Liberalism & Conservatism

Whiskeyjack

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Liberalism/conservativism vs _______ ???

Catholic socialism, distributism, etc. There are lots of options, but you have to break out of liberalism first.

Don't delude yourself, Whiskey. There is no underlying political philosophy here and has not been for quite some time. What has driven our government is-----capitalism, which has no soul, an insatiable appetite and an inexhaustible drive.

What do you think "capitalism" is, other than economic liberalism? From Marx's Communist Manifesto:

The bourgeoisie cannot exist without constantly revolutionising the instruments of production, and thereby the relations of production, and with them the whole relations of society. Conservation of the old modes of production in unaltered form, was, on the contrary, the first condition of existence for all earlier industrial classes. Constant revolutionising of production, uninterrupted disturbance of all social conditions, everlasting uncertainty and agitation distinguish the bourgeois epoch from all earlier ones. All fixed, fast-frozen relations, with their train of ancient and venerable prejudices and opinions, are swept away, all new-formed ones become antiquated before they can ossify. All that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profaned, and man is at last compelled to face with sober senses his real conditions of life, and his relations with his kind.

Advocates for conscience are booed off the political stage and who must choose either academics or are forced to capitulate. American politics is devoid of any spirit. Yet I hope you find a solution to it.

The solutions are all illiberal. If Trump's election gets Americans to start thinking outside of the liberal box, that'll at least be one major silver lining. On that topic, here's Edmund Walstein with an article titled "The American Election and the Virtues and Vices of Liberal Politics":

I was one of those who was surprised by Donald Trump’s election. I had not even expected it too be close. I had thought Clinton would win by a mile. I thought that, when push came to shove, voters would not go for a man so evidently a slave of base passion— a man of intemperance, imprudence, lust, vainglory, and avarice; a liar, a cheat, a bully, and an egoist; a cartoon billionaire and a Twitter troll. I should have known better. The election helps to raise a lot of questions about the relation of politics and virtue within the horizons of liberalism. To what extent will voters in a liberal society demand virtue of their politicians? And what sort of virtue? Or to what extent does liberalism really reduce politics into a technique, rendering virtue irrelevant? Was the victory of Trump more a rejection of liberalism, or more a triumph of liberalism? These are some of the questions that have been thinking about since the result became clear.

Of course, the main reason why Trump won was that he was running against Hilary Clinton. It is clear that many voters, especially working class voters, rejected Clinton’s brand of cold, elite, globalist liberalism, which seeks to break down all barriers to the self-determination of sovereign, individual will, including the “barriers” of national cultures and traditions, of and of the natural law itself. “You can be anything you want,” Clinton supporters told their daughters. That is, each sovereign individual must decide for herself (or himself), by a sovereign act of the will, wherein her highest good is to be found, and society must give her the freedom to pursue it without determining her to one role rather than another. This is the pure essence of modern liberalism: the objective good is not that which elicits desire, rather desire is what makes things good. This is the liberalism of both of neoliberal “creative destruction,” and of progressive denial of any natural foundation to sexual differences. It is the liberalism of the free migration of persons and of free trade. Of global capitalism, and of global bureaucratic regulation. It is also the liberalism of the promotion of abortion and contraception and of the enforced privatization of religion. This sort of liberalism is a threat to the way of life of simple people everywhere, and it is not surprising that they rejected it. Andrew Whaley, who has true connatural knowledge of so-called “ordinary Americans,” has a good podcast on this aspect of the Trump victory. The post election episode of This American Life includes a number of interviews with Trump voters who make the same point in a less articulate fashion. This is the aspect that can lead Matthew Schmitz to read the election result as “the death of liberalism.” And to the extent to which Schmitz is right there is something encouraging to be found in the Trump victory (along with the obviously discouraging fact of having a swinish brute at the head of the most powerful state in the world). Even the eccentric Lacanian Marxist Slavoj Žižek said before the election that, if he were an American, he would vote for Trump in order to disrupt the absolute inertia of neoliberal globalism. Many serious Catholics ended up reluctantly voting for Trump both for this general reason, and because the intricacies of his alliance led him to promise that he would nominate Supreme Court justices who would combat abortion— that greatest evil of our times. This seemed to them a proportionate reason to accept the risk that he will fulfill some of his other campaign promises that go against Catholic Social Teaching. I can understand that position, although I do not agree with it. As Coëmgenus put it, “Those who have supported him in pursuit of these ends are mistaken, not evil.”

But, as P.J. Smith has argued, the election can also be read as a triumph of a certain strand of liberalism. Shortly before the election I posted a quote from Charles De Koninck’s deeply anti-liberal book on the common good, claiming that, since politics is concerned with the common good of human life, one must demand “that the leaders of society be men who are good purely and simply,” that is, that they “must possess all the moral virtues and prudence.” A friend of mine commented, “While we’re living in a fantasy world, why doesn’t one require that all people in our lives be good?” The unspoken premise here, I think, is the classical liberal notion that politics can be reduced to a technique of balancing private interests according to certain empty, procedural principles. That is, that politics is not concerned with the human good as such, but only only with allowing individuals to concern themselves with it. And that therefore, to put it in ancient terms, politics is a matter not of prudence but of art. Just as one does not require one’s baker and candlestick-maker to possess “all the moral virtues and prudence” (however much one might prefer them to do so), but only that they make good bread and candlesticks respectively, so (on this classical liberal view) one should not require one’s politicians to be virtuous, but only that they respectfully apply the liberal Constitution, which is meant to guarantee the private pursuit of virtue and happiness. Roger Scruton, in his reflection on the election, quotes Spinoza on a virtuous government not being a government exercised by virtuous people, but rather one that remains virtuous even when exercised by villains. On such an account, the support of many personally virtuous persons for a obviously vicious man like Trump is a sign of the continued vitality of liberalism.

And yet, liberals do not cease to be human. It is natural to want the head of the political community to which one belongs to be honorable and virtuous, and so of course liberals do demand it. But of course they tend to demand that the head of state embody the typical virtues of the liberal, bourgeois age: respect and tolerance of others; a responsible personal life; humility, civility and decency; and, above all, a selfless devotion to “due process of law,” separation of powers and all the other quasi-magical barriers to tyranny in which liberalism sees the essence of political freedom.

I remember an open letter by a “conservative” pundit Dennis Prager after the American election of 2000, in which he gave the following expression to his disgust at Bill Clinton’s lack of virtue:

We have watched in silence as the White House and its sacred rooms have been put up for sale to Democratic party donors and Hollywood stars, as the presidency has been degraded to the point where young people could ask the president of the U.S. on national television what type of underpants he wears. We watched Bill Clinton respond to that question.

To call the rooms of the White house “sacred” seems almost comically in a liberal context, but it is natural to man as a political animal to invest the one who has care of the common good with a certain sacrality. And the sort of virtue and civilized decency that is being demanded is of course liberal virtue. Prager addresses his political adversaries with the following apostrophe:

You think that way because, in your arrogance, you confuse liberal with decent. But tens of millions of us have a different view of liberal— as increasingly nihilist.

Here Prager is using “liberal” to refer to a particular strand of liberalism— the radical, morally nihilistic strand represented by the Clinton style Democrats. But Prager too is a liberal, though a “moderate” or “conservative” liberal (what I once called a “soft” liberal). Moderate liberals tend to reject the modern, subjectivist account of the good. They think that there is indeed an objective good. But they also think that it is difficult to know, and that therefore government ought not to try to achieve it. Rather, government should limit itself to protecting the rights of individuals to seek the good.

Nevertheless, both moderate liberals like Prager, and radical liberals like his Democratic adversaries consider themselves to be taking the part of “decency,” of liberal virtue. And the 16 years that followed the 2000 election saw the administrations of two unusually “decent” exemplars of liberal virtue. From my perspective, of course, George W. Bush was singularly lacking in true political virtue. His naïve faith in the universality of the “values” of freedom and democracy led him into the unjust invasion of Iraq, resulting in the killing of many innocent persons. But he was a thoroughly well-meaning and honest man, who tried to do what he thought was the right thing. When Bush succeeded Bill Clinton, Clinton’s aids are said to have “trashed” their offices, as a sign of contempt for their successors. But when Bush was in turn succeeded by Obama (as Obama mentioned in his speech after Trump’s election), Bush instructed his aides to be scrupulously helpful to the incoming administration. Similarly, from my perspective Obama’s policies promoted sins that “cry to Heaven for vengeance”— the murder of the innocent in abortion principally, but also the sin of Sodom (not to mention the injustices against the poor in the capitalist system that he continued to support, as Bush had done). But Obama is himself a clearly decent man— temperate, honest, and faithful to his duties as a husband and father. And the “we’re all on the same team” attitude that he has taken towards Trump shows an almost heroically liberal devotion to due process of law and civility. I fundamentally disagree with Obama’s liberal principles, but I find it hard not to admire his honest devotion to them.

But I think that the more hopeful reaction to the election comes from persons of liberal tendencies in whom the result has led to a questioning of liberal premises. Rebecca Bratten Weiss has in the past endorsed key liberal principles— government should “ not legislate morality,” but should limit itself to “protecting rights” and so on— but in a post on the Trump election she rejects the liberal-proceduralist conception of government fairly radically, though she still uses the language of rights to do so:

From a secular, political perspective, I reject the thesis that some mystical social contract obliges me to abide by rule of human-made legal structures, if these structures legitimize decisions not favorable to the common good. I have a natural right to oppose what I view as unjust authority. The idea that all authority is legitimate if upheld by a specific political process is itself a human invention. The social contract which demands that I acquiesce to it is not as binding as my obligation to stand for the decrees of my conscience. […] I do not accept Donald Trump as my president.

Whether she is right to question the legitimacy of Trump’s authority or not is a complicated question (see The Josias’s series on legitimacy in point 2.2.2.2 here), but the interesting point is that the Trump election has led her (and hopefully others) to raise such fundamental questions in the first place.
 

Emcee77

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How to Restore Your Faith in Democracy - The New Yorker

This week, I found myself thinking about Trump’s victory through the lens of my conversations with Taylor. Trump’s frank negativity—“We’re losing at everything”—spoke directly to Americans’ disillusionment; his emotional, unmediated spontaneity suggested, to some people, that a remote and overrehearsed political world might be made vibrant and fulfilling again. And yet it’s hard to see, in the long term, how a reality-TV host and élite megalomaniac will help citizens feel that their political engagement has meaning. Trump has created a pop-up movement—a media event built to last for the duration of a single campaign season. Similarly, many Americans felt empowered when they were actively involved in Obama’s candidacy—and then returned to being passive consumers of politics.

Plato proposed a republic run by enlightened philosophers, and Taylor has some ideas about what he might do if he were in charge. In big cities, he told me, it’s easy for people to feel engaged in the project of democracy; they’re surrounded by the drama of inclusion. But in the countryside, where jobs are disappearing, main streets are empty, and church attendance is down, democracy seems like a fantasy, and people end up “sitting at home, watching television. Their only contact with the country’s problems is a sense that everything’s going absolutely crazy. They have no sense of control.” He advocates raising taxes and giving the money to small towns, so that they can rebuild. He is in favor of localism and “subsidiarity”—the principle, cited by Alexis de Tocqueville and originating in Catholicism, that problems should be solved by people who are nearby. Perhaps, instead of questing for political meaning on Facebook and YouTube, we could begin finding it in projects located near to us. By that means, we could get a grip on our political selves, and be less inclined toward nihilism on the national scale. (It would help if there were less gerrymandering and money in politics, too.)

One imagines what this sort of rooted, meaningful democracy might look like. A political life centered on local schools, town governments, voluntary associations, and churches; a house in the woods with the television turned off. Inside, family members aren’t glued to their phones. They talk, over dinner, about politics, history, and faith, about national movements and local ones; they feel, all the time, that they’re doing something. It’s a pastoral vision, miles away from the media-driven election we’ve just concluded. But it’s not a fantasy.

#hope
 

Whiskeyjack

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First Things' Peter J. Leithart just published an article titled "Two Kinds of Liberalism":

Mark Garnett (The Snake that Swallowed Its Tail) identifies four core beliefs of liberalism: “that the individual ought to be treated as prior to society; that human beings are capable of rational decision-making; that rational people are worthy of equal respect; and that freedom is the best guarantee of individual fulfillment” (15).

Within this consensus, though, there are divergent tendencies, and Garnett summarizes Isaiah Berlin's famous attempt to identify these under the heading of “positive” and “negative” liberty. In Garnett's summary, “‘Negative' liberty equates freedom with the absence of obstacles deliberately imposed by other people. By contrast, on the ‘positive' view, freedom is only meaningful to an individual who possesses certain attributes and resources” (19).

Berlin's typology helped explain why some liberals tended libertarian while other trended toward statist solutions, both declaring their commitment to liberal freedom all the while. Berlin's discussion makes sense in a Cold War context. As a contribution to British politics, however, it left much to be desired, partly because Berlin misconstrued the relation of theory and practice: “As far as the [British] state was concerned, the battle of ideas had already ended in a typical compromise, leaving both the ‘negatives' and the ‘positives' dissatisfied. As soon as the franchise was extended beyond the middle classes it was no longer realistic for politicians to embrace the crude laissez-faire theory suggested by the ‘negative' view of liberty. But although the state extended its activities . . . . it did so within definite limits. A redistributive income tax was now as inevitable as death, and partially financed a network of institutions which provided sustenance ‘from the cradle to the grave.' But even before the reforms of the Thatcher era, the tax regime permitted accumulation beyond the conceivable needs of an individual; and the welfare state has always been limited enough to ensure that only the exploits of a criminal mastermind could guarantee a comfortable life on its proceeds” (21).

Garnett offers an alternative sketch of forms of liberalism, which he describes as “fleshed out” and “hollowed out”: “The former retains a close resemblance to the ideas of the greatest liberal thinkers, who were optimistic about human nature and envisaged a society made up of free, rational individuals respecting themselves and others. The latter, by contrast, satisfies no more than the basic requirements of liberal thought. It reduces the concepts of reason and individual fulfillment to the lowest common denominator, identifying them with the pursuit of short-term material self-interest. For the hollowed-out liberal, other people are either means to an end, or obstacles which must be shunted aside. Instead of an equality of respect, this is more like equality of contempt” (8).

