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THE GROWTH OF THE LIBERAL SOUL

by David Walsh

Chapter One:  The Crisis of Liberal Politics

Part 4

David Walsh is professor of politics at Catholic University of America. He is the author or editor of many books; he is editor of three volumes of The Collected Works of Eric Voegelin. His Guarded by Mystery has been serialized here at VoegelinView in its entirety. His most recent book is The Modern Philosophical Revolution: The Luminosity of Existence. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. The Growth of the Liberal Soul is available from the University of Missouri Press and appears here with permission. "Crisis of Liberal Politics" appears here in five parts.

Tumbling Liberal Defense


An awareness of the depth of the critique ranged against liberal theory is what has inspired its late flowering in our own time. Viewed in a wider historical perspective, it is astonishing to see the revival of concepts and modes of thought that received opinion had long declaimed as outré. Even ideas that in liberal circles had not had much play since the eighteenth century, such as the social contract, began to assume a new prominence. A rediscovered pride in the liberal understanding of individual rights, especially by contrast with the dismal record of individual protection within any more expansive construction of rights, led to a new appreciation of the centrality of liberal political order. Protections for the individual and, limitations on the power of government became the currency of political discussion. Even liberal political economy, so long disdained as laissez faire, acquired new respect and influence. The political counterpart is found in the universal embrace of liberal democracy as the only legitimate political model around the globe.

 

Yet there has been something enormously brittle about this liberal reju­venation, a brittleness that ultimately is the source of the sense of crisis that has reached into public consciousness.


The problems become visible in the work of the greatest liberal theorist of the generation, John Rawls. His A Theory of Justice, despite the deficiencies so frequently seized upon, did provide the theoretical justification of principles so long absent from liberal practice. This is the explanation of the impact of the work. He seemed to have squared the liberal circle. Rawls had overcome the two most bedeviling problems afflicting every attempt at a rational articulation of liberal convictions. The first was how to construct a public order that did not presuppose a level of virtue in the citizens that liberal politics itself did not produce and could not sustain. Liberal democracy could not presuppose virtue because it had no uncontested criterion for good and bad; it could hardly promote a particular form of the good without incurring the kind of controversy it sought to avoid. Rawls delineated the requirement with unprecedented clarity in his insistence that "the concept of right is prior to that of the good" (A Theory of Justice, 31). The liberal order can be founded on an understanding of what is right, apart from the competing and conflicting conceptions of the good that humans hold, and thereby established on a basis that no minimally rational individual can reject.

 

The second related challenge was to find a means of giving concrete content to the moral principles that defined the liberal order. All previous accounts of morality that had escaped the Scylla of contestable foundations, such as Kant's, had perished on the Charybdis of formalism without practical guidance. It was not enough to find a formulation of what is right that could not be rejected without self-contradiction: there must also be a substantial connection with the liberal political order it is intended to support. This lack of specific guidance infects, in Rawls's view, all the more substantive conceptions of morality, including the Aristotelian, the theological, and the utilitarian. Moral principles are themselves in need of a further set of principles to guide their application. If one wants to be virtuous or God­fearing one still has to know what is right in those terms.

 

These two interrelated problems seemed to have been solved in Rawls's conception of the original position in which human beings meet to formulate the principles that ought to govern their relations with one another. "The crucial thing," he observes, "is not to use principles that are contested" (585). This is accomplished through the thought experiment in which we meet behind a veil of ignorance, not knowing who we are, what our position will be relative to others, or how our particular conception of the good will be defined. Most important of all, he explains, "I have avoided attributing to the parties any ethical motivation. They decide solely on the basis of what seems best calculated to further their interests so far as they can ascertain them" (584). The considerations made in this egalitarian anteroom to politics, which is reminiscent of nothing so much as the egalitarian opening and conclusion of the Republic in the underworld, are all of a prudential nature that presuppose little more than a rational interest in furthering one's own interests.

 

It is not the individuals who meet that are just but the situation that defines their encounter. "The original position is defined in such a way that it is a status quo in which any agreements reached are fair" (120). There may be a generalized sense of justice that must be conceded to the moral pioneers, but nothing hinges on it. All that is necessary is that they be people who at least are concerned to further their own interests and aware that this will involve some degree of conflict with the self-fulfillment of others. The arrangements they work out will reflect their general sense of justice because the settlement will be "everyone's best reply, so to speak, to the corresponding demands of others" (119). For each one the decision will simply reflect the best arrangement of principles that will serve their individual self-interest.

