Political Encounters: A Hermeneutic Inquiry into the Situation of Political Obligation [1st ed.] 978-3-030-17339-5;978-3-030-17340-1

Table of contents :
Front Matter ....Pages i-xi
Introduction: The ‘Situation’ of Political Obligation (Ruairidh J. Brown)....Pages 1-21
The ‘Rational Individual’: Rational Paradigms of Obligation (Ruairidh J. Brown)....Pages 23-56
The Importance of Tradition and Culture: Context-Based Paradigms of Obligation (Ruairidh J. Brown)....Pages 57-86
The Oppressor and the Oppressed: Marxist and Other Critical Paradigms of Obligation (Ruairidh J. Brown)....Pages 87-112
The View from Inside: Introducing the Hermeneutical Concept of Encounter (Ruairidh J. Brown)....Pages 113-146
The Encounter and Obligations (Ruairidh J. Brown)....Pages 147-179
Political Obligation in a Post-truth Era: Limitations, Critique and a Defence of the Approach Through the Encounter (Ruairidh J. Brown)....Pages 181-202
Conclusion (Ruairidh J. Brown)....Pages 203-207
Back Matter ....Pages 209-213

Citation preview

Political Encounters A Hermeneutic Inquiry into the Situation of Political Obligation Ruairidh J. Brown

Political Encounters

Ruairidh J. Brown

Political Encounters A Hermeneutic Inquiry into the Situation of Political Obligation

Ruairidh J. Brown University of Nottingham Ningbo China Ningbo, Zhejiang, China

ISBN 978-3-030-17339-5 ISBN 978-3-030-17340-1  (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-17340-1 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover image: © Maram/shutterstock.com This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

For Grandad

Acknowledgements

The core concept of this book—the idea of the ‘encounter’ as a means of studying the relationship between citizens and States—has its genesis in my research proposal for a Ph.D. at the University of St Andrews, written in the winter of 2012. I would subsequently first thank my Ph.D. supervisor Dr. Gabriella Slomp. I was truly blessed to have such an encouraging and invested supervisor. I would also like to thank my second supervisor Professor Patrick Hayden for both his continual support and advice as well as the invaluable insight he provided into political existentialism. Both Gabriella and Patrick I feel went beyond the call of duty in the advice and assistance they offered during my Ph.D. years, and indeed since, for which I am eternally grateful. I would also here like to thank my two Ph.D. examiners, Professor John Horton and Professor Tony Lang. I was in particular very fortunate—and honoured—to have John, one of the leading experts on the subject of Political Obligation, as my external examiner. It was also John who pressed me in viva examination on the potential dangers of my project in relation to the rising concern of Post-truth, a potential line of critique which has since greatly influenced this work, and for this, I am incredibly grateful. I would also like to thank more widely all the staff at the University of St Andrews. I do not believe there is any better incubator for philosophical thought. I was also very fortunate to be part of an incredibly special MLitt Class— International Political Theory 2012/2013—whose comradeship then, and since, has been an invaluable source of intellectual nourishment. To all of them, thank you. vii

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Acknowledgements

I would also like to thank Palgrave Macmillan for helping make this book a reality. I would in particular like to thank Michelle Chen and John Stegner. I would in particular like to thank Michelle for support and enthusiasm for this project when I first pitched her this book. Indeed, I would like to thank Palgrave Macmillan overall for being a pleasure to work with. It is perhaps cliched to thank one’s students, but nonetheless, I cannot stress the truth in the belief we can learn as much from teaching classes as they can from listening to us. The following discussion on Marxism has, for instance, largely been shaped by the many classes I have given over the last five years. Thus, to all the students I have taught, and the staff I have worked alongside, at the Universities of Stirling, St Andrews, and Nottingham Ningbo, as well as the Oxbridge Academic Summer School programs, I say thank you. I would also like to thank John Dourneen who very kindly took the time to carefully look through the manuscript on the eve of the deadline. Finally, I would like to thank my entire family who has stood by me over the years. I must thank my mother and father, Anne and Ivor Brown, for their continual support. I would also like to thank my late grandfather Michael McMichan, who passed away in December 2017, for never tiring in his enthusiasm to debate with me all things historical, philosophical, and political. Finally, greatest gratitude goes to my wife Kimberly.

Contents

1 Introduction: The ‘Situation’ of Political Obligation 1 1.1 Political Obligation 3 1.2 The Modern State 8 1.3 Hermeneutics 13 1.4 Plan of This Book 18 References 20 2 The ‘Rational Individual’: Rational Paradigms of Obligation 23 2.1 Rationalism and Political Obligation 24 2.2 T. H. Green’s Teleological Theory: A Rational Approach 34 2.3 The Strengths and Limitations of a Normative Rational Paradigm 40 2.4 Rationalism and Obligation in the Scottish Legal System 46 References 54 3 The Importance of Tradition and Culture: Context-Based Paradigms of Obligation 57 3.1 Conservatism and Communitarianism 58 3.2 Associative Political Obligation: A Context-Based 64 Approach 3.3 Confucian Communitarianism: The Context-Based 72 Approach in China ix

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3.4 Traditional Culture, Obligation and the Chinese State References

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4 The Oppressor and the Oppressed: Marxist and Other Critical Paradigms of Obligation 87 88 4.1 The Marxist Critique of Obligation 4.2 Beyond Class: A Gender-Based Criticism of Obligation 94 4.3 The Problem of ‘False Consciousness’ and the Limits 100 of the Critical Approach 4.4 Gender and Obligation in the USSR 104 111 References 5 The View from Inside: Introducing the Hermeneutical Concept of Encounter 113 5.1 The Encounter 115 123 5.2 Horizon 5.3 Narrative 130 144 References 6 The 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4

Encounter and Obligations 147 150 Encounter, Friendship, and Obligations 160 The Encounter with ‘The Enemy’ 166 The Encounter and Political Obligation The Encounter as a Hermeneutic Tool for Uncovering and Interpreting Ideas and Narratives of Political Obligations 175 178 References

7 Political Obligation in a Post-truth Era: Limitations, Critique and a Defence of the Approach Through the Encounter 181 7.1 The Spectre of Post-truth 182 7.2 The Hermeneutical Approach Through the Encounter: A Post-truth Theory? 188 7.3 The ‘Encounter’ and Possible Future Normative Assessment 193 References 202

