“We need someone to step in and decide whose rights should prevail, and that’s government’s responsibility.” That was New York City anti-smoking activist Joe Cherner talking to Penn and Teller back in 2001, but it could just as easily have come from the mouth of any number of talking heads during the debate over Arizona’s amendment to the state Religious Freedom Restoration Act (RFRA) earlier this year.

If you want to see how pluralism works in twenty-first-century America, just ask for an ashtray on a restaurant patio. Then look over your shoulder. You can’t miss him—the fit, middle-aged man with handsome white hair, his countenance contorted into unmistakable disgust. He’ll turn to his date and speak in a casual, half-apologetic tone, but at a volume loud enough for you to hear: “I can’t believe they allow that. I thought this place was respectable.” After the waiter brings you the ashtray, the man will wave him over. The man will point and the waiter will turn toward your table.

The patio has been the last refuge of Washington DC smokers since the City Council banned the dread indoor cancer stick in 2007, but conflict is inevitable come summer. Live-and-let-live pluralism sounds good in theory, but when two diametrically opposed forces meet, the waiter has to make a choice. He will return to your table and kindly ask that you extinguish the cigarette.