We are living, he says, in a culture shaped by hollowed-out liberalism, and it is caught in a vicious, cannibalistic cycle: Hollow liberalism is snake that eats its tail. Garnett writes, “It is doomed by its combination of insulting presuppositions about human nature, and an inability to look beyond short-term interests. Its internal logic makes it grasp at expedients which only make things worse. Thus senior politicians respond to voter apathy with spin, sound-bites, and slurs on their opponents [he was writing before the 2016 US Presidential election!]. Newspaper editors worried about falling circulation dig deeper into the private lives of celebrities, eroding public interest in the celebrity culture with provides them with most of their ‘news.' And in their quest to ensnare the hollow viewer, television executives commission a stream of ‘reality' programmes which prove that reality in a hollow society is irredeemably tedious and unwatchable” (10).

Garnett warns that his book is polemical rather than systematic, and it is. Like all polemics, it is over the top at points. Still, the polemic stings. We are the hollow men. We are the stuffed men.
 

Whiskeyjack

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Here's an article by John Francis Nieto titled "Right, Left, Forward or Back? Or Why I Am Neither Left or Right":

1. The following remarks propose to explain why I have no expectation of political gains from either right or left and why rather I distrust both movements, at least in so far as they are political movements arising within modern political theory. Nonetheless, several things I am not claiming should be made clear in the beginning.

2. First, I am not claiming that either the left or the right is simply speaking one movement. Each has many elements and I have no intention of speaking to what is proper to these elements. Rather my comments concern groups or individuals only insofar as they assent to the political principles that have formed right and left as distinct ‘sides’ or ‘factions’ in the modern political system.

3. Second, I am not claiming there is no difference between right and left. I shall argue that both sides work to advance things they hold in common more than those things proper to them. These common principles (in my opinion) are or should be reprehensible to the most earnest partisans of either side. And I do think each side has some who work with the intention of bringing about a greater good, however much I may disagree with them.

4. Third, I therefore am not denying the need to work with one side rather than another in particular political battles. I note however that in doing so the political battle becomes distorted insofar as the principles at hand must be conformed to those commonly accepted. Hence, the fight against abortion becomes for the right a question of a personal right to life, since ‘rights’ are the commonly received political principle. More fundamental in abortion is the destruction of the common good attained in sexual union. But our political culture is too corrupt to recognize the horror of such destruction. Again, concern for the land we live on and encouragement of small-scale farming have their champions on the left. But this must be pursued within the exploitative, industrial conception of man’s relation to the earth that defines our political debates. We have lost any sense that the earth provides for our needs. Rather, we seek from it satisfaction of desires.

5. Fourth, I do not propose these remarks with any suggestion of demonstrative certainty insofar as they contain judgments of particular political movements. I am not surprised that I, when young, or that other young people maintain political positions with great certainty and vehemence. I was so determined that I was willing to incite revolution, if given a chance. But it does surprise me that many who have the air of political wisdom pronounce in the same fashion as the young.

6. Political matters involve all the complexity of any moral judgment. Hence, questions of motives and circumstance, concerns about consequences, dangers of misstatement and misapprehension crowd about political acts. Further, political judgments involve the assumption of wisdom not demanded by the moral life. Everyone must live the moral life and attempt to attain to some measure of happiness. To go beyond the most general political truths and begin to judge in this realm is to suggest that one possesses the good attained in morality and politics in a manner sufficient to help others do so. Even the wise must fear such a step. (Of course, in saying this I have already opposed some principles common to both right and left.)

7. Hence, although, in the following remarks, I will propose some things which I believe to be of complete certainty, though difficult to articulate, such things are of a general and fundamental character. What I say against particular factions assumes that they reject, most often implicitly, these foundations of political order. They may well assume the same things at one time or another, insofar as they lack the consistency of well conceived political opinions. But nowhere do I claim more that a probable, reasonable certitude in judging particular political opinions or actions. Only God can grasp these things with perfect clarity and determination. Any partisan who claims to understand these matters without any admixture of error fools himself; as likely, he is a liar, most likely a petit-demagogue.

8. What I propose therefore in the following remarks about particulars is incomplete, overstated somewhere, poorly substantiated elsewhere. I would have no one agree with me by the fact that I have said it. Rather, I urge each to reflect upon his moral and political experience, to confirm his understanding of true political principles, to judge political opinions and actions to the extent that true principles make them intelligible, and to refrain from opinions and judgments beyond these. To the young I particularly recommend moderation. To form political judgments is as much a burden as it is a privilege.

9. Now to take up this burden myself. I will first make clear in a schematic way my own associations with right and left. (10-12) Next I will state my distrust of these movements in a general manner. (13) Then, I will propose the political principles most necessary to true political order. (14-26) Finally, I will state in a specific manner how right and left reject these principles in common. (27-52)

10. For several years, from sixteen to twenty-two, I consciously considered myself a member of the political left. I first identified myself as a communist and a Marxist, then distinctly a Maoist—to my shame a deceived admirer of the Chinese cultural revolution—, and finally, for nearly four years, an anarchist. As an anarchist I would have allowed myself to be called socialist or communist, so long as these terms were not taken in a particular, narrow sense.

11. Near my twenty-second birthday I began to question various of my political principles and after several months I recognized that several were wrong, though I did not claim to know the correct principles. Several things I never questioned: my distrust of the political influence of wealth, my sympathy with workers, my contempt for the ugliness and inhumanity of technology, my sense that man has been estranged from nature, and thus from his own nature, and so on. This re-haul of my political thought led to a moral reevaluation and thus to my return to the Catholic faith. But the political reevaluation came first.

12. Returning to Catholicism, I was determined to hold to the faith in its purity. I believed, for a short while, that this demanded I align myself with the right. Yet I could never champion capitalism, at least insofar as the word refers to industrial or high-finance capitalism. While I rejected the near-pacifist position central to my anarchism, I could not find enthusiasm for any of the military engagements so readily supported by the right. And thus, for many years, since my early thirties, I failed to feel any deep sympathy with left or right. Further, I have come to reject the distinction of right and left as an appropriate approach to political order.

13. My sense that the distinction and opposition of left and right do not arise from the principles proper to political order coincided with the sense that left and right agree on much that each side takes for granted. More and more it became clear to me that they take for granted an opposition to the principles that make real political order possible. Some of these principles are found explicitly in traditional teachings about politics, especially in traditional Catholic social teaching, although others are found there only implicitly. In effect, left and right, to my mind, are in general agreement with modern political and economic thought and disagree with how that thought should play out.

14. To make the principles where left and right agree more clear, I shall first discuss some of the principles I understand to be central to traditional political thought. None is more fundamental than the notion that according the very nature of man the common good gives rise to the political order.

15. The common good insofar as it is good is a final cause. Thus, victory is the purpose and cause of an army, and polyphonic music is the purpose and cause of a choir. Insofar as it is common, the common good brings many into a community and orders the members of the community to it and to one another. The nature of polyphonic music, for example, brings those capable of singing it together and makes a soprano of one, an alto of another, and so on.

16. By means of this order to the good and to one another a society becomes one agent pursuing the good common to them. This is to say that the common good makes the many members of the community a single agent in pursuing that good. The common good as final cause brings into being a city as an agent cause that pursues that good.

17. This common good must be some one thing belonging to all the members of the community. Nonetheless it belongs to the various members in distinct ways and some share more in this good and others share less. In the political order, the common good is nothing other than the common life lived by citizens. This life has many elements and is conceived in many ways. It is called ‘peace’, ‘prosperity’, ‘justice’, insofar as we pay attention to one or another of its various aspects or elements.

18. To be a citizen, not in name alone but in reality, is nothing other than to pursue and possess this good by loving it and by sharing the power to bring it about and maintain it. Some make laws, some enforce them, some judge those who are subject to laws, some elect those who make laws, and so on. Each pursues and maintains the common good according to his share in political power. But every citizen as such must love the good not merely as it belongs to himself but also as it is a whole belonging to the entire community. Thus, he loves the common good as his own good, yet as a good greater than any private good belonging to him as an individual. So the soldier offers his own share in the common good from love for this good as it belongs to the whole. Likewise, Saint Paul says,

I am speaking the truth, in Christ, I am not lying, and my conscience in the Holy Spirit bears me witness: there is great sorrow and incessant pain in my heart. I could have wished to be outcast from the Christ myself for the sake of my brothers, who are my blood kindred.

19. While the common good belongs to the entire community of citizens, some part of the community must be dedicated to pursue and maintain this good for the whole. This is the government, which in its very nature is ordered to the good of the whole community. Though the government rules the community and thus some men are subject to any government, many, if not most, of those subject to government are themselves citizens. Thus government must rule citizens not for the good of the government, but for the good of the whole citizen body insofar as they form a community possessed of a common life.

20. Now there are many aspects of political life that must be found in all political communities: murder and stealing, for example, are wrong everywhere. Nevertheless, since the common good is nothing other than the community’s common life, it must be determined in time and place. Where a people lives determines many aspects of its common life: the balance of agriculture and commerce in its economy, the kinds of food cultivated, and so on. Again, the particular history of a people influences that life. For example, the experience of a regime particularly good or evil affects the future attitude toward that kind of regime.

21. Two attributes of the common good demand particular attention. The common good must be attained in a manner that is stable and self-sufficient. These are rooted in the relation of the common good to the community that pursues it. If it is not stable, retaining more or less the same character over time, it will not really be common to the members of the community over time. Grandparents will not share political life with their grandchildren, or even parents with their children, but mere biological life. If the common life is not self-sufficient, the members will depend upon other communities with which they will form a larger community. This larger political community will possess its own life, less distinct and less in the control of the original community.

22. Above I claimed that by his nature man is inclined to the common good. This can be seen in many ways, but most obviously insofar as man is inclined to happiness, which cannot in fact be attained by oneself. Man cannot be born or grow up without others. Nor can he attain to language, knowledge, or virtue in a sufficient way without the help of others.

23. But man cannot attain happiness, taken as perfecting himself alone or as perfecting the community, merely by means of his natural powers. The principal cause of this lies in his passions. Man’s sensitive desires, arising from the concupiscible and irascible appetites, respond immediately to the sensible objects that appear by the exterior senses and the imagination. Nor are they wholly subject to reason.

24. Hence, man needs habits in these appetites and in his will, by which he will follow the good perceived by reason, even when the sensible appetites incline toward another good. Again, by these habits the sensible appetites will themselves incline in a manner appropriate to them toward the good perceived by reason. Traditional political thought therefore proposes the necessity of virtue for sound political order: temperance in the concupiscible appetite, bravery in the irascible appetite, justice in the will, and prudence (which knows the good for man) in the intellect.

25. For this reason, because the cardinal virtues are necessary in pursuing and maintaining the common good, traditional political thought suggests that good government is something rare, not to be expected everywhere, not likely to last a long time. This is not to say that men should not aim at good government. But they should not be surprised that good government is so difficult to bring about and they should cherish the institutions that do so, if such institutions should be hit upon.

26. Let me underscore one point here. No loss in political thought is greater than the loss of the understanding that happiness, whether for one man or for a community, depends upon possession of the cardinal virtues. However bad society became in ancient and medieval times, anyone influenced by the great civilizations, such as the Greek or the Chinese, would have heard that these virtues are necessary for happiness. A bad man might scoff at such a position, but at least he was aware of it. And if this position is true, it is in some way a principle of action to anyone who becomes happy. In our day few come to know of this truth and, of course, even fewer have any share in happiness.

27. In describing the opposition to these principles common to the political right and left (at least insofar as they are movements), I shall first discuss the notion of social contract, which is at the heart of modern political theory. (28-41) Next, I shall propose that the political thought of right and left is founded on the social contract. (42-45) Then, I shall propose the manner in which right and left are themselves opposed while agreeing in the notion of a social contract. (46-48) Finally, I shall make some remarks about the United States in particular: where it stands regarding this theory. (49-52)

28. As stated above, modern political theory in common establishes political order on what is called the social contract. These thinkers do recognize that any society works toward some kind of good. They display various defects in their understanding of the common good. But all these thinkers reject the natural inclination to the common good. The common good is not a final cause by nature. Rather, it must be established as the good of the community by some community or some part of a community, as by an agent cause. But, as stated, these thinker hold that that agent cause cannot come into existence through the natural inclination to the common good.

29. Instead, the modern political theorists propose that the community comes into existence through the inclination of its members to their own private good. Each man about to enter into community recognizes that he will attain to some private good through association with others. This agreement constitutes a contract, generally implicit, by which the city or state is constituted.[1] So constituted the community determines some part to serve as a government and this government pursues the good of the city or state.

30. The relation between the good of the community to the individual citizen is not described in the same way by the various philosophers. Nonetheless, the manner of establishing the community implies that this good belongs to the government more or less as the private good of the member, the good that prompted him to enter into society, belongs to that member. The government becomes more or less another individual pursuing its own private good, as is said most clearly by Hobbes.

31. There results an opposition between the good of the state and the good of the citizen. For the citizen enters into society for the sake of his own private good. But his participation in the state and consequent enjoyment of this private good demand subordination to the good of the state. The state will only work so as to bring about his private good insofar as citizens work toward the good of the state. But the good of the state is not properly the citizen’s good. Rather it is a good proper to the government.

32. Insofar as modern governments are totalitarian, they assume supremacy to the good of the state, mistakenly understood to be a common good. Insofar as these governments partake in ‘Western liberalism’ (which has nothing to do with ‘liberal vs. conservative’) they recognize a citizen’s ‘rights’. Such rights are here understood to constitute a reservation of some private good against the claims of other citizens, but more profoundly, against the claims of the state.

33. Citizens do not live in such a social order for a common life, but each lives for his own sake a life he conceives as properly his own. He orders his action to his own success and prosperity, to his own pleasure, perhaps a bit beyond this to his family. He sees the political order as useful to these purposes of his own. He does not find in it an opportunity to participate in government, whether by legislating, ruling, counseling, judging, or even electing. If he shares in any of these, he looks to his own ends.

