Lord et al., 1984). This simple prompt made them more critical of their own assumptions and more appreciative of the merits in alternative arguments. Such findings illustrate that our minds are not static echo chambers; with the right cognitive cues, we can broaden our outlook.
Beyond thought exercises, real-life interaction is a powerful antidote to homophily. Intergroup contact theory, first advanced by Gordon Allport in the 1950s, proposes that under appropriate conditions (equal status between groups, common goals, etc.), direct contact with members of other groups reduces prejudice (Allport, 1954). This theory has been tested extensively. A meta-analysis of over 500 studies involving 250,000 participants confirmed that, indeed, contact typically improves intergroup attitudes and reduces bias (Pettigrew & Tropp, 2006). Crucially, the benefits were not limited to any one divide – contact helped bridge differences of race, ethnicity, nationality, and more (Pettigrew & Tropp, 2006). When people from diverse backgrounds work together on a shared problem or simply get to know each other as individuals, they often discover common ground and humanize those they once viewed with suspicion. This doesn’t mean contact automatically produces harmony (context matters a great deal), but it shows that exposure to difference can expand empathy rather than just triggering conflict. In fact, psychologist Thomas Pettigrew noted that one of the key mediators in successful intergroup contact is perspective-taking – again, that ability to see the world through the other’s eyes leads to warmer feelings and reduced anxiety (Pettigrew & Tropp, 2008).
Another trait that underpins heterophily is intellectual humility – essentially, recognizing that one’s own knowledge is limited and being open to learning from others. Recent research suggests intellectual humility is linked to greater openness and willingness to engage with dissenting views. For example, Leary et al. (2017) found that people who score high on intellectual humility tend to be more curious about alternative viewpoints and less threatened by disagreement. They are comfortable saying “I might be wrong” and thus more likely to actually listen to someone who contradicts them (Leary et al., 2017). Encouraging intellectual humility – in classrooms, workplaces, and online – can create an environment where heterophily thrives, because individuals don’t feel that encountering a different viewpoint is an attack on their ego. Instead, it becomes an opportunity to learn. Notably, humility is a form of strength—a quiet assurance in our capacity to grow. “The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.” — William Shakespeare, As You Like It. Psychologists have even developed training exercises to cultivate intellectual humility, such as prompting individuals to reflect on times they were proven wrong or to consider narratives of wise people who have changed their minds (Krumrei-Mancuso & Rouse, 2016). Early evidence indicates that these interventions help people become more receptive to evidence that challenges their beliefs.
Finally, let me highlight that heterophily can be intrinsically rewarding. Engaging with diverse perspectives isn’t just virtuous – it is fascinating and enriching. Studies on “active open-mindedness” show that often people enjoy probing ideas that unsettle them, as long as the exchange feels respectful and illuminating (Baron, 2019). Our brains are wired for curiosity; given psychological safety, even those accustomed to insular environments can find value in a stimulating clash of viewpoints. In sum, while homophily might be our comfort zone, we clearly possess the cognitive and emotional tools for heterophily. Perspective-taking, positive contact, and intellectual humility demonstrate people’s capacity to venture beyond the familiar. This capacity has also been realized in social structures throughout history, which we turn to next.
Prehistoric and Historical Examples
History provides compelling examples of societies that leaned into heterophily and structured themselves to avoid the pitfalls of echo chambers. Long before modern experiments in deliberative democracy, certain cultures developed decision-making processes that valued inclusive dialogue and consensus. These cases suggest that the tension between homophily and heterophily is not new – and that our ancestors often understood the importance of broad participation and minority perspectives.
One striking example comes from one of the oldest continuous cultures on Earth: the San people of Southern Africa. The San (often called “Bushmen”) are hunter-gatherers whose traditional lifestyle was fiercely egalitarian. Anthropologists note that San bands made decisions through group consensus rather than by fiat of a single leader (Shostak, 1983). In fact, while some individuals (often elders) might informally guide discussions, they had no coercive authority – every person’s opinion could be heard in the prolonged talks that preceded any major decision. This consensus-based approach meant that even minority opinions had to be grappled with until the whole group reached mutual agreement (Shostak, 1983). Such a system explicitly counteracted homophily by ensuring that nobody could simply impose their will and surround themselves with yes-men; instead, the group had to consider all viewpoints to maintain harmony. Crucially, the San also enforced norms of humility to sustain this egalitarian harmony. Anthropologist Richard Lee famously observed the practice of “insulting the meat,” in which a successful hunter’s kill is humorously belittled by others to keep the hunter’s ego in check . This tradition ensures that no individual grows too proud or domineering –the most skilled members are reminded that everyone depends on everyone else. Such cultural checks on ego fostered an atmosphere where all could speak and be heard, reinforcing the San’s inclusive deliberation. The San ethos was (and in some communities remains) deeply dialogical: if a dispute arose, the band might talk all night around the campfire, with interruptions for humor and storytelling, until a resolution acceptable to all emerged. Women were treated as relative equals in these discussions, contributing actively to debates and decisions (Shostak, 1983). This ancient model of governance by consensus highlights that seeking broad agreement – rather than majority rule or authoritarian decree – can be a natural form of human organization. It acts as a check on our tendency to let the loudest or most similar ideas dominate. The San show that a small community, at least, can embrace heterophily by design, building social cohesion through inclusive deliberation rather than exclusion.