Contents   

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8 Conclusion 203 Reference 207 Index 209

CHAPTER 1

Introduction: The ‘Situation’ of Political Obligation

Sitting amongst the scorched ashes of his former home, the desert sun relentlessly beating down on his already sore and tortured body, Job sat with his arms stretched out in mercy. Suddenly, in one mighty bellow, he let out all the angst which gnawed and agitated him: ‘Wherefore hast thou brought me forth?’ (Job, 10:18). He prayed that, from beyond the transcended blue sky and the unending burnt orange sands, God, that supreme Deity in whom he had such loving faith, would provide answers. Suffering and in pain, Job wanted to know what the point of his existence was? For what purpose had God created him? Why had he been ‘brought forth’ into being? Job’s plight is overtly theological, he seeks explanation as to why he had recently suffered so greatly at God’s hands: why God had reduced his world to ashes. Nonetheless, despite its obvious theological focus, ‘The Book of Job’ is arguably one of the most existential books of the Bible, speaking to fundamental questions as to why we exist and what purpose we have in the world. For our being in this world is not a situation of our own making, it is not one we chose, yet it is the situation we find ourselves in and the one in which we must live and make sense of life. Like Job, Thomas Hobbes also saw this situation as one characterised by angst. Choosing a Pagan myth over Hebrew, Hobbes acutely compared it to the plight of Prometheus who, as punishment for transgressions against the gods, was chained to a rock so that the eagles could devour his liver by day, only for

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the organ to grow back each night, thus maintaining the agonising torture into perpetuity. So we human beings trapped in this strange world not of our choosing are tortured by its unknown possibilities (Hobbes 2008: 72). In such gnawing pain and doubt over these questions of existence, have we not all found ourselves in the position of Job, calling out into the vastness in hope for an answer as to why we have been ‘brought forth’ into being. Yet, we are not alone. We are not, like Prometheus, strapped to an isolated rock, nor are we abandoned into a vast and unforgiving desert. Rather, we find ourselves, from the moment of our entry into the world, immediately surrounded by ‘others’. ‘Others’ who will help us understand this world we have been cast into and aid us in our search for a meaningful place in it. Such people will include those we love: parents, friends, partners. People Charles Taylor described as the ‘significant others’ who shall help colour and define our earthly existence (Taylor 2003: 33–34). Such noteworthy ‘others’ may, however, not just be ones we love, but also those who treat us with hostility: competitors, rivals, enemies, who shape our lives through antagonistic struggle. As Carl Schmitt observed, ‘who we are’ is shaped as much by the antagonists we face as it is the friends who support us (Schmitt 2007). In addition to these particular ‘human others’, there are also those institutions, political organisations, and legal bodies, who will attempt to regulate and restrict our existence. Most notable and powerful amongst such bodies is undoubtably the modern State. This institution is one we likely never chose or consented to obey, yet obedience it will expect. It will demand we obey its commands, it will demand a proportion of any money we ever earn, it may even expect us to sacrifice our lives for its continuing survival. It will indeed expect us to be willing and proud to make such sacrifices. It will often claim we ‘owe it’: we owe an obligation to it for creating conditions in which our existence may be happy and prosperous; we ‘owe it’ for making this situation we find ourselves in as safe and stable as possible. How we understand and accept these claims—if we accept these claims—and how our relationship with this authority develops will subsequently have an enormous influence on our journey through this world. This book seeks to articulate an approach by which we may interpret how the relationship between citizens and States unfolds, a relationship denoted by the term ‘Political Obligation’. It will in particular seek to understand how the State communicates such claims to its citizens; what justification it builds such arguments upon, and through which frameworks of language it chooses to communicate. The book will seek means to interpret this rela-

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tionship through focus on the ‘encounters’ between citizen and State, the moments in which the citizen may come face to face with manifestations of the State whose territory she inhabits. It is by interpreting the arguments, ideas, and narratives the State presents to citizens in such ‘political encounters’ it will be argued one can uncover and interpret the ethos upon which the State rests its authority, and which subsequently hold political communities together in a sense of obligation.

1.1

Political Obligation

The term ‘Political Obligation’ is one that may not be immediately familiar, even to the most well-educated and politically astute reader. Indeed, even students well versed in Political Philosophy may not be immediately familiar with what the term exactly denotes, although they will likely be able to have a reasonable guess. The term, as its most prominent scholars duly recognise, simply does not have the same currency in popular discourse as does more familiar concepts such as ‘justice’ and ‘rights’ (Horton 2010: 1). It thus seems appropriate to make clear what I denote by the term ‘Political Obligation’ before proceeding. Political Obligation can be acutely understood to denote the relationship between the citizen and the political authority which governs the community of which she is a member. As the Nineteenth-century Idealist Philosopher T. H. Green articulated: Political Obligation includes ‘the obligation of subjects towards the sovereign, of the citizen towards the State, and the obligations of citizens towards each other as enforced by a political superior’ (Green 1986: 13). We might thus understand Political Obligation to be the sense of obligation which binds a political community together with the authority which governs it. Ideas, arguments, and narratives of Political Obligation thus underpin and form the foundation of the sense of legitimacy and duty within a community. Political Obligation is often framed as a ‘problem’. Indeed, Dudley Knowles, one of the leading theorists on the subject in recent years, describes it as one of the oldest political problems (Knowles 2010: xi). This ‘problem’ of Political Obligation is the difficulty of finding satisfactory grounds to justify a sense of obligation to political authority: the question of why we should accept this authority as a legitimate power over our lives. Framing Political Obligation as a ‘problem’, much discourse on the subject has subsequently taken the form of providing ‘answers’ to it: to providing normative arguments as to why the citizen should, or should not, have a sense of obligation to this power. Indeed, it is notable that one of the