34. The government likewise looks to its existence and flourishing as an institution. Those who belong to it work to maintain themselves in power and see individual citizens either as an instrument or as a threat to that power. The citizen is promised his private good in exchange for the maintaining the government.

35. There is nonetheless a kind of balance that can be found, at least for a time. The exchange of private goods allows the government to pursue its power as a private good and the citizen to pursue whatever life pleases him as his private good. They may recognize the other’s intentions; they may flatter and deceive each other. In either way such a system can last for some time.

36. But this is not government or politics in the ancient sense, which demands that a people organize themselves so as to pursue a common life. Rather, the social contract introduces a system of management by which the government offers the various elements of a satisfactory private life to citizens in exchange for its own power.

37. Those who developed the theory of social contract were certainly proponents of virtue. Nonetheless such a system has no need of virtue. The citizens support the government through their inclination to their own private good. No one needs virtue to desire this in a stable and vehement manner. The passions incline us sufficiently to what is in one way or another our own. In a system of ‘human management’ the passions can be counted on by a government to keep citizens satisfied with various pleasures and excitements, while it strengthens its own place in the world.

38. Virtue may, however, be necessary to distinguish and desire what is truly good from what appears to be good. For this reason, virtue may be an impediment to such a system. If virtue allows someone to recognize that a truly common life, a stable and self-sufficient life shared with others in one place and through time, is more desirable than the satisfaction of passions, he becomes an impediment to such government as management.

39. Let me briefly point out some reasons such a conception of government is incompatible with the stability and self-sufficiency that are attributes of the common good. Since what is provided to citizens is not a common life but the satisfaction of passions, which each works out in his own way, a system of human management must provide new and various satisfactions to its citizens. Food, sex, violence, wealth become central to any system like this. But they must have the increase and variety that keeps the senses and the passions alert and excited. Hence the life of citizens demands constant changes and this can be supplied at least in part by import. This alone is reason against stability and self-sufficiency.

40. But the government also seeks to augment its own power and security. This will always suggest further control and regulation of the citizen’s life, which will demand change of one sort or another. But it also tempts a government to interest itself in the doings of other governments. Greater interdependence among such governments means greater power and security, at least for the government that does the most successful meddling.

41. Now, when government is viewed as mere management of individual satisfactions, a system that does not demand the attainment of any virtue, good government will not seem to be something rare and difficult to maintain. Rather, it will be thought to flow according to some kind of formula from mere power and will. Good government will bring about ‘happiness’ by managing men and goods as they already are, by ingeniously shifting them about, while traditional political theory assumed that men must become good to become happy, especially insofar as they are in community.

42. Now I do not think it difficult to see that the political right and left, at least in our times, both accept the conception of government as a social contract. We see both pandering to the citizen’s desires for his private good. More and more each conceives of the political order as arising from and serving individuals and not families, neighborhoods and towns.

43. Generally speaking, both right and left conceive or propose themselves as the true defenders of the citizen’s rights. Both conceive the opposite side as more or less totalitarian. And each side has some justice, since totalitarian governments have at times been on the right and at times been on the left. In fact the opposition of totalitarianism and Western liberalism is woven into the principles of government accepted by both sides.

44. Hence, whatever their long-term dreams and utopias, each side proposes that good government is synonymous with its own establishment in power. Right and left each propose to solve society’s problems on the condition that it becomes the government, while the other side is destroyed or fades away into ignominy and then obscurity. For me this makes clear that neither side can ever be successful. Even granted that each of them changes, perhaps even to become more and more like each other, neither side can bring about what they aim at, because they cannot get rid of one another.

45. For this reason, I believe that right and left are both proceeding ‘forward’ toward a more and more perfect system of human management. This demands global government, a fluid worldwide economy, a thorough-going leveling of individuals through society, so that no one can remain outside the reaches of this management and thus a danger to its integrity. Everyone can enjoy his pri*vate satisfaction so long as he submits to the system, so long as he is ‘with the program’, as it is vulgarly put.

46. Where then do right and left differ, if they are in fundamental agreement about the social contract? I think there are many illusions lurking here and do not have time to consider them. Let me merely propose for the moment that the fundamental difference is this: the left holds that the original formation of society is a system of oppression and must be superseded by a true social contract, while the right accepts this original formation as a binding contract.

47. The position of the left, described in the Second Discourse of Rousseau, holds that the conditions of man when he first ‘found’ himself in nature encouraged him to establish a system of property, racism, sexism, and so on, by which he used others for his private good. This system must be replaced by a true social contract that orders men and wealth to bring about the private good of all society’s members. For example, the left holds that American slavery was part of the American system at its founding. The undoing of that slavery introduced a new element of a true social contract.

48. The right claims that the systems in place at the time the doctrine of social contract arose were more or less sufficient to bring about that good. They may hold at one time or another that the contract has been insufficiently fulfilled, as, for example, in American slavery, but that the principles in the American social contract are sound and capable.

49. This leads me to speak a moment about the United States. I speak as someone who has always looked at his own country from within and from without. From my childhood I recognized the good that I have received and share in through the American system of government. But I have also seen this system as belonging, at least temperamentally, to the Anglo-American race, more than to my own. I say this merely to avoid any dissembling.

50. I believe that any true government must be founded on true political thought. I think that there is evidence in American history of such a foundation. In fact, one part of this is the claim in the Federalist papers, that the members of the proposed union have the same language, culture, and political institutions. At the same time the founders used the language of the times to explain their foundation. Some believed it fervently; others may not have. The people themselves, I expect, conceived the political order more or less as they had when they began to live in this country.

51. Over time, however, we have come to live more and more by the principles enunciated in our foundation. One of the most impressive facts about American political life, one paid only the slightest attention, is that it has in fact proceeded more or less according to the words and formulas used in its institution. I do not deny that these have been used with more and less precision and with changes in meaning. Nonetheless, our government has in fact gone forward more or less according to these ‘instructions’. This is something very rare.

52. As we have stuck to these principles, we are therefore living more and more according to the contract theory embedded by the founder’s in their account of the foundation. Hence, we have lived more and more for the rights of individuals and we have established the government more and more as an entity that serves its own ends in opposition to our own. As we continue forward, however much we imagine that we go right or left, we will be furthering a system of government that consists in human management. The only true direction is back, not back in time, but back to the true principles of human political order.
 

NDFAN420

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I can always have a nice laugh at the end of the day when all of my arch-conservative and arch-liberal friends are the most guilty of everything they hate about the "other side". It's very funny how that seems to almost be a truism.

What's more, is that political philosophers note that liberalism and conservatism both meet at their extremes anyhow.
 

ACamp1900

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Dave Rubin has been an interesting study lately...
 

BeauBenken

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I'm going to break my rule for this one.

As a card carrying Classical Liberal since 1987, I approve this video.

<iframe src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/hiVQ8vrGA_8" allowfullscreen="" width="500" height="300" frameborder="0"></iframe>

Dude better watch out. Even though he's a married gay man, the "progressives" will soon be calling him a Nazi and burning shit down just to make sure he doesn't speak at schools.

This video pretty much nails my ideas on the head.
 

Whiskeyjack

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You seriously posted a 52 point piece in total? JFC why not pick a few of your favorite points and link the article? Or just link the article?

I am going to go out on a limb and guess Whiskey is morally offended by Cliffs Notes.

If I just post a link, no one reads it. I do try not to post long reads very often, and only do so when I think it's worth your time. I've been wrestling with the idea that liberalism is hostile to the Common Good for quite a while (frequently in this very thread), and I thought that article did a decent job of explaining why.

You're always free to reply with "lol tl;dr".
 

Rack Em

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If I just post a link, no one reads it. I do try not to post long reads very often, and only do so when I think it's worth your time. I've been wrestling with the idea that liberalism is hostile to the Common Good for quite a while (frequently in this very thread), and I thought that article did a decent job of explaining why.

You're always free to reply with "lol tl;dr".

lol tl;dr this post
 

BleedBlueGold

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I'm going to break my rule for this one.

As a card carrying Classical Liberal since 1987, I approve this video.

<iframe width="500" height="300" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/hiVQ8vrGA_8" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

I've thoroughly enjoyed Dave's videos this past year. I'd be lying if I said it hasn't changed my mindset on a few, if not most, issues. The more I listen, the more I find "myself."

I wish I was smart enough to follow this thread and contribute. Good stuff throughout. Thanks, Whiskey (and others).
 
B

Bogtrotter07

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There were some small mistaken facts in this video, I believe literary license to make a point. But for this day in America, not bad.

And David Ruben had some good points to make, no doubt!

But the overwhelming point I was left with raises a huge question after watching Dave Rubin's video.

Why do I need to change anything?

What I do is what works for me, and isn't based upon allegiance or popularity. The entire abandonment of ideas, (not ideals,) for 'emotional' reactions is caused by an intentional flooding of misinformation for discerning citizens.

This is the best case the video makes. If I believe in XYZ, because after a period of time and experience, it works best for me, why should I give it up, no matter what anyone says?

Yet, if I identify with the public psyche he carved out, I need to change?

Dave is right, people have regressed. But in his myopic view, or the view expressed in this video, there is no acknowledgement that all people, right and left, all ethnic groups, across the board have. That is true.

But having someone abandon their personal identification, or in some way suggesting it is at odds with your ideas, is exactly what authoritarian propaganda is, and does!

But picking one group, trying to convince them that they are doing exactly what the group they started off at greatest odds with, is doing, is the most effective propaganda implementation out there!

Think about it. I was this (XYZ), so I have to change to the opposite, because people that were this are starting to act like something else, (whether it really is the opposite, the affect of misinformation overload, or a true zombie apocalypse.)

Hell, no! The healthy behavior would be change the way you are acting. Help your self to overcome your emotional distress. Go back to being your own unique contribution!

What a concept! Don't ascribe to a group if the group is costing you too much! The safety isn't worth the cost of your individuality. Because I can guarantee, if you don't look at yourself as an individual first, you can't and won't look at others that way first, ever! Wasn't that where the problem supposedly started?

So tell the truth. Look for the truth. The part of his message that said to look at the person first was good. But we all can do that no matter what we think, or believe, or even where we stand.

All we have to do is get a safe, healthy handle on our emotions, and insulate, or immunize ourselves from the constant barrage of lies we face!
 

Legacy

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If I just post a link, no one reads it. I do try not to post long reads very often, and only do so when I think it's worth your time. I've been wrestling with the idea that liberalism is hostile to the Common Good for quite a while (frequently in this very thread), and I thought that article did a decent job of explaining why.

You're always free to reply with "lol tl;dr".

Disheartened I am.
 
B

Bogtrotter07

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Brilliant! Thorough! Empathy, and awe inspiring.

Whiskey, there comes a point where person has to come to peace with himself, the natural world, and society.

When that happens, I suggest many times that the exercise in so accomplishing this leaves a residue. With some more than others. A residue of thought based, articulations, of relationships that must be extant, for the persons very basic consciousness as a living being.

Among these, way down the list (of significance and importance) is the idea that concepts like 'conservative,' and 'liberal,' are artificial constructs. These constructs are coveted and useful, because they save time, and allow greater, or more powerful and in depth thinking on subjects. But they also are limiting and constraining by nature. Too heavily reliance brings about rigid thought, which defeats their purpose as constructed in the first place.

So, another piece of this wisdom is a familiarity, and peaceable acceptance of paradox. And a realization, that the closer a person comes to the truth, the more wrapped in paradox the truth becomes! One thing to an extreme ends up starting to look like another; so a healthy balance looks good. As one famous thinker once said, "liberal in thought, conservative in action!"

Acquiescing to paradoxical influences, man is an individual and must have a certain identity consistent with that condition, and a being dependent on social order to be complete, as well! And of course Humankind is also evolving, as an individuals and socially. So, what then?

“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

Seriously. In addressing a person as an individual; in addressing a person as a social being; in addressing any construct of individual psyche, or part of a social, cultural, political, or governmental construct, this is a clear and effective guide for effective behavior.

As far as labeling another, how does it look when run through the Golden Rule?

When developing constructs, and labeling others, how does it look when run through the Golden Rule?

When we consider our behavior, how does it look?

Or how we act?

Or how we interpret others actions?

Etc.

. . .

After a while is subjective identification of groups, of different or like-minded peoples very important?

See that glue that starts to bind people together is the beginning (low frequency iteration) of what? The Golden Rule.

But that which limits group size, percentage of population with similar expression, is also the Golden Rule.

And what causes us to attempt to unite many groups across divides of similar expression, people of diverse thought and expression, is also the Golden Rule.

So then, as we advance, evolve socially as you will, isn't it time to change our way of viewing differences between our beliefs?

In some way the originators of our grand experiment had an advantage over us. By the sheer audacity of their actions, and the revolutionary nature of the thoughts upon which they based this government, they created some freedom from a greater authoritarian power, and its requisite draw of propaganda. We don't have that advantage. We have to be able to stand on our own two feet, and make wise decisions. Equally as wise as the ones our founding fathers made. What tools will we use to accomplish this?

______________________________________________________________________

The Golden Rule or law of reciprocity is the principle of treating others as one would wish to be treated oneself. It is a maxim of altruism seen in many human religions and human cultures. The maxim may appear as either a positive or negative injunction governing conduct:

  • One should treat others as one would like others to treat oneself (positive or directive form).
  • One should not treat others in ways that one would not like to be treated (negative or prohibitive form).
  • What you wish upon others, you wish upon yourself (empathic or responsive form).

The Golden Rule differs from the maxim of reciprocity captured in do ut des—"I give so that you will give in return"—and is rather a unilateral moral commitment to the well-being of the other without the expectation of anything in return.

The concept occurs in some form in nearly every religion and ethical tradition. It can also be explained from the perspectives of psychology, philosophy, sociology, and economics. Psychologically, it involves a person empathizing with others. Philosophically, it involves a person perceiving their neighbor also as "I" or "self". Sociologically, 'love your neighbor as yourself' is applicable between individuals, between groups, and also between individuals and groups. In economics, Richard Swift, referring to ideas from David Graeber, suggests that "without some kind of reciprocity society would no longer be able to exist."
 