Moving forward in time, consider the Iroquois Confederacy in North America. This alliance of six nations (the Haudenosaunee) formed a sophisticated system of governance well before European contact. At the heart of the Iroquois Confederacy was the Great Council of 50 chiefs (sachems) representing the member nations. What’s remarkable is that the Great Council operated on the principle of unanimous consensus – decisions had to be approved by all the sachems, meaning any chief’s dissent could send the Council back to discussion until concerns were resolved (Justo, 2024). In practice, this meant minority viewpoints were not just tolerated but amplified: a single voice could halt a decision, forcing the majority to engage with that perspective. Far from causing paralysis, this process was seen as essential to achieving legitimacy and unity. Each nation (Mohawk, Oneida, Onondaga, Cayuga, Seneca, and later Tuscarora) had a say, and the structure included a careful balance – for instance, the Mohawk and Seneca (elder brothers) would propose, the Oneida and Cayuga (younger brothers) would deliberate, and the Onondaga (fire keepers) could veto to ensure consensus, after which the process would iterate (Native Tribe Info, 2024). By all accounts, debates could be long and vigorous, but the Iroquois valued that “talk until agreement” approach. The Great Law of Peace, their oral constitution, framed consensus as a way to ensure equity and fairness – no nation or faction could simply dominate the others (Lyons, 1992). This consensus model effectively encouraged heterophily: leaders had to listen earnestly to differing opinions, because they could not simply overrule them. The result was a remarkably stable union that lasted for centuries and influenced democratic thought in the West. The Iroquois Confederacy illustrates how a political structure can institutionalize open dialogue and minority rights, counteracting the human impulse to splinter into echo chambers. By requiring unanimity, they made diversity of thought the engine of decision-making, not an obstacle to it (Justo, 2024).
Notably, the Iroquois had mechanisms to manage dissent beyond the council chamber. For example, the Confederacy empowered respected women elders, or Clan Mothers, to hold leaders accountable: Clan Mothers could even dismiss a chief if he was not doing his job or failed to uphold the people’s will . This provided a built-in check and balance, ensuring that no sachem could ignore his community’s concerns for long. Additionally, important meetings opened with rituals like the Thanksgiving Address – words of gratitude recited to bring all participants to “one mind” – which fostered a humble, cooperative spirit before formal deliberations began . Such ceremonies helped quell personal grievances and unify the group’s purpose. Together, these cultural practices meant that internal disputes were typically resolved through reasoned dialogue and reconciliation rather than coercion or schism. In fact, the Great Law of Peace famously succeeded in ending generations of intertribal warfare among the five original nations , replacing conflict with a framework for perpetual negotiation. In sum, Iroquois governance combined strict consensus rules with peacemaking customs, ensuring that disagreements strengthened the union instead of splintering it.
danah boyd (2017) draws a modern parallel to these historical lessons, pointing out how contemporary social media fosters the opposite dynamic. Today’s online platforms often let people self-segregate into digital enclaves that simply mirror their own values. Unlike the Iroquois — whose consensus-driven framework obliged all parties to engage with minority voices — today’s online communities make it easy to avoid opposing viewpoints entirely, thus reinforcing ideological silos (boyd, 2017).