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first treatises specifically addressing the term Political Obligation, Green’s ‘Lectures on The Principles of Political Obligation’, is explicitly concerned with giving normative argument as to exactly why the citizen is morally obliged to obey the State (Green 1986). This is reflected further in more contemporary discourse on the subject, which typically follows the method of outlining the ‘problem’ of Political Obligation, proceeds to analyse the different ‘answers’ to it, before finally providing what it is assessed to be the best ‘solution’.1 In this book however, I do not want to necessarily characterise Political Obligation as a ‘problem’ which must be ‘solved’. I feel such an approach moves us too quickly to trying to justify the citizen and State relationship without actually trying to understand it first. This book will thus be aimed at considering Political Obligation, less a ‘problem’ to be ‘solved’, and more a ‘situation’ that we need to better understand. Before explaining this shift between the framing of ‘problem’ to that of ‘situation’, and the significance of this, I want to further consider the lack of ‘currency’ Political Obligation has in popular discourse; why it may not share the same position in the public consciousness as its conceptual relatives ‘justice’ and ‘rights’. One reason may be that it is a philosophical concept which denotes not one issue but rather is an umbrella term covering many particular issues that exist in the relationship between citizen and State. This is hinted at by leading experts on the concept: John Horton claims that the term Political Obligation denotes a cluster of problems which lie at the heart of political life (Horton 2010: 1); Knowles echoes this interpretation when referring to Political Obligation as a ‘term of art amongst philosophers’ which is in reality a ‘label’ used to group a cluster of more familiar issues (Knowles 2010: 6). Thus, whilst the umbrella ‘term of art’ Political Obligation may be ‘arcane’ and ‘unknown’, the issues it is concerned with will be familiar to almost everyone; most citizens have never dwelled upon the ‘problem of Political Obligation’, but nearly every citizen will have likely at some time considered questions such as: ‘why must I pay taxes?’; ‘why is my child’s teacher inquiring into our family life?’; ‘who are the government to tell me I cannot smoke cigarettes indoors?’ This may to a degree explain why the term Political Obligation is unfamiliar, and framing it as an ‘umbrella question’ may increase its popular appeal. Nonetheless, I would argue that the term denotes a greater issue than these particular surface questions may suggest. In asking ‘what is the basis of my relationship with political authority’, one is not simply asking why I should obey a particular command the State has given that is currently irritating me; ‘who is the State to tell me where I can smoke?’ On the

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contrary, it is rather inquiring into the foundations of this relationship: it is not necessarily asking why I should obey this law or that one, but rather the deeper more foundational question of ‘do I have any obligation to obey political authority at all?’ It is in the form of such inquiry that Political Obligation thus penetrates deeply into the fundamental arguments, ideas, and narratives which hold our political communities together. The answer as to why the term has not attained popular currency is thus perhaps more likely to be that such deep questions do not occur to most citizens: most citizens do not stop to think ‘why do I listen to the government and obey the law?’ ‘Should I?’ Whilst one may grumble about a ‘smoking ban’ or an inquisitive government employee, this is unlikely to lead to a questioning of one’s fundamental relationship to the State; being unhappy over having to smoke outside is (perhaps) unlikely to lead me to the position of anarchism, and, if it does, I have nonetheless moved from disliking one particular law to challenging the fundamental ideas of my society. Such thinking echoes the claims of the Scottish Philosopher David Hume who maintained citizens obeyed the State, not out of conscious choice, but rather from mechanical habit. Obeying political authority is, for most citizens Hume claimed, so familiar that they inquire no more into it than they do the workings of gravity (Hume 2008: 278). This is indeed something that most scholars of Political Obligation are aware of. Horton, for example, whilst insisting that even the most unpolitical of people ought to recognise the importance of their relationship with the State to their daily existence, admits the vast majority treat most of our relations with political authority in a routine manner to which they give little to no philosophical thought: we pay taxes; we apply for passports; we return census data, all without questioning the underlying principles of why we ought to do so (Horton 2010: 2). Political Obligation is thus ‘unfamiliar’ to the wider public because it is an issue they simply do not give much thought to. When consideration is given to our relationship with political authority, it is usually in response to a crisis in this relationship. Plato’s dialogue Crito, considered to be the first recorded treatise on the relationship between individual subject and political authority, gives prime example of this. In the dialogue, Socrates is prompted to consider the nature of his relationship with the Athenian State after the State passes a sentence of death upon him. When his friend Crito offers him the chance to escape the sentence, Socrates ponders whether he should flee into exile or if he has an obligation to obey the law and accept the sentence, ultimately deciding upon the latter (Plato 2008: 44a). Socrates’ concerns with Political Obligations were thus

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motivated by the immediate existential threat of death. In the light of this, it would thus seem that Political Obligation may only become a ‘problem’ in need of an ‘answer’ to those whose relationship with their polity has entered a state of crisis. Nonetheless, as Horton (2010) and others are apt to point out, Political Obligation is an issue that concerns all citizens as it is this understanding of why we have a duty to heed and obey the State which underpins our communities, informs many of our interactions, and makes possible the way of life we enjoy. Thus, even if we only become aware of the debates concerning this relationship at moments of existential crisis, they are issues which penetrate and inform our more routine everyday life, even if most of us do not give it much thought. It would thus seem unwise to reduce Political Obligation to a ‘problem’ in need of ‘answer’ in response to a ‘crisis’ as it would exclude the great majority of experiences and perspectives regarding our relationship to authority. I subsequently consider Political Obligation to be less a ‘problem’ that needs an ‘answer’, and more of a ‘situation’ in which we all, or at least nearly all of us, find ourselves in. Thus, whilst we may only become acutely aware of this situation at times of crisis, we are nonetheless always in this situation. My concern is henceforth not with finding an argument as to why we ought to obey political authority, but rather with trying to understand this ‘situation’. To clarify this shift in emphasis, I will consider a little more what I mean by ‘situation’. In the continental philosophical tradition, ‘situation’ is often used to denote the epistemic limitation of human knowledge. Hans-Georg Gadamer uses the ‘situation’ as a means to convey that human beings are always located within ‘worldly’ scenarios which they are unable to gain objective knowledge about. The notion is thus essentially used to reject the objectivity claimed by positivist science by denying the possibility of an Archimedean point from which all can be observed in a completely detached and disinterested manner. Instead, a Heideggerian ontology of ‘thrownness’, that we awake to find ourselves amidst an already pre-existing world, is reinforced with the consequence that our epistemic perception of this world is always from ‘within it’ and subsequently ‘shaped by it’ and therefore can never be neutral, detached, disinterested, or ‘objective’. As Gadamer stresses: ‘[T]he very idea of a situation means that we are not standing outside it and hence are unable to have any objective knowledge of it’ (Gadamer 2012: 301). Although the ontological influence here is undoubtably Heideggerian, the inspiration of the concept of ‘situation’ rather comes from the Existentialist Philosopher Karl Jaspers.2 In Way to Wisdom, Jaspers identifies the ‘human state’ as ‘always in situations’.