 

Rawls has been much criticized by communitarians for deriving everything from such an ideal convention of "unencumbered" selves (516).15 But he appears to be doing no more than projecting the self-understanding of liberalism back to its beginning. In that sense, we are "mutually disinterested" (129), without many strong ties of affection to one another or at least no such attachments can be assumed. We do have different and often conflicting conceptions of the good; this is the problem that has prompted the develop­ment of the liberal construction. It makes eminent sense to concentrate, as Rawls suggests, on the "primary goods" — rights and liberties, opportunities and powers, income and wealth — that together with a sense of self-worth constitute those things that everyone will desire irrespective of their ultimate goal. The agreement he maps out aims, therefore, at the just distribution of those instrumental goods.

 

Individuals, intent on whatever their own understanding of the good turns out to be and ignorant of their social position, would choose to be governed by principles that all would accept irrespective of their eventual status determination. Their interest would dictate that they endorse the most fundamental of all liberal principles. In its simplest formulation, the first principle is that "each person is to have an equal right to the most extensive basic liberty compatible with a similar liberty for others" (60). This is the first principle, Rawls insists, in the order of priority because it represents a distribution of the most significant primary good: the equal liberty to pursue all other goods. It is the basis for the self-esteem that is derived from "the publicly affirmed distribution of fundamental rights and liberties" (544), the only way of ensuring equal treatment.

 

The second principle, which has provoked far greater comment, is often taken as indicative of Rawls's fundamentally egalitarian leanings. His own personal politics aside, however, the second principle can just as easily be read as a more traditional liberal justification of social inequality. Again in its simplest formulation, the principle is that "social and economic inequalities are to be arranged so that they are both (a) reasonably expected to be to everyone's advantage, and (b) attached to positions and offices open to all" (60). Rawls later underlines the insistence that inequalities must be justified in terms of their benefits to the least-advantaged members of society. But this is no more than the resistance that liberal society has always felt was needed against an extension of its own first principle of equality in liberty. Friedrich Hayek makes essentially the same case, in very different tones, when he asserts that the advantages of a few do not injure but rather promote ultimately the welfare of all (The Constitution of Liberty, 88).

 

Taken together, the two principles provide a fair equality of opportunity that maximizes the well-being of all, not simply a majority, and can be presented as the scheme that is most likely to win the acceptance of all. The principles constitute, Rawls concludes, the best foundation for "consti­tutional democracy" whose major institutions and practices can be derived from them. "My aim has been to indicate not only that the principles of justice fit our considered judgments but also that they provide the strongest arguments for freedom" (243). The guarantees of individual liberties and the rights of political participation, as well as the rule of law, are all more securely grounded in the ordered principles of justice that all must acknowledge. Avoiding both a dogmatic assertion of ungrounded principles and a reduc­tionist admission that all principles are mere preferences, Rawls's principles rely on "weak and widely held presumptions" that can be expected to win general acceptance. "Surely, our liberties are most firmly based when they are derived from principles that persons fairly situated with respect to one another can agree to if they can agree to anything at all" (244).

 

It is perhaps not unfair to detect in that "surely" the germ of self-doubt that disturbs the whole system. Even the weak stipulations that seem to have made the smooth emergence of agreement possible may turn out not to have been weak enough. Toward the end of the book Rawls reflects on the possibility of individuals who do not find acting from a sense of justice good for them, and concludes that "it is rational to authorize measures needed to maintain just institutions." To those who must be thus compelled "one can only say: their nature is their misfortune" (576). Agreement, it turns out, cannot be counted on to reach all or to form a seamless social whole. There will continue to be expressions of dissent, both with and without malice aforethought, and no amount of liberal thinning of the presuppositions can evoke harmony from the parts.

 

The problem of pluralism returns with renewed centrality to Rawls's later writings and effects the most profound critique of the achievement that had earlier seemed so secure. The fabled priority of the right over the good, the very cornerstone of A Theory of Justice, dissolves before the admission that liberal order is not based on the right that is compatible with every conceivable conception of the good. Some formulations of the good cannot be contained within liberal democracy, and the struggle to eject such representations can be won only at the cost of the liberal claim to universality. The suspicion is confirmed that liberal order has not escaped connection with a particular affirmation of the good. It was only that Rawls's skillful construction had temporarily obscured that realization.16

 

An awareness of the problem was certainly present in A Theory of Justice. He not only contemplated the possibility of individual perceptions of the good incompatible with the thinnest of liberal definitions but also recognized that even those who embraced the liberal order would have to do so in the realization that not all of their aspirations for the good could be satisfied. Not knowing what their conceptions of the good will be, their agreement commits them not to press their moral or religious convictions beyond what is compatible with a like liberty for all. "They cannot risk their freedom by authorizing a standard of value to define what is to be maximized by a teleological principle of justice" (328). The preservation of autonomous freedom, it seems, is the highest value, for which everything else may be risked but which itself must never be placed in jeopardy.