In practice, this meant minority viewpoints were not just tolerated but amplified: a single voice could halt a decision, forcing the majority to engage with that perspective. Far from causing paralysis, this process was seen as essential to achieving legitimacy and unity. Each nation (Mohawk, Oneida, Onondaga, Cayuga, Seneca, and later Tuscarora) had a say, and the structure included a careful balance – for instance, the Mohawk and Seneca (elder brothers) would propose, the Oneida and Cayuga (younger brothers) would deliberate, and the Onondaga (fire keepers) could veto to ensure consensus, after which the process would iterate (Native Tribe Info, 2024). By all accounts, debates could be long and vigorous, but the Iroquois valued that “talk until agreement” approach. The Great Law of Peace, their oral constitution, framed consensus as a way to ensure equity and fairness – no nation or faction could simply dominate the others (Lyons, 1992). This consensus model effectively encouraged heterophily: leaders had to listen earnestly to differing opinions, because they could not simply overrule them. The result was a remarkably stable union that lasted for centuries and influenced democratic thought in the West. The Iroquois Confederacy illustrates how a political structure can institutionalize open dialogue and minority rights, counteracting the human impulse to splinter into echo chambers. By requiring unanimity, they made diversity of thought the engine of decision-making, not an obstacle to it (Justo, 2024). danah boyd (2017) draws a modern parallel to these historical lessons, pointing out how contemporary social media fosters self-segregation. Users now build digital enclaves that simply mirror their own values. Unlike the Iroquois—whose consensus-driven framework obliged all parties to engage minority voices—today’s online communities let people avoid opposing viewpoints entirely, thus reinforcing ideological silos (boyd, 2017).
A Quaker meeting in the 19th century, as depicted by artist Thomas Rowlandson (1809). Quakers practiced consensus decision-making, allowing even lone dissenters to slow down a decision – an early example of fostering inclusive dialogue.
Another historical case comes from a religious community: the Quakers (Society of Friends) who emerged in 17th-century England. Quakers developed a distinctive method of collective decision-making known as the “sense of the meeting,” which eschews voting in favor of finding unity. In a Quaker meeting for business, participants sit in silent reflection and share perspectives one by one. The goal is to reach a decision that everyone can accept, or at least “stand aside” for – effectively a consensus minus any coercion (McPhail, 2024). What’s again striking is how this process elevates minority standpoints. If even a few Friends express reservations, the group will pause and reconsider rather than simply outvote them. Historically, this allowed prophetic minority notions to shift the entire Quaker community. A notable example is the Quakers’ early stance against slavery. In the 1700s, a handful of Quaker abolitionists repeatedly raised concerns about slaveholding at yearly meetings. Rather than being dismissed, these controversial views were painstakingly weighed over decades. The Quaker consensus model eventually produced unity on abolition – nearly a century before national abolition in Britain and the U.S. – precisely because the structure forced the community to contend with those few dissenters and their moral arguments (McPhail, 2024). One Quaker described the ideal as “listening each other into deeper truth,” a divergence from majority tyranny. Debate could be respectful yet frank, and disagreements were met with patience and prayerful consideration (McPhail, 2024). “The majority is never right. Never, I tell you! That’s one of those lies in society that no free and intelligent man can help rebelling against. Who are the people that make up the majority — the intelligent ones or the fools?” — Henrik Ibsen, An Enemy of the People (1882). By all accounts, Quaker meetings had (and still have) an egalitarian spirit: anyone, regardless of social status or gender, can speak if moved to, and their words are weighed on their merit. This culture of inclusive deliberation made Quaker communities remarkably receptive to new ideas – from social reforms to innovations in education – despite being tight-knit religious groups. In essence, the Quakers found a way to counteract homophily through spiritual practice, treating each dissenting demand as potentially containing a piece of the truth that the community needs. Their legacy in social justice and peace work testifies to the power of that approach. None of these systems was impeccable or free of conflict, of course. But they all recognized, implicitly or explicitly, that diversity of perspective is an asset to be harnessed rather than a threat to be quashed.
These historical examples – the San, the Iroquois, the Quakers – each in their own way nurtured heterophily through specific norms and structures. Egalitarian hunter-gatherers avoided hierarchy and forced consensus through open dialogue; the Iroquois built a federation that required unanimous agreement, giving every nation’s perspective weight; the Quakers developed a culture of deep listening and unity that empowered minority viewpoints. These systems predate our modern terminology, yet they were grappling with the same fundamental dynamic of human nature. If our ancestors could value cognitive diversity around a campfire or council fire, it suggests that our proclivity for echo chambers can indeed be tempered by wisdom and design. In modern times, we have begun to apply similar lessons in new contexts.
Modern Case Studies
In recent decades, a number of deliberate experiments have tried to combat homophily and promote open-minded dialogue in contemporary society. From randomly selected citizen panels to innovative online platforms, these case studies demonstrate that when you change the structure of discussion, you can change the outcome. People who might tune each other out in everyday life often prove capable of collaborative, nuanced thinking under the right conditions. Here we’ll look at two arenas in particular: deliberative democracy initiatives and online platforms designed for heterophily.