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Amongst the situations which humans find themselves in, there are, according to Jaspers, certain ones that are fundamental to human existence, situations which Jaspers denotes ‘ultimate situations’. Such situations are ‘ultimate’ because they cannot be changed or escaped. Examples of these include ‘death’ or ‘chance’ (Jaspers 1954: 19–20). Jaspers is here basically describing what he considers to be the foundational characteristic conditions of human existence. Can we understand Political Obligation as such a ‘situation’? Perhaps not. We cannot think of it as logically foundational as say death: if we live, it is logical that we must also die. It does not logically follow that just because we are born we must be born under a political authority, although it is highly likely. Nonetheless, probability aside, it cannot be said being in the world imposes such inescapable inherent logic for our obligations as it does for our mortality. Nor is it, like death, inescapable: we can never win victory over death, at least not whilst we remain human, but we can topple the authority which demands our obedience. Nonetheless, whilst Political Obligation may not be as logically inherent and practically inescapable as Jaspers’ ‘ultimate situations’, we may understand it to be a well-nigh universal condition of human existence. Since recorded history, human beings have lived under political authorities which have expected, and demanded, their allegiance. We all of us today have been born into political communities not of our choosing, the ruling authorities of which will have made expectations upon us and influenced our lives regardless of our personal wishes. Whilst we do (arguably) have the power to challenge and even change these institutions, we nonetheless must all begin from a situation in which a strange authority, whose claimed jurisdiction we happen to find ourselves in, has made claims upon us. Admittedly, this may only become an issue of concern to us if this authority begins making claims over our lives or threatens our existence in some direct existential manner. Political Obligation thus becomes only a ‘problem’ to those whose relationship with this authority has reached such crisis point. To most of us, this condition is just something that is accepted as given rather than being a ‘problem’ to be ‘solved’. Nonetheless, that this ‘situation’ is not a ‘problem’ to the majority of those in it does not deny the fact that they are in and subject to this situation. Therefore, I believe it can be safely said with little controversy that nearly all human beings find themselves in the ‘situation’ of Political Obligation, that is the situation of existing under a political authority which demands our obedience and loyalty and that such a situation is subsequently characteristic of most, if not all, of human existence. It is thus as a near universal ‘situation’ characteristic of much

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of human existence, as opposed to a problem to be solved, that I wish to consider Political Obligation in this book. One may simply see my above account as an attempt to signify my philosophical allegiance to the ‘continental camp’ of philosophers, as opposed to the ‘analytical camp’, who focus more on logical, all be it more abstract, question and answer methods, and from whose traditions the major theorists of Political Obligation draw their perspectives. However, my shift from ‘problem’ to ‘situation’ I would argue goes beyond a shallow attempt of signalling a desire to be associated with a certain label or camp. I would instead suggest it has a far deeper significance of shifting the focus of my subsequent inquiry. As I have stated, framing the issue of Political Obligation as a ‘problem’ logically produces the need of any subsequent inquiry to find an ‘answer’, a ‘justification’ of why one ought to obey the State. In framing one’s inquiry into providing an answer to solve a problem it becomes heavily normative. I do not intend to provide an answer to a question. Instead, in framing the issue as a ‘situation’, I signify my intention as to better understand and interpret this condition that humans find themselves in. I wish to seek to understand how human beings discover themselves in such situations, how they come to understand this power which demands so much of them and how a relationship can be built from this process of discovery. I seek ultimately not to give normative response to a question but rather to give interpretation of a fundamental condition of human existence. This is why the moment of the ‘encounter’ is central to this project. It demarks the moments in which the citizen discovers and learns about this power, and thus through which she will become aware of this ‘situation’ she finds herself in. It is thus the locus from which her relationship with the State will be formed and from which her sense of (or lack of) obligation to this power will be based upon. The encounter is thus the central point for interpretation of this situation of Political Obligation.

1.2

The Modern State

It is likely that, when reading this, you are living under the authority of a modern State. This was not the case for many human beings spread across history, who likely lived under political authorities ranging from direct democracies, to multinational absolute Empires, to theocratic governments whose authority stemmed from some kind of divine ‘revelation’. However, today, nearly all human beings on the planet will live under the authority of some form of ‘State’. Nonetheless, despite the prevalence of

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the State in the world we find ourselves in, it remains one of the most difficult of worldly phenomena to define. The history of political thought is indeed strewn with competing definitions, which, if anything, testify to the difficulty of providing a simple and direct explanation of this institution. This lack of clarity is unfortunate, as, in order to have an informed understanding of one’s relationship with an ‘other’, it is helpful to have a proper understanding of this ‘other’, whether they be a literal person or a political institution. This obtuseness in understanding the nature of the State points to an immediate difficulty in comprehending modern Political Obligation. One of the most popular and widely cited understandings of the State, likely due to its conceptual precision and clarity, is provided by Max Weber. Weber describes the State as a ‘compulsory organisation with a territorial basis’ (Weber 1963: 56). By ‘compulsory’, he denotes it is not ‘optional’ to live under the State’s rule, but rather obedience is expected and enforced upon all those who are born into and dwell within its territory. The State’s power is further understood to be confined to a certain territory, a certain piece of the Earth, over which it has legitimate authority to enforce laws. This legitimate authority, Weber continues, gives the State a ‘monopoly of violence’ in this territory; that is, only the State can legitimately use force or violence in the territory it claims jurisdiction over. As to its particular nature, Weber describes it as an ‘administrative and legal order’ (Weber 1963: 56). Weber thus gives working insight into the nature of the modern State: an abstract administrative and legal order which demands obedience from all those who dwell within the territory it controls and in which only it can rightfully use violence in so far as this is necessary to maintain order and obedience. Some scholars have nonetheless advocated caution in just accepting Weber’s definition. Quentin Skinner has in particular warned that, whilst accepting a Weberian definition can be useful in circumnavigating the great plethora of competing interpretations of ‘State’, it runs the risk of overlooking particular insights into how the State was thought of differently across historical epochs, or indeed how it may be thought of differently in future (Skinner 2009: 326). Nonetheless, it would be a distraction from the purpose of this book to delve into the different historical perspectives of ‘State’, and it is beyond my remit to think of alternative forms of State power. On the contrary, what serves my intentions is to come to the clearest understanding of the State as it exists as to best reflect upon the problems of how we can consider its citizens forming a relationship with it. In the light of this, it is worth noting that, in his seminal two-volume work, The Founda-