 

Nothing bespeaks the confidence of the liberal tradition so much as Rawls's inability to see that such an absolute vision of liberty could be open to question. And nothing announces so loudly the crisis of confidence that has overtaken it as the revision of Rawls's thoughts on this issue. He now recognizes that there is a very specific conception of the person and the human good that underpins the theory of justice. The conception is of the autonomous moral person characterized by the two powers of "a capacity for a sense of justice and a capacity for a conception of the good. A sense of justice is the capacity to understand, to apply, and to act from the public conception of justice which characterizes the fair terms of social cooperation . . . . The capacity for a conception of the good is the capacity to form, to revise, and rationally to pursue a conception of one's rational advantage or good" (Political Liberalism, 19). But if free rational autonomy is the highest goal, then the whole process of the original agreement has been stacked against any alternative human ideal. What then happens to the priority of the right over the good, the principle that had been the core of the liberal claim to public legitimacy? "The answer," William Galston shrewdly remarks, "is that the priority of the right is subtly reinterpreted as the priority of the public over the nonpublic" (Liberal Purposes, 148).

 

The question that is begged, of course, is why should I go along with an arrangement that may patently undermine my highest ideal, such as trust in God or faith in the truth? It is most significant that Rawls does not attempt to philosophically defend his democratic perfectionism (which is Galston's term). That is the project that has collapsed in the recognition that his defense serves after all a particular vision of the human good. All he can do is point to the "overlapping consensus" concerning respect for the autonomy and dignity of persons that has historically emerged in liberal democratic societies as the justification for his position. He then takes his own failure to find a rational justification as conclusive that no such attempts at a coherent articulation of the meaning of justice will be successful. "Philosophy as the search for truth about an independent metaphysical and moral order cannot, I believe, provide a workable and shared basis for a political conception of justice in a democratic society" ("Justice as Fairness," 230; Political Liberalism, 10).

 

Rawls revises his earlier theoretical account of justice as fairness to em­phasize it "as a political conception that is practical and not metaphysical or epistemological." Now liberal democracy rests not on its claim to represent the truth about human nature or the human condition but simply on the fact that it has successfully enabled certain concrete societies to live with the not-insignificant philosophical differences that pervade them. Justice as fairness then "presents itself not as a conception of justice that is true, but one that can serve as a basis of informed and willing political agreement between citizens viewed as free and equal persons." There is something poignant and autumnal about Rawls's appeal that "we try, so far as we can, to avoid disputed philosophical, as well as disputed moral and religious, questions" ("Justice as Fairness," 230).17

 

The problem, as he himself acknowledges, is that there may well be certain issues or values whose importance outweighs the social and political agreement.18 If there is no neutral state basing itself on the weak stipulations that all can accept, then it is inevitable that the public order will diverge from some of the profoundly held convictions of its members. The public order must tilt toward certain metaphysical or theological positions, causing the probability of conflict to become high. The discomfort is palpable in Rawls's response to those who compel us to articulate our own philosophical or religious premises. "This happens whenever someone insists, for example, that certain questions are so fundamental that to ensure their being rightly settled justifies civil strife . . . At this point we may have no alternative but to deny this, or to imply its denial and hence to maintain the kind of thing we had hoped to avoid" (Political Liberalism, 152).

 

Rawls's assurances, that the reason for bracketing such disputes about prin­ciples in order to avoid the imposition of political power, begin to ring hollow. Absent a rational resolution of differences, he admits, "the only alternative to a principal of toleration is the autocratic use of state power" ("Justice as Fairness," 230). The crux of the matter is, however, that it is precisely the protection of differences that has been the basis for toleration. What are we to do when that policy itself puts in jeopardy our fundamental principles? What can we say when toleration becomes intolerant? The argument that liberals have been trying to avoid the introduction of state power to settle the disputes is scant consolation when the liberal consensus itself is the instrument of repression. The yoke of tyranny is just as oppressive when imposed by a smiling liberalism as it is when inflicted by the brute force of autocracy.19

 