One approach has been the rise of citizens’ assemblies and other deliberative democracy forums. These are processes where citizens, typically selected to reflect a cross-section of society, are brought together to learn about an issue, discuss it extensively, and propose recommendations. Crucially, these assemblies are structured with trained facilitators and ground rules to ensure respectful, balanced dialogue – a stark contrast to the shouting matches on cable news or social media. The results have been remarkable. For example, Ireland convened a Citizens’ Assembly in 2016–2017 to examine the once-taboo issue of abortion laws. The assembly of 99 citizens heard from legal and medical experts, as well as personal testimonies, and engaged in small-group discussions over several weekends. In the end, this diverse group (young, old, urban, rural, religious and non-religious) reached a set of nuanced recommendations that helped pave the way for Ireland’s historic referendum legalizing abortion in 2018. Many participants underwent profound shifts in their thinking – in fact, exit surveys showed a large majority felt the process made them more open to other viewpoints and more informed about the complexity of the issue (Farrell et al., 2019). This is a common pattern in deliberative mini-publics. Researchers James Fishkin and Robert Luskin, who have organized Deliberative Polls around the world, find that after citizens deliberate on an issue with access to balanced facts and arguments, they tend to change their opinions in sensible ways – often moderating extreme positions or revising misconceptions (Fishkin, 2018). Crucially, participants also report greater understanding and empathy for opposing views, even if they don’t fully embrace them. Deliberation “civilizes” discourse: people learn to argue the issue, not attack the person, and they often discover that their differences are not as vast as assumed. In one quantitative study, Gastil et al. (2002) found that people who served on juries (another form of deliberation) became more likely to vote and engage in civic life afterward – as if the experience of thoughtful group discussion awakened a sense of democratic possibility (Gastil et al., 2002). Deliberative forums from British Columbia to Mongolia have tackled topics from electoral reform to climate policy, frequently finding consensus solutions that traditional partisan politics had gridlocked. While deliberation is not panacea, these experiments offer proof of concept that citizens, when given structure and goodwill, can deliberate across differences and enjoy it. It seems that the very act of sitting together as equals, hearing each other out, flips a psychological switch – turning down the tribal defensiveness and turning up our latent heterophilous impulses. As one participant in a citizens’ jury put it, “I realized we were all just people trying to do the right thing, even if we disagreed on how” (quoted in OECD, 2020). The growth of such assemblies (the OECD documents nearly 300 examples in the past decade alone) is an attestation to the hunger for more constructive dialogue in an era of polarization (OECD, 2020).
If face-to-face deliberation demonstrates our capacity for open-minded engagement, can we translate that to the online sphere, where homophily currently runs rampant? A number of online platforms are attempting exactly that – designing social networks and discussion tools that incentivize heterophily instead of clickbait and tribalism. Zeynep Tufekci (2017) warns that engagement-driven algorithms often funnel users toward increasingly extreme content, aggravating polarization in the process. She advocates for platforms that deliberately expose people to a breadth of perspectives, rather than maximizing total minutes spent among like-minded peers (Tufekci, 2017). In a similar spirit, Tristan Harris (2020) contends that social media should prioritize user well-being and healthier public discourse (Harris, 2020). One notable case where this has successfully been tried is Taiwan’s vTaiwan platform, a government-sponsored digital process for crowdsourcing legislation. At the core of vTaiwan is an original discussion tool called Polis. Unlike typical forums, Polis doesn’t allow direct replies or flame wars. Instead, users submit statements on an issue and vote up or down on others’ statements. Behind the scenes, a machine-learning algorithm identifies clusters of opinion – mapping where the crowd agrees or diverges – and highlights statements that earn broad support across different groups. In a divisive debate over rideshare regulation (the “Uber vs. taxi” conflict), vTaiwan drew over 4000 participants, including taxi drivers, Uber drivers, passengers, and regulators. Despite their opposing starting positions, the Polis platform displayed in real-time that there were several points everyone agreed on (e.g. passenger safety is paramount, drivers should be insured) (Bartlett, 2016). Those consensus points became the basis for policy recommendations. Astonishingly, all sides came to accept a compromise legal framework because they saw it reflected the collective will, not just one faction’s interest. Audrey Tang, Taiwan’s Digital Minister, described the process as “finding rough consensus” – people had to “convince not just their own side, but also the other sides” for a statement to rise to prominence (Bartlett, 2016). The design of the platform gamified heterophily: users were rewarded (by influence of their ideas) for proposing statements that could win over adversaries. More divisive assertions simply didn’t gain traction because they would get voted down by others. Over a month of deliberation, four initially distinct opinion groups gradually converged into two groups, and then into one common ground on key points . Participants reported being surprised at how much consensus was possible and appreciated seeing a visualization of where everyone stood – it humanized the “other side” (Huang, 2017).