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tions of Modern Political Thought, Skinner comes to the conclusion that the form of ‘State’ which emerges in the modern period is largely in line with the Weberian definition (Skinner 2004: 349). When discussing the State, it is thus helpful to understand it as this abstract legal and bureaucratic entity which enjoys a monopoly of violence in the territory which it claims jurisdiction over and expects to be the sole object of its citizens’ sense of Political Obligation. Many scholars, especially those of a liberal individualistic persuasion, focus on Weber’s analysis that the State claims a ‘monopoly of violence’. Knowles, for example, highlights the State’s ability to threaten, fine, imprison, publicly shame and even, in some States, inflict the death penalty upon its citizens. Thus, whilst the State may have many attractive features, focus is given to the ‘nastiness’ of many of its activities (Knowles 2010: 19). Now, this claim to legitimate right to wield such severe and violent means is a crucial point in citizen and State relations, and it is doubtlessly when a State attempts to execute such powers that this relationship becomes ‘problematic’. Nonetheless, when viewing Political Obligation as a ‘situation’, and thus trying to understand and interpret this relationship rather than find justification for it, I find a different point of the Weberian explanation to be problematic. This point is the understanding of the State as an abstract legal and bureaucratic order. Such understanding is problematic as it begs the question of how we can encounter and enter into a relationship with what is essentially and abstract incorporeal institution, more an ‘idea’ than a concrete being. We can imagine meeting and forming a relationship with another human being, or indeed any other living being such as a dog or cat. However, how can we encounter and form a relationship with an abstract and disembodied ‘legal and bureaucratic order’? This problem becomes clearer when we think of the State in relation to the form of political authority it grew out of and replaced: the medieval monarchy. In medieval monarchies, the sovereign power was the King, and, although subjects’ relationships with this person may be mediated by crown officials, at the core of political authority is a living breathing human being. As John of Salisbury remarked in his Policraticus, the person of the King was the ‘public power’ (Salisbury 1990). Let us take the example of the medieval Kingdom of Scotland to illustrate this, a monarchy which was fairly typical of most medieval European Kingdoms (Grant 1984: 147). Political authority in the Kingdom lay with the person of the King, and the law was largely a product of his (or her) judgement and will. The relationship between the subject and the King could be mediated and represented, through royal officers

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such as the Sheriffs for instance, but it was ultimately a relationship between subjects and their monarch: a human being lay at the centre of the political authority to whom subjects owed their obligation to personally. Justification for breaking obligation was subsequently often found in the personal characteristics and behaviour of the particular king; the Scottish people will one day be grateful for having been freed from so ‘ crewell a tyrant’ with a great ‘covetous’ nature claimed James I’s assassin, Sir Robert Graham, in his last words before execution (Shirley cited Connolly 1992: 6). Of course, modern political relations are still frequently couched in personalised terms. To give trite example, when a Welsh citizen was asked why he voted to leave the European Union, considering the organisation gives so much funding to Wales, he replied that his vote gave David Cameron, the then British Prime Minister, a ‘good kicking’.3 Evidently here our Welshman is referring to politics in deeply personal terms, his dislike and protest against Prime Minister Cameron, rather than considering his more complex relationship with institutions like the British State and the European Union. Such couching of complex political terms is of course a powerful line of thought, and one that certainly should not be trivialised or overlooked. Nonetheless, it is incorrect to think that we owe our obligations to personal relations: British citizens did not owe their obligations to the individual David Cameron, but rather to the British State. What is true for Britain is as true for nearly all other States: the American people do not owe obligations directly to Donald Trump, the Germans to Angela Merkle, or the Chinese to Xi Jinping, but rather to the US, German, and Chinese States respectively. Thus, although we may find it easier to express political views and orientations on the basis of personalities, the issue remains that, in the modern State, our Political Obligations lie not with any particular human being but rather with an abstract and disembodied legal order. The problem of how we relate to such an abstract disembodied ‘other’ remains. A strategy which has long been used as a solution to this problem has been to treat the State as if it was an individual human being. This was the preferred strategy of Hobbes who, in Leviathan, famously described the ‘Commonwealth’ or ‘State’ as ‘but an artificial man’ (Hobbes 2008: 7). Such personification was reinforced by the now equally famous image which adorned Leviathan: a giant artificial man, made from an amalgamation of people, wielding a great sword and sceptre over the land (Hobbes 2008). In a more recent example, this personification of the State is a method Knowles regards as essential for giving argument concerning Political Obligation. This is in particular necessary for Knowles’ ‘Good Reason Thesis’ which

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he encapsulates in the ‘template’: ‘the State proposes, the citizen disposes’; the State presents an argument to the citizen in regard to her obligations towards it, the citizen then considers whether to accept this argument or not (Knowles 2010: 50). Such a dialectic exchange, Knowles claims, is only possible if we can imagine the State as a persona capable of advancing an argument to its citizens as to their obligations; the State must be imagined as a being capable of holding debate with its citizens and of articulating good reasons for their compliance with its laws (Knowles 2010: 18). Knowles is of course aware this is a dramatised fiction and indeed cites its conceptual ancestor to be Plato’s Crito, in which a dialectic between State and citizen is presented with Socrates personifying the position of the State. Nonetheless, despite this fictional basis, Knowles maintains it is a necessary means of forming an argument as to why a citizen does have obligations to her polity (Knowles 2010: 50). Despite the fictional devices of Political Philosophy, the State cannot truly be regarded as a ‘person’. I mean this in the sense that the State can never manifest itself entirely before us to provide an eloquent answer as to why we should obey its laws; we can never listen to the State give a presentation or sit down and discuss over a beer why we should feel obliged towards it. As a characteristically disembodied legal entity, such interaction is impossible. Indeed, whilst such arguments are regularly given by Political Philosophers, it is unlikely we have ever heard from the State one coherent argument as to why we as citizens should obey it. On the contrary, our understanding of the State is diffused through an abundant manifestations of its authority and the messages inherent within these: our education at school; national flags; national monuments; experiences with the police; experience with social work; the fire brigade putting out fires in neighbourhoods and rescuing people from overturned cars; passport controls in the airport (indeed the very passport itself, containing, as most do, a declaration from the Head of State); the sign commanding me not to smoke in public buildings; legislation preventing me from purchasing alcohol after ten o’clock; letters from her Majesty’s Revenues and Customs; council employees gritting the road before an icy winter’s night, to just name but a few encounters in which the State’s authority is diffused in the United Kingdom. It is thus not through coherent presented argument that we receive the State’s message of obligation but rather we grasp both an understanding of the State and the reasons for obeying it from a constructed perception of its authority and legitimacy that we assemble from a multitude of encounters with its manifestations throughout our lives. It is thus these