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TDHeysus

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I'm going to break my rule for this one.

As a card carrying Classical Liberal since 1987, I approve this video.

<iframe width="500" height="300" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/hiVQ8vrGA_8" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

Dave Rubin is ok, I actually agree with his philosophy on quite a few things, but disagree on some as well.

I consider myself an 'objective liberal', I have 'leaned democrat' my whole life. Recently I have discovered that alot of my long standing beliefs have bled over to the 'conservative' side of the spectrum. The last few months actually had me questioning if I had become a conservative in my ripe old age of 43. My conclusion is similar to what Dave Rubin said in this video which is, my beliefs haven't really changed much, but the spectrum itself has shifted; the longstanding beliefs I have seem to be inline with some traditional conservative views in the current paradigm. Which is very strange for me because all of the conservative politicians I have always disliked, I still do dislike (Ted Cruz, Newt Gingrinch, Mitch McConnell, Mitt Romney, etc) but I have found there is some conservatives that I shockingly find to be exceptionally great. Example, I agree with ALOT (about 60%) of what Ben Shapiro has to say, but he is staunchly a traditional conservative which was confusing for me at first (I was not supposed to like this guy). About 30% he says I completely disagree with, and there is about 10% where there is some grey area. That being said, I fully respect everything he says, even if I disagree with it; he does the homework, he does the research, he formulates his own opinions and conclusions that are not 'part of the herd', or a 'group think' position. I have tremendous respect for the fact that he (and other political commentators as well, such as Dave Rubin) have actually put in the time to become informed and can articulate their position without resorting to the absolute absurd tactics of the left.
 
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Black Irish

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Dave Rubin is ok, I actually agree with his philosophy on quite a few things, but disagree on some as well.

I consider myself an 'objective liberal', I have 'leaned democrat' my whole life. Recently I have discovered that alot of my long standing beliefs have bled over to the 'conservative' side of the spectrum. The last few months actually had me questioning if I had become a conservative in my ripe old age of 43. My conclusion is similar to what Dave Rubin said in this video which is, my beliefs haven't really changed much, but the spectrum itself has shifted; the longstanding beliefs I have seem to be inline with some traditional conservative views in the current paradigm. Which is very strange for me because all of the conservative politicians I have always disliked, I still do dislike (Ted Cruz, Newt Gingrinch, Mitch McConnell, Mitt Romney, etc) but I have found there is some conservatives that I shockingly find to be exceptionally great. Example, I agree with ALOT (about 60%) of what Ben Shapiro has to say, but he is staunchly a traditional conservative which was confusing for me at first (I was not supposed to like this guy). About 30% he says I completely disagree with, and there is about 10% where there is some grey area. That being said, I fully respect everything he says, even if I disagree with it; he does the homework, he does the research, he formulates his own opinions and conclusions that are not 'part of the herd', or a 'group think' position. I have tremendous respect for the fact that he (and other political commentators as well, such as Dave Rubin) have actually put in the time to become informed and can articulate their position without resorting to the absolute absurd tactics of the left.

"Anyone who isn't a liberal at age 20 doesn't have a heart. Anyone who isn't a conservative at age 40 doesn't have a brain."

-Winston Churchill
 

Irishize

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Dave Rubin is ok, I actually agree with his philosophy on quite a few things, but disagree on some as well.

I consider myself an 'objective liberal', I have 'leaned democrat' my whole life. Recently I have discovered that alot of my long standing beliefs have bled over to the 'conservative' side of the spectrum. The last few months actually had me questioning if I had become a conservative in my ripe old age of 43. My conclusion is similar to what Dave Rubin said in this video which is, my beliefs haven't really changed much, but the spectrum itself has shifted; the longstanding beliefs I have seem to be inline with some traditional conservative views in the current paradigm. Which is very strange for me because all of the conservative politicians I have always disliked, I still do dislike (Ted Cruz, Newt Gingrinch, Mitch McConnell, Mitt Romney, etc) but I have found there is some conservatives that I shockingly find to be exceptionally great. Example, I agree with ALOT (about 60%) of what Ben Shapiro has to say, but he is staunchly a traditional conservative which was confusing for me at first (I was not supposed to like this guy). About 30% he says I completely disagree with, and there is about 10% where there is some grey area. That being said, I fully respect everything he says, even if I disagree with it; he does the homework, he does the research, he formulates his own opinions and conclusions that are not 'part of the herd', or a 'group think' position. I have tremendous respect for the fact that he (and other political commentators as well, such as Dave Rubin) have actually put in the time to become informed and can articulate their position without resorting to the absolute absurd tactics of the left.

That's a very fair assessment. I agree about Shapiro. He really gained my respect when he spoke out against Breitbart (the website not the late Andrew Breitbart). I believe he resigned after the way they treated the female columnist and he expressed his frustration that the network that was started by Andrew Breitbart had evolved into what he railed against. Thank you TDHeysus for your candor.
 

Whiskeyjack

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A Cistercian monk named Edmund Waldstein just published an article on his excellent blog titled "Individualism and Totalitarianism in Charles de Koninck and David Foster Wallace":

I read a paper on individualism and totalitarianism in the writings of David Foster Wallace and Charles de Koninck (see below) at a conference on “Political Demononolgy” at Worcester College, Oxford on Friday. The talks were about all sorts of things from all sorts of perspectives. And many of them were quite good. Conor Cunningham’s keynote on evil as the refutation of eliminative materialism was hilariously funny (“Some of you might be interested in the political implication of all this. But I don’t do politics; I’m from Belfast.” “I hope you don’t read Bataille— he’s crap.”). Adrian Papst gave a wonderfully clear and convincing paper on the pessimism of liberalism— looking at Machiavelli, Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau, and making a plea for a politics of the pursuit of common ends. And Henry Mead gave a fascinating paper on the idea of original sin in T.E. Hulme, and his guild-socialist friend A. R. Orage. Sadly I had to leave before the final keynote by Elizabeth Frazer, but I have heard that a recording will be made available soon. I met some people that I only know through the internet— including Andrew Cusack, whose excellent blog I have followed for years.

I have pasted my talk below, and have also made it available in audio and internetsafesearch.com formats.

1. Marathe and Steeply

This year marks the twentieth anniversary of the publication of David Foster Wallace’s intricate, 1000+ page novel Infinite Jest, about students of an elite tennis-academy, inmates of a halfway-house for drug addicts and alcoholics, and a group of Quebecoise separatist terrorists in a dystopian near-future “experialist” “Organization of North American Nations” (O.N.A.N.), in which calendar years are named after corporate sponsors, and an ‘entertainment’ has been produced that is so compelling that it distracts people to death. Written at the apogee of neoliberal triumph, shortly after Francis Fukuyama had proclaimed the end of history, Inifinite Jest is meant to be a description of the deep sadness and loneliness of that apparently triumphant moment. In a book review written while he was working on Infinite Jest, Wallace wrote of the book he was reviewing something that could just as well be applied to the book he was writing:

[It] can map or picture the desacralized & paradoxical solipsism of U.S. persons in a cattle-herd culture that worships only the Transparent I, of guiltily passive solipsists & skeptics trying to warm soft hands at the computer-enhanced fire of data in an Information Age where received image & enforced eros replace active countenance or sacral mystery as ends, value, meaning.

In extending the trajectory of his movement into an exaggerated near-future Wallace tries to show the full horror of the loneliness and meaninglessness of individualistic culture. But his near-future also shows the shadow of another horror that he seems to have feared even more: namely that the sadness of individualistic liberalism will cause the culture to suddenly swing to its opposite: totalitarian tyranny.

Indeed, experialist America is administered by Johnny Gentle, an entertainer-turned-politician, who has come to power by pledging to get rid of the mountains of filth produced by limitless consumerism, by creating a giant wasteland near the Northern border and forcing Canada, as the weaker member of O.N.A.N., to annex that wasteland (hence “experialist”). Gentle is a comic figure, whom one can scarcely take seriously. Reading Infinite Jest in 2016 it is hard not to think of Donald Trump: a demagogue and clown, who exploits the despair induced by the tensions of late-capitalism for the gratification of his ego-mania. There are however other anti-individualist voices in Infinite Jest that make a better case for their position than Gentle.

There is Gehard Schtitt: the intellectual German mastermind behind the pedagogy of the tennis academy:

Schtitt: like most Europeans of his generation, anchored from infancy to certain permanent values which — yes, OK, granted — may, admittedly, have a whiff of proto-fascist potential about them, but which do, nevertheless (the values), anchor nicely the soul and course of a life — Old World patriarchal stuff like honor and discipline and fidelity to some larger unit. […] Schtitt was educated in pre-Unification Gymnasium under the rather Kanto-Hegelian idea that jr. athletics was basically just training for citizenship, that jr. athletics was about learning to sacrifice the hot narrow imperatives of the Self — the needs, the desires, the fears, the multiform cravings of the individual appetitive will — to the larger imperatives of a team (OK, the State) and a set of delimiting rules (OK, the Law).

This is a vision that is able to convince some of his highly intelligent and well-to-do students. One of those students, Ortho (“The Darkness”) Stice, instructs a group of even younger students as follows:

It’s about discipline and sacrifice and honor to something way bigger than your personal ass. He’ll mention America. He’ll talk patriotism and don’t think he won’t. He’ll talk about it’s patriotic play that’s the high road to the thing. He’s not American but I tell you straight out right here he makes me proud to be American. Mein kinder. He’ll say it’s how to learn to be a good American during a time, boys, when America isn’t good its own self.

And above all, looking down on it all, is the Quebecoise terrorist Rémy Marathe. Marathe sits in his wheelchair on a ridge overlooking Tucson, Arizona, and talks to Steeply an experialist American secret agent. Their long conversation, interspersed throughout the novel, “overlooks” and comments on many of the main themes. Steeply presents the liberal-individualist vision in which what ultimately matters is individual desire and its satisfaction. Marathe on the other hand, presents an ideal of human life as consisting in giving oneself to a higher cause: a community of which one is a part. They discuss the Trojan war, and Marathe disagrees with Steeply (and with Homer) about its causes:

‘The point is that what launches vessels of war is the state and community and its interests,’ Marathe said without heat, tiredly. ‘You only wish to enjoy to pretend for yourself that the love of one woman could do this, launch so many vessels of alliance.’

But Steeply counters that one should not be so sure, individual passion can be so strong that one is willing to give all for it. The “fanatically patriotic Wheelchair Assassins of southern Quebec” underestimate the power of passion. Marathe latches on to the word “fanatic.” “Fanatic,” he says, is derived from the Latin for “temple” (fanum), and means literally “worshiper at the temple.” All of us he argues have a “temple”, something that we love, something that we “invest with faith”. It is thus of supreme importance what we choose as our temple: “For this choice determines all else. No? All other of our you say free choices follow from this.” And to choose an individual beloved person as that object of worship is irrational:

Die for one person? This is a craziness. Persons change, leave, die, become ill. They leave, lie, go mad, have sickness, betray you, die. Your nation outlives you. A cause outlives you. […] You U.S.A.’s do not seem to believe you may each choose what to die for. Love of a woman, the sexual, it bends back in on the self, makes you narrow, maybe crazy. Choose with care. Love of your nation, your country and people, it enlarges the heart. Something bigger than the self.’

Steeply questions whether the temple of worship is really a matter of deliberate choice: “What if you just love? without deciding? You just do: you see her and in that instant are lost to sober account-keeping and cannot choose but to love?” Marathe answers with a sniff of disdain:

Then in such a case your temple is self and sentiment. Then in such an instance you are a fanatic of desire, a slave to your individual subjective narrow self’s sentiments; a citizen of nothing. You become a citizen of nothing. You are by yourself and alone, kneeling to yourself. […] In a case such as this you become the slave who believes he is free. The most pathetic of bondage. Not tragic. No songs. You believe you would die twice for another but in truth would die only for your alone self, its sentiment.

Marathe’s critique of American individualism is born out by the rest of the novel, which describes in painful detail the loneliness, suffering, and slavery to base passion that run rampant in individualist society. But Wallace does not portray Marathe’s terrorist sect, with its austere, Spartan spirit as an attractive alternative. On my reading Wallace’s thinks that American society is ripe for a turn to Fascist totalitarianism, and that this would be even worse than what they have got.

2. Charles de Koninck against the personalists

Infinite Jest gives narrative plausibility to the attractiveness of totalitarian ideas and movements in an individualistic culture. But of course, Steeply’s individualism and Marathe’s totalitarianism are not the only options. Wallace himself gives hints at a third option. But I want to turn now to a philosopher who gave who gave an account of what the deficiencies of individualistic and totalitarian thought, and of how those deficiencies should (at least on at the level of thought) be overcome: Charles de Koninck, a Belgian-Canadian Thomist philosopher who taught at the university of Laval in Quebec. De Koninck’s seminal work On the Primacy of the Common Good: Against the Personalists (1943) was written toward the end of World War II, and was one of several ambitious projects by Catholic philosophers to articulate a “third option” apart from individualism and totalitarianism. Another one of those attempts is mentioned in his title: personalism. Before considering de Koninck’s own work, therefore, I will give a very brief account of “personalism” in the sense in which he uses it.

“Personalism” comes in many flavors, and it became popular during the war among those French Catholic thinkers in France who were affected by the anti-totalitarian reaction that the atrocities of National Socialist Germany caused. In the first half of the 20th century one can see a kind of oscilation between individualism and totalitarianism. When World War I broke out to rejoicing on the streets of many European capitals: at last a great cause to which one could give oneself, after the pusillanimity and meaninglessness of the long 19th century and its triumphant capitalism! But then the bitter reality of the war leads to a swing back towards liberalism. And then after the post-war economic bubble burst in the great depression you have a turn against liberal individualism and toward Fascism and National Socialism. In the party program of the Nazi Party the words “The Common Interest before the Self” are printed in bold. But then again the unprecedented evil of really existing National Socialism leads to a return to the liberal individualism of the post-war West.