The key takeaway is that the medium and rules of online engagement matter: if you build a system that amplifies moderate, bridge-building ideas rather than the loudest partisan takes, people will use it accordingly. Other platforms experimenting in this space include Kialo, a website for structured pro/con debates that enforces civility and clarity, and Change My View on Reddit, a community where users are actually rewarded for having their mind changed by a good argument. These platforms, while smaller than mainstream social media, indicate a real appetite for richer discourse online. They show that given a chance, many internet users will happily step outside their echo chamber to debate respectfully and reconsider their positions. The challenge and opportunity ahead is scaling up such models, so that heterophily online isn’t confined to a few enclaves but becomes the norm across our digital public sphere. Taiwan’s success with vTaiwan and Polis has inspired other governments and communities to try similar large-scale online deliberations. Yet for mainstream social media giants, solving these issues has been an uphill battle.
Facebook and Twitter, in particular, have made high-profile attempts to tweak their algorithms and interface features to mitigate echo chambers and polarization – with limited success. Facebook’s 2018 News Feed overhaul, intended to promote “meaningful interactions” among friends and family, infamously backfired by boosting outrage and sensationalism in practice . Internal company documents later revealed that this algorithm change rewarded incendiary content, making the platform angrier, even as it aimed to encourage healthy engagement. Twitter has introduced prompts (like nudges to read an article before retweeting it) and a community fact-checking system (Community Notes), but toxic debates and partisan silos persist on the platform. Even rigorous experiments by independent researchers – for example, temporarily altering what kind of political content people see on Facebook – resulted in only modest changes to users’ browsing behavior and almost no change in their political attitudes . These efforts underline a key lesson: it’s not simple to retrofit an engagement-driven platform to foster understanding. Tackling echo chambers requires more than minor tweaks to the recommendation engine; it demands rethinking the platform’s fundamental design and incentives. This raises an urgent question: If social media as we know it is structurally resistant to heterophily, what would a platform look like if designed from the ground up to foster cognitive diversity?
Connecting to ManyFold: Engineering Cognitive Diversity
In light of these lessons, my colleague Neville Newey and I set out to build a platform from scratch that would counteract homophily and foster nuanced deliberation. This brings us to ManyFold, a new platform we co-designed explicitly to address the structural causes of echo chambers. ManyFold’s approach takes inspiration from all the lessons discussed – the psychology of diversity (think perspective-taking, intellectual humility, and positive intergroup contact), the wisdom of consensus-driven systems, and the success of deliberative designs – and weaves them into an algorithm that maximizes cognitive diversity in discussions. We infuse modern technology with the same spirit of open-minded, humble dialogue that characterized communities like the San or the Haudenosaunee, translating that ethos into a digital environment. The guiding philosophy is simple: if echo chambers are largely a product of how conversations are structured (or not structured) online, then re-engineering those structures unlocks our latent heterophily. Rather than connecting you with “people you may know,” ManyFold connects you with people you may want to know precisely because they see the world differently.
How does it work? ManyFold’s core algorithm distributes your post to users outside your usual tribe, ensuring more varied responses and no echo chambers. As a result, the responses you get are varied, and your post doesn’t echo around a like-minded clique. Extreme or highly partisan posts can’t create a “feedback loop” of sympathizers: the design “deprives extreme positions of a homogeneous echo chamber” by steering those posts toward readers with starkly different stances, who will challenge the content rather than reinforce it. ManyFold bakes in a kind of automatic devil’s advocacy.
By default, ManyFold forces the kind of intergroup contact that decades of research show can reduce prejudice . Every time you post or comment, you can expect it will be seen and likely responded to by people with different viewpoints. This makes each interaction an exercise in perspective-taking – you’re prompted to consider why someone from another background might disagree, imagining the issue through their eyes . Rather than hearing an echo of agreement, you’re exposed to counterpoints and alternate experiences. This process might be challenging, but it ultimately encourages intellectual humility. Confronted with well-reasoned dissent and diverse personal stories, users become more comfortable admitting “I might be wrong” and more curious about what they can learn from others’ perspectives . In short, ManyFold’s environment nudges people to approach dialogue as a two-way learning opportunity instead of a one-sided broadcast.