The fate of Rawls's justification of liberal principles is shared by the many other serious and impressive efforts of the past generation to find a noncon­testable foundation to morality. The foundations turn out in the end to be noncontestable only within a liberal context. The arguments presuppose the conclusions they seek to prove. This circularity is transparent in the similarly Kantian construction of Alan Gewirth. He skillfully uncovers within the per­formative assumptions of all human action a "deontic" morality that cannot be denied without self-contradiction. Since all voluntary and purposive ac­tions presuppose the value of voluntariness and purposiveness, as well as their supporting conditions, we are already committed to a morality of respect for the rights of all potentially voluntary and purposive agents. Gewirth believes he has escaped from the all-corrosive "why" because his Principle of Generic Consistency has been drawn forth from the agent's own purposive striving. Rejecting it would not only expose him to inconsistency but also reveal his indifference to his own good. "Consequently, the agent must care about being rational and avoiding self-contradiction if he is to engage in action, as against going through motions that he emits with no control exerted by him for purposes he regards as good" (Reason and Morality, 194-95). The elegance of the demonstration is undeniable, but can cogency alone suffice to keep us on the strenuous path of duty?     {#emotions_dlg.VoegelinViewsm}


[This is part 4 of a five part article. Part 1 may be read HERE. Part 2 may be read HERE. Part 3 may be read HERE.].


NOTES


15. Michael Sandel, "The Procedural Republic and the Unencumbered Self" in Political Theory 12 (1984); and Liberalism and the Limits of Justice. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1982.

16. Michael Sandel has expressed the problem with great clarity:

If the good is nothing more than the indiscriminate satisfaction of arbitrarily-given preferences, regardless of worth, it is not difficult to imagine that the right (and for that matter a good many other sorts of claims) must outweigh it. But in fact the morally diminished status of the good must inevitably call into question the status of justice as well. For once it is conceded that our conceptions of the good are morally arbitrary, it becomes difficult to see why the highest of all (social) virtues should be the one that enables us to pursue these arbitrary conceptions "as fully as circumstances permit" (Liberalism and the Limits, 168).

A similar identification of the ambiguity of Rawls was voiced by George Parkin Grant:

One may be glad that Rawls has inherited the noble belief in political equality, and the belief that "the free and rational person" is "valuable" in a way quite different from members of other species. But in an era such as ours, we cannot help hoping that he will tell us why it is so. His writing is typical of much modern liberal thought in that the word "person" is brought in mysteriously (one might better say sentimentally) to cover up the inability to state clearly what it is about human beings which makes them worthy of high political respect. Where Kant is clear concerning this, Rawls is not. (English-Speaking Justice, 33)

17. Rawls is not of course alone in preferring such reticence. Bruce Ackerman is even stronger in endorsing liberal detachment:

When you and I learn that we disagree about one or another dimension of the moral truth, we should not search for some common value that will trump this disagree­ment; nor should we try to translate it into some putatively neutral framework; nor should we seek to transcend it by talking about how some unearthly creature might ' resolve it. We should simply say nothing at all about this disagreement and put the moral ideals that divide us off the conversational agenda of the liberal state. ("Why Dialogue?")

18. Brigitte and Peter Berger have sought to uncover a middle ground of consensus in the abortion debate, but they readily acknowledge that the issue may be seen as outweighing the call for civil harmony: "In view of this perception of the issue by large numbers of Americans, the accusation by [the pro-choice side] that these people are engaged in 'single issue polities' missed the point entirely: Given this perception, what single issue could be more important than a million murders per year?" (The War over the Family. Garden City, New York: Doubleday, 1983, 67). The scale of the issue is perhaps best captured by the title of a popular treatment by John Powell, Abortion: The Silent Holocaust. Allen, TX.: Argus, 1981.

19. The contrast with Lincoln's assessment of the situation when he confronted the arguably more overt conflict regarding slavery is instructive. He recognized that the issue could be settled politically only if it was first settled philosophically. "Whenever this question [of slavery] shall be settled, it must be settled on some philosophical basis. No policy that does not rest upon some philosophical public opinion can be permanently maintained" (Roy B. Basler, ed., The Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln. Vol 4. New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 17).

 

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Ackerman, Bruce. "Why Dialogue?" Journal of Philosophy 86:1 (1989):16.

Gewirth, Alan. Reason and Morality. Chicago:  University of Chicago Press, 1986.

Grant, George Parkin. English-Speaking Justice. 1974. Reprint, South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1985.

Hayek, Friedrich. The Constitution of Liberty. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1960.

Rawls, John. A Theory of Justice. Cambridge: Harvard University Press,1971.

___"Justice as Fairness: Political not Metaphysical." in Philosophy and Public Affairs 14 (1985):223-51.

___Political Liberalism. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.

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