This oscillation was not without influence on Catholic intellectual circles. One thinker who felt this influence very strongly was the famous Thomist Jacques Maritain. After his conversion Maritain had been an adherent of the right-wing totalitarian movement Action Française. But after the Holy See condemned the Action he became an ardent democrat. He became friends with many leading personalists, including Emmanuel Mounier, and developed his own form of personalism.

Maritain’s personalism is based on a distinction between “individual” and “person.” What is an individual?

The word individual […] is common to man and beast, to plant, microbe, and atom. ndividuality as such is based on the peculiar needs of matter, the principle of individuation because it is the principle of division, because it requires to occupy a position and have a quantity, by which that which here will differ from that which is there. So that in so far as we are individuals we are only a fragment of matter, a part of this universe, distinct, no doubt, but a part[…]


The word person, on the other hand, refers to man’s spiritual nature, by which he transcends the whole universe. As an individual, man is a part of a greater whole, but as a person he is not. This has political consequences:

according to the principles of St. Thomas, it is because he is first an individual of a species that man, having need of the help of his fellows to perfect his specific activity, is consequently an individual of the city, a member of society. And on this count he is subordinated to the good of his city as to the good of the whole, the common good which as such is more divine and therefore better deserving the love of each than his very own life. But if it is a question of the destiny which belongs to a man as a person, the relation is inverse, and it is the human city which is subordinate to his destiny. […] Thus the individual in each one of us, taken as an individual member of the city, exists for his city, and ought at need to sacrifice his life for it, as for instance in a just war. But taken as a person whose destiny is God, the city exists for him, to wit, for the advancement of the moral and spiritual life and the heaping up of divine goods; for that is the very end of personality; and it is only by virtue of this that the city has its common good.

The error of individualism, according to Maritain, is that it accords to the individual the rights that belong by nature to the person. But since the individual is in fact a part of the social whole, he argues that individualism has a natural tendency to flip over into totalitarianism:

we shall see individualism culminate quite naturally in the monarchic tyranny of a Hobbes, the democratic tyranny of a Rousseau or the tyranny of the “Providence-State” and the “God-State” of a Hegel and his disciples.

De Koninck’s book seems to have been directed against the fashionable Maritainism that he encountered in Catholic circles in Quebec. De Koninck argues that the principle that personal good of the man transcends his common good concedes too much to individualism. Practically speaking, this principle vitiates the principle of the primacy of the common good, so strong in perennial philosophy. How can one practically distinguish between man as individual and man as person? In practice Maritainism will mean the subordination of the common to the private.

De Koninck argues that the reason why personalism goes astray is that it considers the person and society in their being rather than in their telos, their end, their perfection. The common good, de Koninck argues is not the good of a society considered as a kind of super-individual, a giant substance composed of substances. Rather, the common good is a common end pursued and shared in by all its members. The highest goods of man are common goods: goods that he cannot have by himself, but only in communion with others:

This desire for the common good is in the singular itself. Hence the common good does not have the character of an alien good— bonum alienum— as in the case of the good of another considered as such. Is it not this which, in the social order, distinguishes our position profoundly from collectivism, which latter errs by abstraction, by demanding an alienation from the proper good as such and consequently from the common good since the latter is the greatest of proper goods? Those who defend the primacy of the singular good of the singular person are themselves supposing this false notion of the common good.

There are two kinds of goods: there are goods that de Koninck calls “private goods” like food and clothing and money that are diminished by being shared. If Clarence gives Tom part of his ice cream, then the part of the ice cream that Tom has Clarence no longer has. Clarence can no longer enjoy the part of the ice cream that he gave away. Such goods are “private” because they can only belong to one person to the exclusion of others. A private good is ordered to the one whose good it is. In loving a private good, one is actually loving the person for whom that good is intended. Aristotle says (Nicomachean Ethics, 1155b30) that one does not really wish wine well—one wishes rather that the wine will keep so that one might enjoy; i.e. one is really wishing oneself well. And this is because wine is a private good. A common good on the other hand is a good that is not diminished by being shared. Goods such as truth and justice and peace are common goods in the full sense. They are not diminished by being shared. If Tom gives knowledge of the truth to Clarence, he does not thereby diminish his own share.

True common goods are not ordered to us; we are ordered to them. One desires to promote justice and truth for their own sakes. And they are better than private goods. As Aristotle says, it is honorable to attain a good for one man, but it is better and more godlike to attain a good in which many can share (cf. Nicomachean Ethics 1094b). The common good is not better merely as a sum of the private goods of many individuals. But nor is it the good of their community considered as a quasi-individual; rather a true common good is good for each of the persons who partake of it—a good to which they are ordered. This cannot be emphasized enough: the common good is a personal good. The subordination of persons to this good is thus not enslaving. They are not being ordered to someone else’s good (the good of ‘the nation’ or ‘humanity,’ considered abstractly), rather they are ordered to their own good, but a good that they can only have together with a community. The common good is a universal cause in the order of final causality. And the fact that it extends its causality to more effects than a private good does shows how much better it is.

The highest common good is God Himself, who is shared by all who attain to the beatific vision. And this shows why de Koninck is so opposed to personalism. If the highest good were not a common good it would follow that each person would order God to himself. It would follow that each person would have to consider himself the center of the universe. On the contrary persons are ordered to God, not the other way around. De Koninck quotes an important passage of St. Thomas that is worth quoting at length:

The philosopher says in Book Eight of the Politics that in order to be a good political [person] one must love the good of the city. […] Now one can love the good of a city in two ways: in one way to possess it, in another that it might be preserved. If someone loves the good of a city in order to have and own it, he is not a good political person, because in this way even a tyrant loves the good of a city, in order to dominate it, which is to love oneself more than the city. He wants this good for himself, not for the city.

But to love the good of the city that it might be kept and defended, this is truly to love the city and this makes a person a good political person, so much so that some expose themselves to the danger of death and neglect their private good in order to preserve or increase the good of the city. In the same way, to love the good that is participated by the blessed, to love it so as to have or possess it, does not establish the right relation between a person and blessedness, because even evil people want this good.

But to love that good according to itself, that it may remain and be shared out and that nothing be done against this good, this gives to a person the right relation to that society of the blessed. And this is love [caritas] which loves God for his sake and the neighbors, who are capable of blessedness, as oneself.

De Koninck’s conception shows the deficiencies of both individualism and totalitarianism, and why one is liable to flip into the other. Both individualism and totalitarianism are founded on the same misunderstanding of the common good. In both the common good is seen as a bonum alienum, a good that is not really the good of the members of society, but rather external good that is in some way opposed to the individual good. In individualism the common good (thus misunderstood) is then subordinated to the private goods of individuals, becoming an instrument of individual desires, and debasing politics into an art of balancing private interests. In totalitarianism, on the other hand, the individual is subordinated to the good of the collective, thus debasing the human person to the status of a means to an extrinsic end. Since man is made for common goods that are really his personal goods, totalitarian regimes will always be experienced as alienating and enslaving, and thus persons in totalitarian societies long for the apparent freedom of individualism. But since man is made for personal goods that are common goods, individualism will always be experienced as unsatisfying and pusillanimous, and this leads to the plausibility of totalitarianism.

3. The Pale King

In his unfinished last novel, The Pale King, David Foster Wallace gives some hints about a third option apart from individualism and totalitarianism. He describes a group of tax bureaucrats stuck in an elevator, who are talking about the changes in the IRS brought about by the Reagan administration – changes aimed at running the IRS like a capitalist corporation. The idea it is that it is useless to treat the US citizen as a citizen as a part of a larger community with responsibility for the common good of that community; instead he has to be treated as a customer who receives certain services from the government and is required to pay for them. The bureaucrats see this change as being made possible the way in which US citizens have in fact come to see themselves:

We’ve changed the way we think of ourselves as citizens. We don’t think of ourselves as citizens in the old sense of being small parts of something larger and infinitely more important to which we have serious responsibilities. […] Something has happened where we’ve decided on a personal level that it’s all right to abdicate our individual responsibility to the common good. and let government worry about the common good while we all go about our individual self-interested business and struggle to gratify our various appetites.

The bureaucrats contrast this with what they see as the attitude of the American founding fathers:

The fact is that [the founding fathers] cared more about the nation and the citizens than about themselves. […] They assumed their descendants would be like them—rational, honorable, civic-minded. Men with at least as much concern for the common good as for personal advantage.

Wallace thus portrays them as trying to find a solution to individualism within the liberal tradition of the American founding itself. But Wallace himself notes a certain irony in any such attempt:

It was in the 1830s and ’40s that states started granting charters of incorporation to larger and regulated companies. And it was 1840 or ’41 that de Tocqueville published his book about Americans, and he says somewhere that one thing about democracies and their individualism is that they by their very nature corrode the citizen’s sense of true community, of having real true fellow citizens whose interests and concerns were the same as his. This is a kind of ghastly irony, if you think about it, since a form of government engineered to produce equality makes its citizens so individualistic and self-absorbed they end up as solipsists, navel-gazers.

One could phrase the problem as follows: Although there are elements of ancient republican common good thinking in the American founders, their thought contained individualistic elements as well, and that the individualistic elements were primary. They saw the purpose of political society as the safeguard of individual rights. Thus subordinating the common to the private. Thus I claim that the attempt to find a solution to the ills of individualism within the liberal tradition of the Enlightenment is doomed to failure. To really recover an adequate politics of the common good would be to reject modern liberal politics altogether.
 

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Harvard law professor Adrian Vermeule published an article in First Things earlier this year titled the "Liturgy of Liberalism":

In The Old Regime and the Revolution, Alexis de Tocqueville described the French Revolution as a religious movement:

The ideal the French Revolution set before it was not merely a change in the French social system but nothing short of a regeneration of the whole human race. It created an atmosphere of missionary fervor and, indeed, assumed all the aspects of a religious revival—much to the consternation of contemporary observers. It would perhaps be truer to say that it developed into a species of religion.

Ryszard Legutko has now expanded this idea into a book, but he corrects and improves upon Tocqueville in one critical respect. Tocqueville suggested that if the Revolution had “developed into a species of religion,” still it was “a singularly imperfect one, since it was without a God, without a ritual or promise of a future life.” Legutko shows how very wrong this is. The Revolution’s descendants not only possess a theology and eschatology, but a central sacrament and an accompanying liturgy. Indeed, they compulsively, helplessly re-enact that liturgy, with mounting anxiety, while priding themselves on their freedom from all superstition.

Born in 1949, Legutko is a Polish philosopher and member of the European Parliament who was a dissident under communism and a high minister in the new Polish liberal-democratic state. Uniquely positioned as he is to understand both communism and liberalism, it is not surprising that his immediate frame for the book is a running comparison between the two systems. Twin children of the Enlightenment, raised in the same nursery of the Revolution, communism and liberalism have the same inner logic, the same intellectual structure, and the same dynamics over time—such is Legutko’s main thesis. Both embody the secularized soteriology of the Enlightenment, the narrative of Progress. The liberal and communist polities are both perpetually poised in the now and not-yet, between the emergence from the dim night of unreason and the final triumph. Meanwhile, however, the forces of irrationality, hatred, discrimination, and reaction are still strong—in the Vendée, among the kulaks of the Bible Belt who cling bitterly to their guns and their God, and even in the universities.

Communism and liberalism feature an odd and distinctive combination of historical determinism and radical Pelagianism. The eschaton of radical freedom for all is inevitable, the forces of History will sweep toward their ultimate victory—and therefore it is essential that every good citizen accept liberalism (communism) in his heart and promote it publicly, eagerly detecting and shaming bias (class interest) and intolerance (oppression). It also follows from Legutko’s view that liberal orders like the EU recreate the pathologies of communism, albeit with a human mask. The nations of Eastern Europe that, having rejected communism, ran pell-mell in the direction of EU-style liberalism betrayed each other and themselves. The forces behind the first Solidarity movement, on Legutko’s telling, were not at all uniformly liberal. The Church, or critical parts of it, was one of the few institutions to resist the Communist party. But when the new Polish regime became a liberal regime, it fell under a new shadow, with the same essential form as the old.

The stock distinction between the Enlightenment’s twins—communism is violently coercive while liberalism allows freedom of thought—is glib. Illiberal citizens, trapped without exit papers, suffer a narrowing sphere of permitted action and speech, shrinking prospects, and increasing pressure from regulators, employers, and acquaintances, and even from friends and family. Liberal society celebrates toleration, diversity, and free inquiry, but in practice it features a spreading social, cultural, and ideological conformism. Legutko is at his best when explaining, in the manner of Jon Elster, the subtle causal mechanisms that underpin this relentless drive for conformism, which constantly works to extinguish the illiberal.

Part of the picture is the familiar Tocquevillian claim that liberal egalitarianism generates pervasive suspicion and distrust of competing associations and institutions, which come to be perceived as breeding grounds of special privilege. Here, too, Legutko improves upon his predecessor by pinpointing the deep source of liberal hostility to orthodox religion in particular: Salvation is a good that is unequally distributed and thus amounts to the ultimate illegitimate privilege. More central to Legutko’s vision, however, is a different point: the essential loneliness of the liberal citizen, which becomes a powerful engine of conformism. Because liberalism tends to dissolve intermediate institutions and traditional groupings—family, community, church—liberal man craves belonging and membership. Under communism, citizens knew “they had to sever, if only verbally, all links with tradition, and to fill the empty space in their souls with the content of the socialist creed.” So too under liberalism: “The void ha to be filled by a new identity.” Individuals forge this new identity by inventing and participating in ecstatic political rituals that aspire to combine perfect equality with perfect freedom. Especially prominent are politicized “language rituals,” also a characteristic of life under communism; “the more participants, the noisier the political rites, the more impressive seemed to be the performance of the entire political system.”

As for intellectuals under liberalism—those evidence-based freethinkers of the quiet car, raised, selected, and trained to avoid superstition and prejudice (except for their own unconscious biases, which they ruefully confess but devoutly hope one day to overcome)—they either adopt the new liberal identity or are cowed into an outer conformism. This is due not just to fear of social reprisals and shaming, but also to self-deception and the lack of any other comprehensive view that would give them the self-confidence to think and speak against liberalism. The intellectual “in his heart . . . believes (or is not strong enough to shun the belief) that there must be something fundamentally right in all this deluge of nonsense, and he persuades himself that deprecating it would be more wrong than keeping silent.”