The platform’s feed algorithms optimize for what Goodin and Spiekermann (2018) call epistemic diversity – exposing people to information that advances collective understanding instead of just driving engagement metrics. This approach draws on research by Lu Hong and Scott Page (2004), who famously demonstrated that groups of diverse problem-solvers can outperform groups of high-ability but similar thinkers at finding solutions (Hong & Page, 2004). Diversity, in that context, isn’t a feel-good slogan but a practical strategy for better outcomes. ManyFold applies these findings to discourse: by ensuring a spectrum of viewpoints, the hope is that discussions become more exploratory and less confirmatory, yielding new discernment that wouldn’t emerge in an echo chamber. Indeed, heterogeneous conversation can be a “crucible for better thinking, not an incitement to factional strife” (ManyFold, 2025).
The platform then elevates minority viewpoints in ways traditional social media do not. Instead of burying unpopular opinions via downvotes or outrage, ManyFold keeps them in the mix so they can be examined and responded to by others. This design echoes philosopher Jürgen Habermas’s ideal of a discourse free from domination, where no position is arbitrarily excluded (Habermas, 1996). In practical terms, it means no single person or moderator on ManyFold can silence a perspective just because it’s unpopular. Every idea can circulate and meet its critiques in the open. Over time, this helps inoculate the community against misinformation and extremism in a different way than blunt censorship: bad ideas are debunked through counter-argument and context provided by diverse others, rather than simply hidden (which often only feeds martyrdom narratives) . ManyFold treats a controversial post as an opportunity for constructive debate. For example, if someone shares a conspiracy theory, the platform ensures that responses from people with relevant expertise or opposing evidence are prominently shown, effectively attaching a rational “immune response” to the original post – similar to how Wikipedia handles dubious claims with “citations needed” notes and disputing viewpoints. This way, users encountering extreme content also encounter the broader societal chorus of perspectives around it, which provides a reality check. It’s a digital twist on John Stuart Mill’s dictum that understanding the counter-argument is essential to knowing the truth of your own argument.
ManyFold’s commitment to heterophily extends to how it forms discussion groups and threads. Unlike typical forums where people self-sort by interest or ideology, ManyFold intentionally seeds discussions with a mix of participants. A user who identifies as conservative on an issue might be algorithmically paired in a debate with a few progressives, some libertarians, anarchists, and moderates, rather than dropped into a room full of fellow conservatives. Think of it like a well-curated dinner party seating chart, designed to spark lively but balanced conversation. This design is informed by centuries-old practices like those of the Iroquois and Quakers – ensuring no one faction can dominate a conversation – and by modern network science: studies show that carefully introducing “bridge” individuals between polarized clusters can facilitate understanding and reduce toxic dynamics . ManyFold algorithmically mimics the role of a wise meeting facilitator who says, “I’d like us to hear from a different perspective now.” By doing so, it hopes to cultivate not just polite agreement, but genuine deliberation. As one of the platform’s design mottos puts it: “Don’t isolate the disagreement – illuminate it.” When opposing viewpoints meet, the aim is not to declare a winner but to refine everyone’s thinking, much as philosopher Charles Taylor’s ethic of authenticity suggests individuals refine their beliefs by wrestling with others’ values (Taylor, 1991). For instance, a climate change skeptic on ManyFold might be shown first-hand accounts from someone in a flood-prone Bangladeshi village or data from a climatologist – not to shame the skeptic, but to provide perspectives that challenge them to think more broadly. This kind of cross-pollination of experiences embodies both perspective-taking and the humble acknowledgment that none of us has a monopoly on truth.
Unlike Facebook or Twitter, which largely leave it to users to seek out opposing views (or rely on blunt content moderation when things go wrong), ManyFold bakes diversity and deliberation into its core mechanics from the start. For example, where typical feeds let people silo themselves, ManyFold automatically brings a range of viewpoints into every discussion thread. And instead of simply banning or algorithmically downplaying extreme content, ManyFold pairs controversial posts with credible counterpoints and context , ensuring that false or harmful claims are confronted head-on rather than just hidden. By depriving extreme positions of an isolated audience and subjecting them to challenge , the platform prevents the feedback loops that fuel polarization. The upshot is that ManyFold doesn’t measure success by how long you scroll or how many ads you click, but by the quality of understanding that emerges from each conversation. This ethos aligns with calls by tech ethicists like Tristan Harris to build technologies that prioritize user well-being and healthy discourse over sheer engagement . Our goal is that a divisive meme that might go viral elsewhere could, on ManyFold, spark a genuine dialogue that leaves everyone a little wiser.
