Believing and Doubting

A framework for critical thinking and avoiding biases

As a middle school English teacher, I think a lot about why people read. Young and old alike have generally read to learn new things, explore new worlds, or simply for the pleasure of escaping ordinary life. But increasingly—likely due to the influence of social media, video games, and other online distractions—many of us unwittingly fall into the trap of reading to have our predetermined opinions affirmed. We read arguments that we immediately believe or already agree with, and stamp our approval with virtual likes. We repost and share and forward—and rinse and repeat. 

At the other extreme, algorithms routinely churn out pieces for us to read that it probably knows will enrage and trigger us based on past patterns. Predictably, we immediately doubt out of hand, and rant in the comments. Often, we don’t even finish reading the article before offering searing insights as to why it’s clearly wrong. 

Neither of these reading experiences truly engage our curiosity, empathy, or critical thinking skills. Neither is likely to lead to our learning much about the world or about other people’s perspectives. 

But what if we read every piece with both a believing and a doubting stance? What if when we read the pieces we agree with, we wonder, “What would someone who doubts this think? What would their best arguments be?” What if when we read the pieces we don’t agree with, we ask, “What would someone who believes this say? What would their best arguments be for why they think this way?” 

Longtime writing professor and author Peter Elbow describes this approach in  “The Believing Game,” an exercise he created as a way for teachers to help their students engage more deeply with the ideas in texts. At the college and graduate level, Elbow pushed back against students’ usual stance of arguing with each other (doubting) without first attempting to fully understand and appreciate another’s point of view and argument (believing). He introduced “The Believing Game” to find balance between acceptance and scrutiny. 

Following his lead, I introduce this approach each year to my seventh grade English students with the thesis statement “Everyone should be a vegetarian.” All of my students—whether or not they are vegetarians—can appreciate and even explain the arguments vegetarians are likely to make for why they don’t eat animals—the humane reasons, the health reasons, and the climate-friendly reasons. I ask students to begin by taking on a believing stance: “What might a person who believes the statement ‘Everyone should be a vegetarian’ say?”

Then we switch to a doubting stance. What might someone who doubts the statement say? Here, too, even vegetarians find it easy to access relevant arguments. 

On the surface, believing and doubting might not seem very different from agreeing and disagreeing or from arguments and counterarguments. But Elbow’s terms do something special: they evoke empathy. They keep the thinker focused on the ideas themselves while also pointing them toward the fact that it is our fellow humans who hold these particular opinions. This calls for putting oneself in the metaphorical shoes of the other, as well as humanizing those whose opinions you don’t share.

When my seventh graders finish reading Lord of the Flies by William Golding, we apply this same framework of believing and doubting to the culpability of the 12-year-old boys on the island for the collapse of their civilization. At first, Ralph is the leader, and he is an easy character to like—both for the other boys on the island and for the 12-year-old readers in my classes. Ralph is good looking, reasonable, and usually kind. Midway through the book, Jack, a more aggressive bully, takes over the leadership role and the island-civilization becomes more savage. 

The statement “Jack is responsible for the disintegration of civilization on the island” usually rings true for most of my students—until they approach it with skepticism. Then they begin to notice the positive effects of some of Jack’s actions. He provides meat to the boys. He initiates fun bonding activities like feasts and hunts. And it is his fire that (unintentionally) leads to the boys’ rescue at the end. My students debate how much intentions matter. They weigh the good Jack adds to the island against the bad. 

When I ask them to practice believing that Ralph is “responsible for the disintegration of civilization on the island,” they start noticing evidence from the book which supports that position as well. Some of the students change their minds and consider Ralph more at fault than Jack. Most don’t. But almost all of them recognize that the situation is more complicated than it initially seemed.

I hope they also learn this corollary: that many, many questions are more complicated than they initially seem. I also hope they learn that one usually finds what they are looking for and not what they are trying to avoid. If you want to approach a question without bias, you need to look for evidence on all sides, not just the side you are rooting for. 

This fall, whether they are discussing the presidential election, the war in the Middle East, or pineapple on pizza, I hope that my students will use the tools of believing and doubting to help them approach polarizing issues outside the classroom with logic, empathy, and an open mind.

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