There are many puzzles about contemporary liberalism: its inconsistencies and hypocrisies, its vehement commitments that seem out of step with liberalism’s own professed principles. Just as, in the succession of scientific theories, anomalies come to light and mount up until a paradigm-shifting crisis occurs, so too the anomalies of liberalism as it actually operates have become glaring. Here are a few.

Why do Western liberal academics and EU technocrats object so stridently to the mild illiberalism of the Fidesz parliamentary party in Hungary, while saying little or nothing about Saudi Arabia and other monarchical or authoritarian nations, nominal allies of the West, who routinely control, punish, and dominate women, gays, and religious dissenters? Why are the EU technocrats, whose forte is supposed to be competence, so very bumbling, making policy mistake after policy mistake? How is it possible that while the sitting president of the United States squarely opposed same-sex marriage just a few years ago, the liberal intellectuals who supported him passionately also condemn any opposition to same-sex marriage as bigotry, rooted in cultural backwardness? Why was the triumph of same-sex marriage followed so rapidly by the opening of a new regulatory and juridical frontier, the recognition of transgender identity?

Legutko helps us understand these oddities. We have to start by understanding that liberalism has a sacramental character. “The liberal-democratic mind, just as the mind of any true communist, feels an inner compulsion to manifest its pious loyalty to the doctrine. Public life is full of mandatory rituals in which every politician, artist, writer, celebrity, teacher or any public figure is willing to participate, all to prove that their liberal-democratic creed springs spontaneously from the depths of their hearts.” The basic liturgy of liberalism is the Festival of Reason, which in 1793 placed a Goddess of Reason (who may or may not have been a prostitute conscripted for the occasion, in one of the mocking double entendres of Providence) on the holy altar in the Church of Our Lady in Paris. The more the Enlightenment rejects the sacramental, the more compulsively it re-enacts its founding Festival, the dawning of rationality.

Light is defined by contrast, however, so the Festival requires that the children of light spy out and crush the forces of darkness, who appear in ever-changing guises, before the celebration can be renewed. The essential components of the Festival are twofold: the irreversibility of Progress and the victory over the Enemy, the forces of reaction. Taken in combination, these commitments give liberalism its restless and aggressive dynamism, and help to make sense of the anomalies. Fidesz in Hungary is more threatening than the Saudi monarchy, even though the latter is far less liberal, because Fidesz represents a retrogression—a deliberate rejection of liberalism by a nation that was previously a member in good standing of the liberal order. The Hungarians, and for that matter the Poles, are apostates, unlike the benighted Saudis, who are simple heretics. What is absolutely essential is that the clock of Progress should never be turned back. The problem is not just that it might become a precedent and encourage reactionaries on other fronts. The deeper issue is that it would deny the fundamental eschatology of liberalism, in which the movement of History may only go in one direction. It follows that Brexit must be delayed or defeated at all costs, through litigation or the action of an unelected House of Lords if necessary, and that the Trump administration must be cast as a temporary anomaly, brought to power by voters whose minds were clouded by racism and economic pain. (It is therefore impossible to acknowledge that such voters might have legitimate cultural grievances or even philosophical objections to liberalism.)

The puzzle of the EU technocrats, on this account, is no puzzle at all. They are so error-prone, even from a technocratic point of view, at least in part because they are actually engaged in a non-technocratic enterprise that is pervasively ideological, in the same way that Soviet science was ideological. Their prime directive is to protect and expand the domain of liberalism, whether or not that makes for technical efficiency.

Liberalism needs an enemy to maintain its sacramental dynamism. It can never rest in calm waters, basking in the day of victory; it is essential that at any given moment there should be a new battle to be fought. The good liberal should always be able to say, “We have made progress, but there is still much to do.” This is why the triumph of same-sex marriage actually happened too suddenly and too completely. Something else was needed to animate liberalism, and transgenderism has quickly filled the gap, defining new forces of reaction and thus enabling new iterations and celebrations of the Festival. And if endorsement and approval of self-described “gender identity” becomes a widely shared legal and social norm, a new frontier will be opened, and some new issue will move to the top of the public agenda, something that now seems utterly outlandish and is guaranteed to provoke fresh opposition from the cruel forces of reaction—polygamy, perhaps, or mandatory vegetarianism.

Man is a sacramental animal who cannot deny his own nature. Legutko offers us a striking illustration of this truth. If ritual is rejected in theory, it will be aped in reality as a kind of compulsion. Obergefell v. Hodges was the decision that announced a constitutional right to same-sex marriage, founded on a constitutional right to “define and express [one’s] identity.” The Chief Justice, in dissent, complained about the majority’s “entirely gratuitous” aspersions against supporters of traditional marriage: “It is one thing for the majority to conclude that the Constitution protects a right to same-sex marriage; it is something else to portray everyone who does not share the majority’s ‘better informed understanding’ as bigoted.” In this, the Chief Justice betrayed a deep misunderstanding about what sort of activity he was participating in. He thought that he was participating in a legal decision. In fact, he was participating in a ritual drama—as the villain. The celebration of common-law liberal heroism, and its overcoming of the bigotry of the ages, requires the very aspersions that the Chief Justice thought gratuitous. They were an essential moment in the liturgy of liberalism.


Vermeule is a great follow on Twitter.
 

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First Things' R. R. Reno just published an article titled "Liberal Tradition, yes; Liberal Ideology, no":

There are rumors of economic and political heresy at First Things. My reassessment of Michael Novak’s Spirit of Democratic Capitalism earlier this year raised suspicions that I’m guiding the journal in an “anti-capitalist” direction. Some say the magazine flirts with “socialism.” Patrick Deneen and Michael Hanby publish regularly in our pages, and they have been criticized for misrepresenting the founders and undermining our loyalty to the American creed. Are we becoming a mirror image of the anti-American, anti-capitalist left?

All of this strikes me as overdone, though I suppose this alarm about the range of questions being raised in First Things is to be expected. The post–World War II consensus assumed that the way forward always means opening things up, whether in the form of relaxing the cultural consensus to make room for diversity and pluralism or opening up limits on markets so that creative energies can run free. This consensus, derided by some as neoliberal, became dominant after 1989. It has become decadent, though we’re only noticing it now as election after election loosens its grip. The advocates of this consensus have to work hard to restore its magisterial authority. It’s ironic that the heresy-hunting comes under the banner of liberal ideals. But that’s what happens when liberalism becomes a thin, rigid creed rather than a rich, flexible tradition.

The dangers of this narrowness are very much in evidence in a recent article by Sohrab Ahmari. It was published in Commentary with the dire title “The Terrible American Turn Toward Illiberalism.” By liberalism Ahmari means a broad, bipartisan consensus: “the philosophy of individual rights, free enterprise, checks and balances, and cultural pluralism.” This consensus is being called into question. Identity politics and political correctness stoke an illiberal mentality, as we know. Ahmari worries, however, that the “illiberal fever” is taking over American conservatism, too. Some who write for First Things are among the stricken. Perhaps the editor, too. This is a dangerous situation. It’s time for responsible people to swing into action and restore orthodoxy!

Ahmari zeroes in on Adrian Vermeule’s sympathetic review of The Demon in Democracy by Ryzard Legutko, published in our January 2017 issue (“Liturgy of Liberalism”). Vermeule endorses Legutko’s central claim, which is that the liberal consensus in the post-1989 West has taken on many of the attributes of the communism that dominated Poland when Legutko came of age. The countries in the West that promote liberal democracy are not islands of toleration, diversity, and free inquiry. Instead, Vermeule writes, echoing Legutko, they are dominated by “a spreading social, cultural, and ideological conformism.” Liberalism has become a religion. Those who dissent are heretics.

Ahmari regards this way of talking about today’s regime as hyperbolic and distorting. How can anyone equate perversions such as political correctness with Soviet gulags or Cambodian killing fields? But neither Legutko nor Vermeule is equating Berkeley with the closed city of Gorky. They are comparing them—and finding some telling similarities. Both places impose a rigid orthodoxy and stifle dissent. Gorky used secret police, while Berkeley relies on a suffocating climate of opinion. This is a crucial difference, as Ahmari points out. But it does not erase the similarities.

Legutko’s goal—my goal—is not to undermine “liberalism.” It is to clear away some of the blind dogmatism that has built up in the West, especially since 1989. It won’t do to label our efforts “illiberal” just because they call into question the dominant mentality of our time. In fact, that accusation reinforces the totalitarian atmosphere. Contemporary liberalism rarely answers critics. Instead, it silences dissent by labeling it “extremist,” “far-right,” “authoritarian,” and “illiberal.” We can’t come to grips with the problems we face in 2017 if we are constantly policed. And in any event, as Vermeule points out in our last issue (“A Christian Strategy”), our loyalty is to Christ, not to any particular political philosophy or tradition. This transcendent loyalty disenchants political ideologies, and freedom from the idolatry of politics is the soul of true liberalism.

By Ahmari’s definition, in civic life, liberalism means a commitment to “individual rights” and “cultural pluralism.” In economics, liberalism means “free enterprise.” In foreign affairs, it requires adherence to the “postwar liberal order.” Perhaps these are good commitments, but they reflect a late-twentieth-century consensus. Given the decline of the middle class in the West under the pressures of global capitalism, the populism that’s gaining ground in many countries, and America’s stumbling leadership on the international scene, it strikes me as reasonable (and responsible) to question this consensus.

Take the platitude that liberalism is committed to cultural pluralism. The opposite is closer to the truth. Liberal countries are characterized by a high degree of cultural uniformity. When we have exported the ideology of liberalism to places with genuine pluralism, it has often brought civil conflict and ethnic cleansing. Woodrow Wilson’s liberal creed required breaking up the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The result was decades of bloodshed that ended with the largely homogeneous countries that make up Eastern Europe. The way in which liberal democracy triggers ethnic cleansing is at work today in Myanmar. Ahmari and others protest that this is not true liberalism. That’s right. But what we’re seeing in Myanmar is what happens when liberal missionaries gain a foothold in countries that are riven by genuine cultural pluralism.

Liberal missionaries came to Russia after the collapse of the Soviet Union. They preached the virtues of free enterprise and helped design the Big Bang that promised to launch that country on a trajectory of prosperity and liberal democracy. The results were disastrous. Not surprisingly, the Russian people have looked elsewhere for economic and political principles. The results may be regrettable, but Russia’s skepticism about our liberal preachments is understandable. A simple denunciation of today’s Russia as “illiberal” is a species of ideological know-nothingism. We need more supple analysis. The same missionaries came to Poland and other countries in the formerly communist East, with better results. But there, too, civic leaders recognized that liberal doctrine is thin. It is not capable of sustaining solidarity and promoting the common good.

Weekly Standard writer (and First Things contributor) Christopher Caldwell has described economic globalization as a “con game,” a political project characterized by many broken promises. He observes that globalization significantly alters who wins and who loses in the advanced economies of the West. This leads to a provocative comparison between the post-1989 looting of state assets by emerging oligarchies in the ex-Soviet Eastern Bloc and the shifting of economic winners and losers in the West that was brought about by economic globalization. Ahmari finds this comparison outrageous—a clear sign of illiberalism. Globalization, he hastens to add, “took place within a rules-based system, which duly elected or appointed policymakers in Western democracies designed in good faith and for a whole host of legitimate strategic and economic reasons.”

True. But it should be noted that the transfer of state assets to private persons in Russia and elsewhere—and then the rapid accumulation of those assets in the hands of just a few—also took place within a rules-based system, one largely constructed by Russian authorities in accord with the advice of American economic experts such as Harvard economist Jeffrey Sachs. It was a system designed to give birth to a liberal economy and polity—and it failed. Ahmari refuses to recognize this. Failure is not possible. Ahmari’s creed is always a force for good in the world and never implicated in the problems we face today. Indeed, it is illiberal to suggest otherwise, as Caldwell does. QED.

Liberalism, properly understood, is not a creed; it is a tradition, a set of institutions, and a habit of mind. James Madison is a key figure in our liberal tradition. He recognized the limitations of democracy and knew that civic entropy would gain the upper hand if liberal theories alone governed. Abraham Lincoln is another important figure in our tradition. Yet, strictly speaking, it is illiberal to speak of a political union as indissoluble, as he did. By what “right” can we compel anyone to remain a member of our nation? Spain is grappling with that question.

I could go on about the countless ways in which our liberal heroes are “illiberal,” at least as Ahmari describes that sin. The political leaders who steered the ship of state during the explosive growth of the American economy during the late nineteenth century ardently defended “free enterprise,” and they were almost universally protectionists.

The American liberal tradition is being threatened by the ideological liberalism that Ahmari defends, not by illiberalism. We are a middle-class commercial nation. This serves as the foundation for our democracy, because it unites us in shared sentiments, outlooks, and interests. But the middle class is being dissolved, culturally and economically. Ideologies of “diversity” and “pluralism” erode civic unity. The globalized economy, underwritten by free-floating principles of “free enterprise,” decimates our nation’s middle. Pieties about pluralism and free markets are pushing America in an illiberal direction. We are nearing the time when our functional system of government will be an oligarchy overseeing an increasingly globalized commercial empire. That oligarchy is adept at using the rhetoric of liberalism to fend off dissent—a liberalism narrowed down to a post-political creed that buttresses its power.

Heresy-hunting serves that purpose. Christopher Caldwell details some of the inequities in our present system. Patrick Deneen diagnoses our flawed liberal habit of mind. To rebut as “illiberal” these efforts to understand our current challenges and renew our society is stultifying. In a fallen world, is there any economic arrangement that does not deserve deep criticism? What habits of mind are not flawed in fallen men? All traditions have defects and destructive tendencies, and that includes ours, the liberal tradition. There is no guarantee that those defects and destructive elements won’t gain the upper hand, requiring strong countermeasures to restore health.