By design, the platform prizes curiosity and constructiveness, nudging users to ask questions and understand an argument before rebutting it. If homophily is the inertia pulling us into filter bubbles, ManyFold is the counter-force—a gentle push outward that expands our horizons with each interaction. In doing so, it channels a line from Friedrich Nietzsche that serves as a warning and inspiration: ‘The surest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently’ (Nietzsche, 1887). The platform is built on the premise that our minds are sharpened, not threatened, by encountering those who think differently.
We invite you to become an early adopter by joining us on ManyFold today. By participating now, you’ll help shape this budding community and ensure that meaningful, cross-perspective discussion thrives from the beginning.
Conclusion
Human nature contains multitudes. We are, at turns, tribal and cosmopolitan, defensive and curious. As we’ve seen, the pull of homophily is real – rooted in psychology and easily exacerbated by modern algorithms – but it is not the whole story. We also possess a countervailing push toward growth, empathy, and connection across difference. The existence of both impulses means that the social environments we create truly matter. Will our communities and technologies feed only our inclination for echo chambers, or will they cultivate our capacity for open-minded engagement?
The evidence is encouraging: when given supportive conditions, people can and do step out of their comfort zones. The same person who closes ranks in a partisan Facebook group might, in a citizen assembly or on a platform like ManyFold, become an active listener and nuanced thinker. Rather than labeling humanity as hopelessly narrow or naively open, we should recognize this dual potential. It falls on all of us – technologists, leaders, educators, citizens – to design structures that bring out the better angels of our nature. This can happen at every scale. In our personal lives, it means engaging with that colleague or neighbor who holds a different view, not to argue but to understand. In our institutions, it means creating forums where diverse stakeholders deliberate side by side, whether in a company, a school board, or a national debate. And in our online spaces, it means pushing for innovation and responsibility from platforms: the algorithms that shape what billions see each day should be aligned with democratic ideals, not just advertising metrics.
ManyFold’s approach is one inspiring example, showing that rethinking the rules of engagement can transform discourse. It won’t be the last word – the movement for a more heterophilous public sphere is just beginning, and will require experimentation and iteration. But the key message is one of empowerment: we are not slaves to polarization. We can choose tools and norms that expand our minds. Every time we resist the lazy lure of the echo chamber and instead invite a new perspective into our field of view, we exercise the “heterophily muscle” and make it stronger. “Keep the company of those who seek the truth—run from those who have found it.” — Václav Havel. Over time, those muscles could rebuild a culture of constructive debate out of the fragmented landscape we see now.
Perhaps the most heartening lesson is that engaging with diverse perspectives is not just good for society – it enriches us as individuals. As the San elders knew around their fires, as the Haudenosaunee sachems demonstrated in council, and as Quaker Friends practiced in their meetings, listening deeply can reveal unexpected wisdom and forge bonds of understanding. It might be challenging at times, even uncomfortable, but it draws out the full range of human insight in a way that homogeneity never can. In a world as complex and interconnected as ours, we need that full range of insight more than ever. So let’s build systems, online and offline, that challenge us to be curious and kind in equal measure. The echoes of agreement may be reassuring, but the spark of a fresh viewpoint is how we light the path to progress. “Without deviation from the norm, progress is not possible.” — Frank Zappa. Human nature has room for both, and the future will be shaped by which one we choose to cultivate. So come join us on ManyFold and help build this culture of constructive debate from the ground up. Be the change you want to see in the world by opening your mind to the widest spectrum of perspectives!
References
Allport, G. W. (1954). The Nature of Prejudice. Addison-Wesley.
Asch, S. E. (1955). Opinions and social pressure. Scientific American, 193(5), 31–35.
Baron, J. (2019). Actively Open-Minded Thinking: Theory, Methods, Research, and Applications. Routledge.
Bartlett, R. D. (2016). How Taiwan solved the Uber problem. P2P Foundation Blog, 21 September 2016.
boyd, d. (2017) ‘Why America is self-segregating’, Apophenia. Available at: https://www.zephoria.org/thoughts/archives/2017/01/10/why-america-is-self-segregating.html (Accessed: 6 March 2025).
Centola, D., Becker, J., Brackbill, D., & Baronchelli, A. (2018). Experimental evidence for tipping points in social convention. Science, 360(6393), 1116–1119.