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encounters through which citizens truly grasp the nature of the polity they live under and come to understand and assess their relations towards it. The fiction of a personified State may be very useful in addressing the ‘problem’ of Political Obligation; it is useful in constructing an answer to the question of why we should obey State authority. It is not, however, so useful in comprehending the ‘situation’ of Political Obligation; of understanding how citizens actually come to perceive the State and their relationship with it. In order to properly comprehend this ‘situation’, we need to rather consider the multitude of encounters which represent and diffuse the idea of State legitimacy to citizens throughout their lives. It is to turn to these encounters, to highlight their significance to State and citizen relations and construct a means of interpreting them, that this book is dedicated. Its primary goal is to advance a hermeneutic approach to interpreting how the State presents its argument of Political Obligation through the encounters citizens may have with it and how a relationship between State and citizen are built from such encounters.

1.3

Hermeneutics

It is customary in one’s introduction to outline the methodological approach which will be adopted in one’s book. Given my work’s subtitle, a ‘hermeneutic investigation into the situation of Political Obligation’, one would likely expect here a discussion of the hermeneutic ‘method’. There is however a slight difficulty here. This difficulty arises from the question of whether hermeneutics can really be described as a ‘method’. Gadamer, undoubtably the most influential pioneer of philosophical hermeneutics, denies understanding the term as a ‘methodology’, instead describing it, slightly opaquely, as a ‘theory of the real experience that thinking is’ (Gadamer 2012: xxxiii). Ilan Zvi Baron, in his recent efforts to advance an understanding of Post-truth inspired by hermeneutic phenomenology, has further highlighted difficulties in understanding the term hermeneutics in modern political studies. In particular, he argues that it has become common for qualitative research to ‘throw around’ philosophical language such as ‘ontology’, ‘phenomenology’ and, significantly, ‘hermeneutics’, in order to develop a lexicon and sense of gravitas capable of rivalling the intimidating jargon touted by quantitative positivist methodology (Baron 2018: 65). In a hypothetical example of such ‘bandying’ of the terminology, a work which offers ‘interpretation’ of a discourse describes itself as ‘hermeneutic’ in order to add a sense of stature, without actually considering the philo-

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sophical nuances and implications a hermeneutic inquiry necessarily entails. In order to avoid such unfair appropriation of the hermeneutic concept, and to pay my dues to Gadamer’s original thinking, it is thus apt that I consider here what is meant by ‘hermeneutic’ in this study. Rather than outline a methodology in this section, I instead propose a reflection on what I understand, and intend to denote, by a ‘hermeneutic inquiry’. Gadamer draws much of his inspiration for his philosophical hermeneutics from the thought of the ‘early Heidegger’. In Being and Time, Martin Heidegger understood hermeneutics to be the means of interpreting the world as it appears before us, as the world of ‘phenomena’: it is an ‘analytic of the existentiality of existence’ (Heidegger 2008: 62). Key to this is Heidegger’s ontological basis of ‘world’, the idea that we interpret and experience the world from a position ‘within it’, and consequently perceive and interpret it as it ‘appears’ to us, as opposed to observing it objectively from an external vantage point or through inquiry into essences. This resembles the notion of ‘situation’ earlier highlighted from Jaspers and, indeed, Gadamer draws from both existentialist thinkers when formulating his means of inquiry. In the study of history for example, Gadamer maintains it is impossible to gain a completely objective view of the past as we stand within traditions that have been produced by it; we are within a situation created by past history, and thus, we cannot gain an objective viewpoint ‘outside’ of historical continuum. Rather than attempt to escape this position and gain external vantage point, instead the inquirer must become aware of his particular situation and be prepared to examine history from ‘within it’ (Gadamer 2012: 301). This makes inquiry into human existence fundamentally different from the inquiry of natural sciences or mathematics for, whereas such subjects can be observed with a degree of objectivity and, certainly in the respect of mathematics, their content appear as self-evident truths, the study of human affairs involves both a realisation of the situation one is posited in and an interpretation of content as it appears to us within this situation. To switch to our study of politics, we must therefore understand that there are no objective means to study the political world and must instead consider political phenomena as they ‘appear’ to us from within the political situation one occupies. This interpretation of how a subject appears to one in a particular situation, a particular position ‘within the world’, forms the basic ontological premise of hermeneutic inquiry. As the contents of the human world cannot appear to us in clear and self-evident fashion, so understanding the world involves a constant act of

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interpreting such phenomena as they appear to us. This means of interpretation is often referred to as the ‘hermeneutic circle’. To explain, Gadamer claims that, to understand something, we must be willing to allow for it to ‘tell us something’ (Gadamer 2012: 271). If I want to read and interpret a book, for example, I will not understand it properly by simply reading into it what I want it to tell me. However, this does not mean that I must completely ignore my own perception and expectations. It does not, and should not, require complete ‘neutrality’ or the ‘extinction of one’s self’, I should not seek an objective Archimedean point as is desired by scientific positivists (Gadamer 2012: 271). This is first because such ‘extinction of self’ is impossible: I always exist within a situation within the world and will always encounter and interpret phenomena as they appear to me in this position. To try and gain a completely objective position ‘outside the world’ is an impossible endeavour. Secondly, an ‘extinction of self’ would also cause an ‘extinction of understanding’. This is because, in order for me to understand a text, for example, it requires that I have a preunderstanding of the subject it discusses. If I wanted to read a book about Margaret Thatcher, I would need to have some understanding of the politics of the British Isles. Without this fore-understanding, the book would be completely unintelligible to me. The hermeneutic circle in this sense invokes the idea that a common understanding must exist between the interpreter and the communicator if interpretation is to be successfully achieved (Baron 2018: 69). Thus, Gadamer requires that we be prepared to receive what another has to tell us, but this does not require us to forget our own selves and perceptions. Rather we must be aware—we must ‘foreground’—our own understanding and then be prepared to receive information from this new and ‘other’ source. One must be prepared to receive whatever the book wishes to tell me about the former prime minister, and not simply read into it my prior belief that she was ‘a great leader’ or an ‘unfair leader’. Importantly, this preparation to be open does not require that I forget my prior beliefs, as it is precisely such understanding which makes the book intelligible to me at all. Hermeneutic interpretation thus involves an awareness of the common world of understanding that exists between myself and the other, and a willingness to receive and consider knowledge gained from this other within our common situation. The hermeneutic circle develops out of a circular movement between myself and the object being encountered: my preconceptions allowed me to understand the object being studied, and the new information I receive increases my understanding of the world I inhabit, which again allows greater appreciation of the object’s significance.