For this reason it is not illiberal to question the increasingly dysfunctional, post-1989 version of liberal dogma. On the contrary, the future of liberalism as a living tradition requires us to do so. We need to save our liberal tradition from the politically correct madness that can’t even affirm the male-female difference. But we also need to save it from a decadent, creedal liberalism that licenses free market fundamentalists to smear critics of today’s economic status quo as “socialists” and encourages failed neoconservative internationalists to cry “Putin” whenever anyone disagrees. That’s hardly liberal.
 

Whiskeyjack

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Gene Callahan just published a review of Deneen's new book in TAC titled "Announcing the Death of Classical Liberalism":

Why Liberalism Failed, Patrick Deneen, Yale University Press, 248 pages

Notre Dame professor Patrick Deneen has written a book vitally important for understanding the present crisis in Western politics. If this work had appeared two or three years ago, it still would have been of great significance, but coming as it does in the wake of Brexit, Trump, and other shocks to the liberal consensus, its relevance is further enhanced.

But a warning is in order: American conservatives may be cheered by the appearance of a book entitled “Why Liberalism Failed.” But, in the sense in which Deneen is using “liberalism,” most American conservatives are actually liberals. Deneen’s use is in fact the one common among political theorists, many of whom argue that America does not have a conservative and a liberal party. Rather, it has a right-liberal party, focused on free markets and free trade, and a left-liberal party, focused on social issues. The United States, according to this view, has never had a “church and throne” conservative party such as those seen in many European countries.

A second point that may puzzle some readers is the implicit assertion of the title: Deneen did not name the book, “Has Liberalism Failed?” or “Will Liberalism Fail?” His title—“Why Liberalism Failed”—is more bold. Elite opinion continues to hold that liberalism (in the above-noted political theory sense) is not only succeeding marvelously but is really the only political system even worthy of consideration or respect. (Consider the enthusiasm for U.S. military adventures against any regime judged insufficiently liberal, or the lack of hesitation shown toward efforts to “reform” traditional societies to bring them “up” to liberal standards, despite the lip-service liberalism pays to multiculturalism.) In the face of such consensus, one may ask how Deneen can blithely assume that liberalism’s failure has already occurred. But, as we shall see, he has very good reasons for his conclusion.

Deneen notes that liberalism is one of the three great ideologies to dominate modern politics, along with communism and fascism. The latter two have been vanquished as serious competitors to liberalism, which had an advantage over them: “In contrast to its crueler competitor ideologies, liberalism is more insidious: as an ideology, it pretends to neutrality, claiming no preference and denying any intention of shaping the souls under its rule. It ingratiates by invitation to the easy liberties, diversions, and attractions of freedom, pleasure, and wealth.”

The two liberal parties in America compete by pointing to two seemingly opposed but factually reinforcing trends. The right-liberal Republicans warn against the dominance of society by the state, while the left-liberal Democrats point to the tyranny of the market as the greatest threat to human freedom. Thus each party inspires its partisan members by fear of the threat the other party represents. But despite appearances, both parties, in fact, jointly work to expand both the state and the market.

As Deneen writes, “The insistent demand that we choose between protection of individual liberty and expansion of state activity masks the true relation between the state and market: that they grow constantly and necessarily together… modern liberalism proceeds by making us both more individualist and more statist.”

Even if one accepts Deneen’s conclusion about this relationship between state and market under liberalism, why should we think that liberalism is failing? Isn’t our great material wealth, our increased longevity, and relative safety evidence that liberalism is succeeding, whatever its downsides might be? Deneen, well aware of this argument, has an effective counter—namely, that liberalism has been “making progress” similar to a meth addict, who has been burning up his body’s reserves, but responds to warnings about his behavior by pointing out how many times he has cleaned his room and dead-headed the roses this week. Those activities are fine things, but they are being carried out at an unsustainable pace. As Deneen puts it: “Liberalism has drawn down on a preliberal inheritance and resources that at once sustained liberalism but which it cannot replenish.”

♦♦♦

In identifying the false anthropology at the heart of the liberal venture, Deneen cites Hobbes as a pioneer of this mistaken view. He notes that for Hobbes “the state is charged with maintaining social stability and preventing a return to natural anarchy….Human beings are thus, by nature, nonrelational creatures, separate and autonomous.”

Proto-liberals such as Locke and Jefferson and modern liberals such as Mises and Rawls have all started from a similar place: we are first and foremost human atoms who only need to “contract” into social groups insofar as it is to our advantage. As Deneen notes, “Even marriage, Locke holds, is finally to be understood as a contract whose conditions are temporary and subject to revision…” Or, as Mises put it, “The fundamental facts that brought about cooperation, society, and civilization and transformed the animal man into a human being are the facts that work performed under the division of labor is more productive than isolated work and that man’s reason is capable of recognizing this truth.”

Anyone of a religious bent would surely object to the idea that humans only get along with each other because they realize output will be higher if they do so. But one need not be religious to see that Mises is spouting nonsense: humans (and proto-humans) lived together in tight-knit social groups long before they could have been calculating the advantages of the division of labor. There never were “isolated…self-sufficient individuals” with which they could compare their “output” as members of a group. Isolated humans were dead humans, not self-sufficient humans. And our chimpanzee, bonobo, and gorilla relatives also live in tight-knit social groups, as do many other animals.

Deneen makes a particularly important, and commonly misunderstood, point in the following passage: “The ‘Noble Lie’ of liberalism is shattering because it continues to be believed and defended by those who benefit from it, while it is increasingly seen as a lie, and not an especially noble one, by the new servant class that liberalism has produced…But liberalism’s apologists regard pervasive discontent, political dysfunction, economic inequality, civic disconnection, and populist rejection as accidental problems disconnected from systemic causes, because their self-deception is generated by enormous reservoirs of self-interest in the maintenance of the present system.”

Often, when it is pointed out that it is in the self-interest of commentator X to take view Y, someone will respond, “No, I am sure that X really believes Y!” But that response misses the point: when it is in our self-interest to believe Y, very often we will not merely feign belief in Y but talk ourselves into actually believing Y. What’s more, often we will convince ourselves that we believe it for the most admirable reasons. This self-deception is crucial to the maintenance of our self-image as good, modern “free thinkers,” while this “free thinking” has led us to precisely those views that most help us get ahead in life.

♦♦♦

Someone having reached this far into my review might suspect Deneen of being a reactionary fantasist seeking a return to some earlier “golden age.” But he is not, nor does he deny liberalism’s accomplishments. In pondering how we might proceed, if we accept his diagnosis of liberalism as a failed ideology, he writes, “First, the achievements of liberalism must be acknowledged, and the desire to ‘return’ to a preliberal age must be eschewed. We must build upon those achievements while abandoning the foundational reasons for its failures. There can be no going back, only forward.”

This passage highlights the danger in this desire to “go back.” I explored this danger in my book on the decline of the Roman Republic, Oakeshott on Rome and America. I wrote that, while for several centuries Romans simply respected and followed the mos maiorum (the way of the ancestors), when their traditions began to break down there arose a brand new traditionalist ideology. Whereas Rome’s traditions previously had been followed in a natural and organic way, which allowed for their organic modification as circumstances changed, once they began to break down a faction arose demanding that they be turned into rules that must be followed without deviation (and thus without allowing any organic response to changing circumstances).

This is an error that has snared too many modern conservatives. They wish to return to the 1950s, or the 1920s, or the 1890s, or the 1780s, or whatever other period they admire. Such a return, as Deneen clearly recognizes, is impossible. We can try to preserve the best aspects of earlier times, but we cannot ever recreate them. After all, even if we could, given that the circumstances of those earlier times brought about our present crisis, wouldn’t we just repeat the exact same progression that has led to the current situation, the one that nostalgic conservatives deplore?

Deneen, it is true, acknowledges the lessons of the past and recognizes that not all wisdom is contained in the latest trendy soundbite from some esteemed pundit. But he argues that we must concede that the present is always novel in many ways and that the past provides no blueprint for how to act now. Indeed, the very idea that we could act according to a blueprint is itself a rationalist conceit.

Perhaps most importantly, Deneen recognizes that what is most needed are new practices and not simply new theories. The basic error of all three modern ideologies is the idea that practical life can be conducted on a theoretical basis. This is like turning to professional mathematicians for their street savvy or avant-garde pianists to play the town square dance. Deneen’s conclusions track with TAC writer Rod Dreher’s call for a new “Benedict Option.” Both argue that those aware of the breakdown of the “liberal world order” must first and foremost strive to create practical, not theoretical, alternatives to the liberal society crumbling around them. Nevertheless, this book provides a sound theoretical basis for their doing so, and that makes it must reading for anyone who recognizes our ongoing crisis.

I'm about half-way through the book currently. Well worth your time.
 

Whiskeyjack

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Where you find the time to read, I'll never know

My nightstand is piled high with excellent books I'm still trying to find time for. Deneen's book is taking priority since I'm supposed to interview him about it for an upcoming podcast. Need to not sound an idiot.
 

zelezo vlk

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My nightstand is piled high with excellent books I'm still trying to find time for. Deneen's book is taking priority since I'm supposed to interview him about it for an upcoming podcast. Need to not sound an idiot.
Yeah Ima need a PM/DM on this podcast you're running

Sent from my SAMSUNG-SM-G900A using Tapatalk
 

wizards8507

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Holy cow. Jordan Peterson and Ben Shapiro on The Rubin Report at the same time. Take the two hours and watch it.
 

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<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KXduQlaU-Mg" frameborder="0" allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen></iframe>
 

Whiskeyjack

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American Affairs recently published an article by Harvard law professor Adrian Vermeule titled "Integration from Within":

One of the central themes of Tocqueville’s thought is that a political movement, or (at a later stage) a political regime, may be undone by its very success. University of Notre Dame professor Patrick J. Deneen shows himself to be a worthy successor of Tocqueville by updating his teacher’s theme, applying it neither to democratic revolution nor to steady-state democracy, but to liberalism. In a cutting style that sustains its momentum throughout, Deneen addresses the widespread sense that liberalism is visibly teetering, and demonstrates with great power that the very successes of liberalism have undermined its own foundations.

By itself this would be enough to make the book a triumph. It is therefore churlish to wish for more, yet, I will play the churl. At the stage of diagnosis, Deneen is masterful; at the stage of prescription, he relapses into liberalism (or more accurately, as I will explain, into liberalism’s false image of itself). At the stage of diagnosis, Deneen proves beyond a reasonable doubt that liberalism claims to eschew comprehensive substantive theories of the good, yet inevitably embeds and enforces just such a comprehensive substantive theory, based on a particular and erroneous anthropology. At the stage of prescription, puzzlingly, Deneen tries to eschew any competing comprehensive theory and plumps for a vague communitarian localism, which can finally exist only at the sufferance of the aggressive liberal state. In that sense the diagnosis itself undercuts the prescription, suggesting that the retreat into local communities is at best a precarious maneuver.

Given this complaint, I will undertake a kind of Deneen fan fiction, offering an alternative ending to the book—one that is, I believe, more consistent with Deneen’s own argument. In the alternate ending, rather than retreating to a nostalgic localism, nonliberal actors strategically locate themselves within liberal institutions and work to undo the liberalism of the state from within. These actors possess a substantive comprehensive theory of the good, and seize opportunities to bring about its fulfillment through and by means of the very institutional machinery that the liberal state has providentially created. Then and only then will the liberal state, reintegrated from within, finally and truly become a victim of its own success.

Undone by Success

Two great neo-Tocquevillian themes structure and animate Deneen’s work. The first is that liberalism has been undone by its own success. The significance of this theme, and perhaps the book’s major contribution, is to reconcile two distinct observations, each of which rings true and is widely shared, yet which are in obvious tension with one another. The first observation is that liberalism has largely triumphed over its enemies, in the West and well beyond. “Survey mankind from China to Peru”—well, from South Korea to Peru to anyway, China being a messy case—and one sees liberal regimes, justified and legitimated in liberal terms. Its main competitors in the twentieth century, communism and fascism, have catastrophically collapsed. They survive principally in the fervid liberal imagination, as ever-present possibilities that may materialize if the slightest backsliding from the progress of liberal institutions occurs. They also serve as useful specters to be invoked in democratic elections. Liberal parties attempt to erect a cordon sanitaire to exclude nonliberal parties—even ones that have nothing to do with fascism or communism—on the ground that the only alternative to liberalism is tyranny. In the main, this strategy has been strikingly successful since the Second World War. Both within and beyond Europe and the Anglophone world, liberalism has created an imperium on which the sun never sets.

The other observation, which initially seems to stand in tension with the success of liberalism, is that throughout its imperial domain liberalism is in visible decay. The cordon sanitaire has recently worn thin in the Western democracies. Nonliberal parties have had electoral success by winning parliamentary majorities, parliamentary seats, and referenda, or at least by changing the terms of debate, in Germany, Austria, Poland, Hungary, France, the United Kingdom, and the United States. In the nation that perhaps best approximates a self-consciously liberal constitutional polity, the United States, even the defenders of the liberal order acknowledge that it is tottering, as populations left out of the benefits of economic neoliberalism, and scorned by the opinion leaders of cultural liberalism, become resentfully disenchanted with the regime. As Deneen puts it, increasingly restive populations ask whether liberalism has made them free, or instead fastened them in new chains.

Deneen’s theme of a liberalism “undone by success” squares its triumphs with its increasingly visible failings. The core of the book is an analysis of the self-undermining of liberalism in a series of domains—politics, culture, technology, arts, education—in which Deneen shows with power and subtlety that liberalism finds itself thwarted by its very dominance. The ever more relentless quest for liberation, which has to be imposed (directly or indirectly, by force of social sanctions) upon a population that is at least partly skeptical about the project, makes culture and the arts relentlessly conformist, makes technology confining and menacing, makes education into indoctrination. The very success of liberalism has created an intellectual, social and political order far more comprehensive and stifling than the regime against which Voltaire railed; and it has provoked an even more forceful reaction.