DiResta, R. (2024) ‘The Invisible Rulers Turning Lies Into Reality’, Commonwealth Club World Affairs. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ad2gjdN_k5Y (Accessed: 6 March 2025).
Farrell, D. M., Suiter, J., & Harris, C. (2019). “Systematizing” constitutional deliberation: the 2016–18 citizens’ assembly in Ireland. Irish Political Studies, 34(1), 113–123.
Fishkin, J. S. (2018). Democracy When the People Are Thinking: Revitalizing Our Politics Through Public Deliberation. Oxford University Press.
Galinsky, A. D., & Moskowitz, G. B. (2000). Perspective-taking: decreasing stereotype expression, stereotype accessibility, and in-group favoritism. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 78(4), 708–724.
Gastil, J., Deess, E. P., & Weiser, P. (2002). Civic awakening in the jury room: A test of the connection between jury deliberation and political participation. Journal of Politics, 64(2), 585–595.
Goodin, R. E., & Spiekermann, K. (2018). An Epistemic Theory of Democracy. Oxford University Press.
Habermas, J. (1996). Between Facts and Norms: Contributions to a Discourse Theory of Law and Democracy. MIT Press.
Haney, C., Banks, W. C., & Zimbardo, P. G. (1973). Interpersonal dynamics in a simulated prison. International Journal of Criminology and Penology, 1, 69–97.
Harris, T. (2020) ‘How a handful of tech companies control billions of minds every day’, TED. Available at: https://www.ted.com/talks/tristan_harris_how_a_handful_of_tech_companies_control_billions_of_minds_every_day (Accessed: 6 March 2025).
Hong, L., & Page, S. E. (2004). Groups of diverse problem solvers can outperform groups of high-ability problem solvers. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 101(46), 16385–16389.
Huang, J. (2017). Polis: Scaling Deliberation by Mapping High-Dimensional Opinion Spaces. MS Thesis, MIT.
Janis, I. L. (1982). Groupthink: Psychological Studies of Policy Decisions and Fiascoes. Houghton Mifflin.
Justo, J. (2024). Unveiling the Iroquois Confederacy: A United Force in Native American Governance. NativeTribe Info. (Posted May 24, 2024).
Krumrei-Mancuso, E. J., & Rouse, S. V. (2016). The development and validation of the Comprehensive Intellectual Humility Scale. Journal of Personality Assessment, 98(2), 209–221.
Leary, M. R., et al. (2017). Cognitive and interpersonal features of intellectual humility. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 43(6), 793–813.
Lord, C. G., Lepper, M. R., & Preston, E. (1984). Considering the opposite: a corrective strategy for social judgment. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 47(6), 1231–1243.
ManyFold (2025). Breaking the Echo Chamber: A Blueprint for Authentic Online Deliberation. [blog].
McPhail, M. (2024). The Quaker Decision Making Model. Friends General Conference News, 25 November 2024.
Moscovici, S., & Zavalloni, M. (1969). The group as a polarizer of attitudes. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 12(2), 125–135.
Nickerson, R. S. (1998). Confirmation bias: A ubiquitous phenomenon in many guises. Review of General Psychology, 2(2), 175–220.
Nietzsche, F. (1887). On the Genealogy of Morals.
OECD (2020). Innovative Citizen Participation and New Democratic Institutions: Catching the Deliberative Wave. OECD Publishing.
Pariser, E. (2011) ‘Beware online “filter bubbles”’, TED. Available at: https://www.ted.com/talks/eli_pariser_beware_online_filter_bubbles (Accessed: 6 March 2025).
Pettigrew, T. F., & Tropp, L. R. (2006). A meta-analytic test of intergroup contact theory. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 90(5), 751–783.
Shostak, M. (1983). Nisa: The Life and Words of a !Kung Woman. Harvard University Press.
Sunstein, C. R. (2001). Republic.com. Princeton University Press.
Tajfel, H. (1970). Experiments in intergroup discrimination. Scientific American, 223(5), 96–102.
Taylor, C. (1991). The Ethics of Authenticity. Harvard University Press.
Tufekci, Z. (2017) ‘We’re building a dystopia just to make people click on ads’, TED. Available at: https://www.ted.com/talks/zeynep_tufekci_we_re_building_a_dystopia_just_to_make_people_click_on_ads (Accessed: 6 March 2025).
Zimbardo, P. G., Haney, C., Banks, W. C., & Jaffe, D. (1973). The mind is a formidable jailer: A Pirandellian prison. New York Times Magazine, April 8, 1973, 36–60.