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My preconceptions about British Politics allows me to understand the book on Thatcher, and the new knowledge from the book in turn broadens my understanding of British politics, which again furthers my appreciation for the contents of the book, and so on. The hermeneutic circle thus represents a gradual expansion of our perception of the world we find ourselves in as objects we encounter in it increase our understanding of this world, which in turn allows us to better interpret and understand of what we encounter: it is a continual circular movement of interpretation between particular object encountered and more universal appreciation of existence which gradually expands my perception and knowledge of the world I find myself in. Significant then in this process of understanding is the moment of ‘encounter’: the moment in which the external other, be it person or object, is encountered and the knowledge which is gained from such an experience. In conceptualising this experience of ‘encounter’, Gadamer invokes the German term ‘Erlebnis’. The term ‘Erlebnis’ is a synthesis of the verb ‘erleben’ and the noun ‘das Erlebte’. ‘Erleben’ describes a lived experience, it is to be ‘alive when something happened’; it describes the activity of experiencing something immediately and directly. ‘Das Erlebte’, the noun, denotes the permanent content of what is experienced. It is the knowledge, insight, or understanding which remains with the subject following the encounter, and thus transcends the immediacy of the direct experience. It is, as Gadamer describes it, the ‘yield’ of knowledge gained from an immediate encounter. Thus, we may understand ‘Erlebnis’ to be a special experience, or ‘encounter’, which bestows upon the subject knowledge which makes an impression and remains after the immediacy of the experience has passed. As it is such knowledge which will expand the subject’s perception of her world, thus allowing for deeper understanding of the phenomena surrounding her, this encounter is a pivotal part of hermeneutic understanding (Gadamer 2012: 53). As Gadamer insisted, key to this process is that we are prepared for what is encountered to ‘tell us something’ (Gadamer 2012: 271). This implies that significant encounters are with phenomenon in which there is something its creator wanted ‘to tell’. This is evident with Gadamer’s primary concern in Truth and Method textual interpretation, as it can be assumed when someone writes something down their desire is to communicate it to the reader. This is also true of Gadamer’s other great interpretative concern: aesthetics. Gadamer maintains that there is something in artwork that the creator wishes to ‘tell us’. In religious artwork, to use Gadamer’s example,

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the artist wishes to convey to his audience a religious experience. It is this sense of religious experience therefore, if we are open to it, which makes an impact on us as observers and will remain with us when the immediacy of looking at the painting has passed (Gadamer, xxviii). My interests here are not, however, explicitly in regard to textual interpretation or aesthetics, but rather with ‘the political’. I am thus primarily concerned with ‘political encounters’, those phenomena which wish to convey to those who encounter it a ‘political message’. Imagining phenomenon with political intent is not that hard to envision. Immediately what will come to mind is propaganda, arguably a form of artwork itself, which evidently seeks to communicate to those who observe and experience it a ‘political message’. Indeed, at time of writing I am located in China and it is impossible to walk from my living quarters to the University without encountering an array of government-sponsored posters displaying the ‘core values of socialism’. There is no doubt that such posters have been designed to communicate something to the inhabitants of the University, and, when encountering these messages, they leave a lasting impression which deepens my understanding of the current political climate I am living in. My walk to work every morning thus undoubtably involves significant ‘political encounters’. I am, however, interested in a particular message being communicated: a message of Political Obligation. I am interested in how arguments, ideas, and narratives of why citizens should see the State as legitimate and why they ought to feel obliged to it are communicated in encounters. It is on this issue that the relationship between the hermeneutic approach and the issue of the ‘situation’ of Political Obligation becomes clear. I want to understand how, from ‘inside’ the situation of Political Obligation, that is, from a position within the territory of particular State which claims legitimacy over those who live there, the message of Political Obligation that is communicated to citizens. I wish to uncover the messages of Political Obligation which is communicated through the phenomena which can be encountered within this polity. This approach is therefore hermeneutic in that it focuses on that key moment of ‘encounter’, and of interpreting, or rather, of revealing the message of Political Obligation which is communicated and understanding how a relationship between citizen and State is built from such interactions. It is, bluntly, ‘hermeneutic’ in the sense it takes the key hermeneutic moment of the encounter as its central point of analysis: it uses the encounter as a focal point of analysis for uncovering the message of obligation as is transmitted and received in a political community.