Implicitly, Deneen also plays upon a second and closely related Tocquevillian theme: “words spoken to Napoleon by the poet François Andrieux: ‘On ne s’appuie que sur ce qui résiste’ (You can lean only on what offers resistance).” Liberalism has so relentlessly atomized the intermediate institutions of civil society—churches, social clubs and institutions, neighborhoods, families—that it no longer has any stable substrate on which to rest. Deneen observes that atomized citizens should, from the liberal standpoint, be perfect candidates for the “Life of Julia”—a famous Obama campaign commercial that sketched a vision of cradle-to-grave superintendence by the liberal state of essentially solitary individuals. Instead these individuals turn against their putative benefactors, animated both by a yearning for community and for a transcendent horizon denied them by the closed, relentlessly political and immanent horizon of the liberal order. From the liberal standpoint, this ingratitude of the beneficiaries is an abiding puzzle: what’s the matter with Kansas?

In the final section of the book, Deneen turns to the aftermath of liberalism, and the interim stage we currently occupy, in which the liberal regime, in a kind of slow-motion collapse, lashes out dangerously at its critics and opponents. Deneen rightly says that there is no question of simply undoing liberalism. There can be no return to the integrated regime of the thirteenth century, whatever its attractions.4 This is not to say, of course, that the principles of an earlier nonliberal regime might not be translated into new circumstances, the old wine poured into new bottles. But it will have to take a different outward form, and to be born in a different way.

To amplify Deneen’s own text somewhat, a similar logic also bars any return to some putatively better strain of liberalism (“classical liberalism” or what have you). In different versions, the hope is for a return to the Europe of the postwar era, a return to the America of the 1950s–1970s, or even a return to the neoliberal (or largely neoconservative ) paradise of the late 1980s and 1990s. But all such nostalgia rests on some version of the assumption that it is possible to separate imperialist progressive liberalism from an older good, or at least stable, version of liberalism. Deneen conclusively refutes this idea, showing that the progression (as it were) from one form of liberalism to another unfolds by a logical dynamic, an inner necessity. A magical return to the old liberalism, were it somehow to occur, would merely restart the same process. As Valéry Giscard d’Estaing put it in a related context, “There is no question of returning to the pre-1968 situation, first because the pre-1968 situation included the conditions that brought about 1968.” The only way out is forward.

But according to Deneen—and I will indicate shortly that this is the precise moment when Deneen’s argument takes a wrong turn—a postliberal politics must “avoid the temptation to replace one ideology with another. Politics and human community must percolate from the bottom up, from experience and practice” (188). This cashes out in a call for localist living, work, and education, in “intentional communities that will benefit from the openness of liberal society. They will be regarded as ‘options’ within the liberal frame, and while suspect in the broader culture, largely permitted to exist so long as they are nonthreatening to the liberal order’s main business” (196). Above all, however, “the impulse to devise a new and better political theory in the wake of liberalism’s simultaneous triumph and demise is a temptation that must be resisted. The search for a comprehensive theory is what gave rise to liberalism and successor ideologies in the first place” (196). Rather the thing to hope for and work towards is “not a better theory, but better practices . . . [which] might finally be worthy of the name ‘liberal’” (197–98).

The Gravity Well of Liberalism

Thus far Deneen. Without question the book will achieve its aim of shaping the conversation in the future. Let me pass on, however, to three interrelated complaints about it. I call them complaints to underscore the sheer petulance and ingratitude of my demands. They amount to whining that an outstanding work might have been a masterpiece.

The interrelated trinity of complaint is that Deneen has (1) a methodological problem rooted in a lack of specificity about the motivations of liberal agents, a problem that (2) causes his prescription to be inconsistent with his diagnosis (what economists call a “determinacy paradox”) and that also (3) causes Deneen, in the end, to fall back into the gravity well of liberalism even as he tries to escape it. I will explain this trinity and then propose an alternate ending for the book, one that avoids the determinacy paradox and that yields a genuinely illiberal answer to the question, What is to be done? My answer is that the state will have to be reintegrated from within, by the efforts of agents who occupy strategic positions within the shell of the liberal order. Less Benedict, more Esther, Mordecai, Joseph, and Daniel—and, as we will see, St. Cecilia and St. Paul.

First, Deneen almost always writes as though “liberalism” does things, says things, believes things. All of us who write about liberalism have done and will do the same; the thing is not sinful in itself. But this is a methodological shorthand, an implied promissory note to pay our methodological debts in the future, and the bill comes due before the author may leave the premises. At some point one must ground the behavior of “liberalism” in the desires, beliefs, and opportunities of liberal agents. Deneen never squarely comes to grips with this, and as a result ends up writing whole passages in abstractions or in the passive voice, in which citizens are subjected to degradations material, moral, and spiritual as if by an invisible hand. This of course replicates, in a certain fashion, the mystification of liberalism itself, which attempts to produce or pretends to produce a nonpolitical political sphere without agency, a liberal order amounting to “a machine that would run of itself.”

This is not to say Deneen has no theory of the liberal agent or active subject. In fact I believe he has two. It is just that for reasons I do not clearly understand, he is reluctant to spell them out and leaves both largely implicit, or at least embodied in scattered observations, rather than drawn together in an explicitly organized manner.

The first theory is that liberal agents are selfish hedonists. At a number of points Deneen suggests that liberal agents want to throw off the shackles of self-restraint, grounded in an objective moral order, in order to indulge themselves in ever more refined pleasures (not necessarily, of course, pleasures of the flesh). There is no doubt that this captures a strand of liberalism. Consider John Stuart Mill’s “experiments in living,” which concretely amounted to experiments in ignoring the justified moral claims of people who made the mistake of interacting with Mill. The problem with this theory, however, is that it cannot fully explain (except with a tautologically broad account of hedonic value) the history of liberalism, which features acts of astonishing self-sacrifice, dedicated evangelization, martyrdom—all things which would be laudable in a better substantive cause. Liberalism has its self-denying and radically committed vanguard, its Dominicans and Jesuits, and these are the agents who carried the movement forward and cemented it into place, whatever the wishes of the broader population.

The second and far more plausible account, which does capture this history, is that liberalism is a world religion—and one of the most successful religions in human history, among elites anyway. Liberalism has a soteriology, an eschatology, a clergy (or “clerisy”), and sacraments, centered on the confession and surrender of privilege, the redemption of declaring oneself an “ally,” the overcoming of the dark past of prejudice and unreason—a past that is itself always in motion, so that the night of unreason may well suddenly come to mean what everyone believed last year. Liberalism “immanentizes the eschaton,” as we know, and part of this process is to immanentize the threat of political damnation, by relentlessly pressing the claim that the only political alternatives to liberalism are sectarian strife, communism, or fascism—but especially fascism. Even at this late hour liberals still insist upon this false alternative, even as it visibly becomes less persuasive to polities around the world, which have realized that there are stable, peaceful, and non-tyrannical political regimes that are not liberal regimes.

So liberalism is best understood as a fighting, evangelistic faith. Universities should have departments that situate liberalism in the same space as Christianity, Islam, and Buddhism. And the liberal agents who have the greatest political effect are best understood as ascetic and highly motivated, not hedonistic. A fighting sub-cadre of liberals attempts to spread their faith to the ends of the earth—quite rightly, given their salvific premises. Deneen never explicitly endorses this theory, but it pervades the book and Deneen often alludes to it, referring in a sideways fashion to liberalism’s dogmas and sacrosanct commitments.

All this has grave consequences when the book turns to the problem “What is to be done?” This brings me to my second complaint: in light of Deneen’s own implicit account of the motivations of liberal agents, his diagnosis is inconsistent with his prescription. The very causes that have produced the triumph-cum-disaster of liberalism—particularly the fighting faith of the liberal vanguard—also suggest that localist communities after Deneen’s fashion must tremble indefinitely under the axe. Liberal agents have a comprehensive substantive theory of the good that they have proven willing to impose by means of pervasive cultural, reputational, and economic coercion through norm-enforcement, as Deneen amply demonstrates in area after area. (This is not to deny, either, that liberalism also uses or credibly threatens to use more direct methods of coercion against enemies foreign and domestic.)

Why then should liberal agents ultimately allow, at least as a matter of principle, Deneen communities to exist at all? If the liberal state does allow them to exist, it is only for purely practical reasons—because the state has limited resources for the enforcement of tolerance, and a welter of conflicting priorities. Deneen gestures at this answer, and it is not wrong, but it isn’t quite right either, because there is a lurking fallacy of composition. Even if the liberal state lacks the time, resources, or attention span to eliminate all competing subcommunities collectively and simultaneously, it may still be able to eliminate any competitor at will, taken individually and one by one. Each nonliberal—or even insufficiently liberal—subcommunity is therefore exposed indefinitely to a standing existential risk.

My third complaint, accordingly, is that localist Deneen communities can have no answer to the overhanging threat of liberalism if, and because, they deliberately eschew any substantive comprehensive theory of the common good. I have called this a relapse into liberalism, but strictly speaking it is not, for liberalism evangelizes with just such a substantive theory. It is rather a relapse into liberalism’s advertised image of apolitical neutrality. (That image may be a self-conception too, even if a false one; there are thorny questions here about the possibly false consciousness of liberal agents, questions whose resolution is inessential to my points and which would take me too far afield.) But this leaves Deneen communities with no more theoretical and intellectual defenses than they have material ones. Absent the strong glue of a common theory of the good, such a community lacks the moral, spiritual, and emotional resources to stand against liberal encroachments.

There are two ways to frame the strategic question. One is that it takes a comprehensive theory to beat a comprehensive theory. Whether or not this is true in strictly intellectual debate, it is true in lived politics. There is no way to actually embody a postliberal community without the tendons and sinews provided by a common vision of the good life. The other way to frame it is that there is no escape from having some substantive vision or other of the common good, no way not to have an “ideology.” Deneen rightly says that liberalism “masked [its] normative commitments in the guise of neutrality” (188). Yet he slips back into the idea that there is some way to shape the mask into a true face, some way to reach—and this is Deneen’s own title for a key final section of the book—“The End of Ideology.” But this is the old liberal advertisement or perhaps fantasy, the hopeless dream that it sells and may itself even believe, that the absence of ideology is possible. How Deneen’s call for the end of ideology represents a postliberal perspective is unclear. And indeed Deneen ends with the hope that his localized, nontheoretical practices “might finally be worthy of the name ‘liberal’” (198). A cautionary tale, all told: one must be relentless to escape the gravity well of liberalism.

Esther, Cecilia, and Paul

Let me sketch an alternate fantasy ending to Deneen’s book, one that would avoid this relapse. Liberalism is visibly sagging and collapsing around us, having undermined its own foundations. The nonliberal state that emerges will have to be born from within the frame of the old order. The problem is not whether liberalism is in some abstract sense desirable, for its eventual demise is inevitable. The only practical problem is how to shorten and lessen the birth-pangs of liberalism’s successor. At the same time, and for the same reasons, there is no escape from “theory,” no escape from articulating a substantive and comprehensive vision of the good that will replace the substantive—albeit hedonistic and plastic—vision that underpins liberalism.

For the foreseeable future, the problem will be to mitigate the spasmodic, but compulsive and repetitive, aggression of the decaying liberal state against its perceived competitors. In this setting the models are Joseph, Mordecai, Esther, and Daniel, who in various ways exploit their providential ties to political incumbents with very different views, in order to protect their own views and the community who shares them. This is not the problem of doing evil to do good; none of these agents transgress the bounds of morality, although they act strategically within those bounds. What marks out these agents as distinctive is that they are fully engaged with and within the world of the imperium, and fully loyal to it—so long as there is no conflict with their ultimate commitments. There is no hint here of a “Benedict Option” or of a localist Deneen community.

Insofar as these figures, like Joseph, Mordecai, and Daniel, hold posts as elite administrators—or if, like Esther, they gain the affection and respect of those who formally wield power, and thereby exert influence—they may even come to occupy the commanding heights of the administrative state. Again, this is not to be imagined as disloyal, or as anything but worthy service to the regime. But in the setting of the administrative state, these agents may have a great deal of discretion to further human dignity and the common good, defined entirely in substantive rather than procedural-technical terms.

Joseph, Mordecai, Esther, and Daniel, however, mainly attempt to ensure the survival of their faith communities in an interim age of exile and dispossession. They do not evangelize or preach with a view to bringing about the birth of an entirely new regime, from within the old. They mitigate the long defeat for those who become targets of the regime in liberalism’s twilight era, and this will surely have to be the main aim for some time to come. In the much longer run, it is permissible to dream, however fitfully, that other models may one day become relevant, in a postliberal future of uncertain shape. One such model is St. Cecilia, who, forced into marriage against her vows, converted her pagan husband; their joint martyrdom helped to spark the explosive growth of the early church. Another is of course St. Paul himself, who by the end of Acts of the Apostles preached the advent of a new order from within the very urban heart of the imperium.

Here too there is no hint of retreat into localism. There is instead a determination to co-opt and transform the decaying regime from within its own core. It may thus appear providential that liberalism, despite itself, has prepared a state capable of great tasks, as a legacy to bequeath to a new and doubtless very different future. The vast bureaucracy created by liberalism in pursuit of a mirage of depoliticized governance may, by the invisible hand of Providence, be turned to new ends, becoming the great instrument with which to restore a substantive politics of the good.

It would be wrong to conclude that integration from within is a matter of coercion, as opposed to persuasion and conversion, for the distinction is so fragile as to be nearly useless. As J. F. Stephen noted, there is a type of intellectual and rhetorical “warfare” in which “the weaker opinion—the less robust and deeply seated feeling—is rooted out to the last fiber, the place where it grew being seared as with a hot iron.” In a more recent register, we have learned from behavioral economics that agents with administrative control over default rules may nudge whole populations in desirable directions, in an exercise of “soft paternalism.” It is a useless exercise to debate whether or not this shaping from above is best understood as coercive, or rather as an appeal to the “true” underlying preferences of the governed. Instead it is a matter of finding a strategic position from which to sear the liberal faith with hot irons, to defeat and capture the hearts and minds of liberal agents, to take over the institutions of the old order that liberalism has itself prepared and to turn them to the promotion of human dignity and the common good. In my view, only in this way will liberalism well and truly fall victim to its own success. And this line of approach would make straight the crooked turn at the end of Deneen’s near-masterpiece.

This describes my political outlook perfectly. Can't fool the Vermeule.
 
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