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1.4

Plan of This Book

This introduction has hopefully outlined the fundamental intentions of this book. I wish to investigate the means of understanding the ‘situation of Political Obligation’. I desire to outline a means of interpreting how citizens become aware of their situation vis-à-vis the State, and how, from this conscious awareness, they form a relationship with this important institution. I have further declared this inquiry to be hermeneutical. In this, I have particularly denoted the importance of the encounter: the moment in which the citizen comes face to face with manifestation of the State whose territory she inhabits. I wish to interpret from this what knowledge of the State is presented in these experiences, and, more particularly, uncover the ideas, narratives, and arguments which are conveyed to citizens in regard to their obligations. How citizens react to such narratives will ultimately shape and define their relationships with political authority. In order to proceed with this inquiry, the book can be interpreted as being split into two parts. The first part will consider previous approaches to the issue of Political Obligation. However, rather than focusing on different ’theories of obligation’, it will focus on different paradigmatic approaches which underpin their arguments. This will be done to reveal the central assumptions behind these predominate approaches, assumptions which make these paradigms more normative arguments ‘for’ or ‘against’ Political Obligation, as opposed to attempts to understand the ‘situation’ of the citizen who finds herself placed within an expected obligatory relationship with a particular State. A common limitation of these approaches highlighted will thus be that they overlook the perceptions and experiences of actual citizens existing within actual political communities, preference instead being given to the ‘assumptions’ necessary for their normative argument. I will examine three major paradigmatic approaches to Political Obligation: the ‘Rational Approach’; the ‘Context-based Approach’; and the ‘Critical Approach’, in Chapters 2, 3, and 4, respectively. In each chapter, I will outline this approach and give examples whilst discussing their strengths and weaknesses, before finally concluding with a consideration of how we might encounter such an approach in actual political communities. This focus on encounter will demonstrate how the approach designed in this book can help us consider how such arguments can be found, not just in the works of philosophers, but rather utilised and propagated in actual political communities. This will give insight into how such

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narratives and ideas are produced and received in concrete ‘situations’ of Political Obligation as opposed to simply removed ‘answers’ to a ‘problem’. In the second part of this book I will begin to construct the approach to Political Obligation ‘through the encounter’ more clearly. Chapter 5 will first properly introduce the concept of the ‘encounter’ in relation to the development of the human self. It will thus consider how the encounter forms a central part of the subject’s discovery of the world, and how the knowledge gained in such experiences shapes her understanding of both her ‘self’ and the world around her. Chapter 6 will then consider how, from this knowledge gained in encounters, the subject may form relations with others who share this world. This will first be considered through the analogy of ‘friends’ and ‘enemies’ in particular reference to other human beings, before finally being used to consider the relationship between citizen and State. A proper outline of the proposed approach through the encounter will be presented at the end of this chapter. Chapter 7 will finally consider the limitations and potential criticisms of this hermeneutic approach. Concerned with hermeneutic inquiry into how Political Obligation is perceived, and not how it can be justified, a limitation of my approach, it could be argued, is its lack of a normative framework with which to asses and judge the moral or factual worth of the arguments, ideas, and narratives which may be uncovered. This could result in a central criticism that this approach could make subjective perception the primary criterion upon which Political Obligation is legitimised, an accusation which could result in this approach being labelled a ‘Posttruth theory’. To mitigate this limitation and potential criticism, it may subsequently be argued that the approach through the encounter must be accompanied with an external moral and epistemic framework if it is to overcome such limitations and potential criticisms. In Chapter 7, I will thus consider these arguments in the light of the ‘Post-truth’ phenomenon my approach could be negatively associated with. I will both refute the claim my approach seeks to assert subjectivity as the standard upon which Political Obligation ought to be judged and the argument that the approach through the encounter must be accompanied by an external moral and epistemic framework. Instead, I will seek to suggest and sketch how normative assessment can be derived from the logic of the situation of Political Obligation itself.

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Notes 1. See, for example, some of the most significant investigations of the subject in the last decade: Magda Egoumenides’ Philosophical Anarchism and Political Obligation (2014); John Horton’s Political Obligation (2010); and Dudley Knowles’ Political Obligation: A Critical Introduction (2010). 2. Gadamer indeed acknowledges so in the notes to Truth and Method (Gadamer 2012: 376). 3. Interview Reported in The Guardian, Cadwalladr C. (2016), ‘View from Wales: Town Showered with EU Cash Votes to Leave EU’.

References Baron, I. (2018). How to Save Politics in a Post-truth Era. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Cadwalladr, C. (2016). View from Wales: Town Showered with EU Cash Votes to Leave EU. The Guardian. Available at https://www.theguardian.com/uknews/2016/jun/25/view-wales-town-showered-eu-cash-votes-leave-ebbwvale. Last Accessed 20 October 2018, 14.00. Carroll, R., & Prickett, S. (Eds.). (2008). The Holy Bible, Authorised King James Version with Apocrypha. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Connolly, C. (1992). The Dethe of the Kynge of Scotis: A New Edition. The Scottish Historical Review, 71(191/192) Parts 1 & 2, 46–69. Egoumenides, M. (2014). Philosophical Anarchism and Political Obligation. London: Bloomsbury. Gadamer, H. (2012). Truth and Method (J. Weinsheimer & D. G. Marshall, Eds.). London: Continuum International Publishing Group. Grant, A. (1984). Independence and Nationhood: Scotland 1306–1469. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Green, T. H. (1986). Lectures on the Principles of Political Obligation. In P. Harris & J. Morrow (Eds.), T.H. Green: Lectures on the Principles of Political Obligation and Other Writings. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Heidegger, M. (2008). Being and Time (T. Carman, Ed.). New York: Harper Perennial. Hobbes, T. (2008). Leviathan (J. C. A. Gaskin, Ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Horton, J. (2010). Political Obligation. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Hume, D. (2008). Selected Essays (S. Copley & A. Edgar, Eds.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Jaspers, K. (1954). Way to Wisdom: An Introduction to Philosophy (R. Manheim, Ed.). London: Yale University Press.

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John of Salisbury. (1990). Policraticus (C. Nederman, Ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Knowles, D. (2010). Political Obligation: A Critical Introduction. Abingdon: Routledge. Plato. (2008). Crito. In D. Gallop (Ed.), Defence of Socrates, Euthyphro, Crito. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Schmitt, C. (2007). The Concept of the Political (G. Schwab, Trans.). London: University of Chicago Press. Skinner, Q. (2004). The Foundations of Modern Political Thought, Volume Two: The Age of Reformation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Skinner, Q. (2009). A Genealogy of the Modern State. In Proceedings of the British Academy (162) (pp. 327–370). Taylor, C. (2003). The Ethics of Authenticity. London: Harvard University Press. Weber, M. (1963). Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology, Volume One (G. Roth & C. Wittich, Eds.). London: University of California Press.

CHAPTER 2

The ‘Rational Individual’: Rational Paradigms of Obligation

When writing about Political Obligation, it is a common practice for scholars to begin by outlining the key theories discussing the subject, before weighing their respective strengths and weaknesses. Such theories normally include, but are not limited to, Voluntarist Theories, Teleological Theories, Utilitarian Theories, and Deontological Theories (Egoumenides 2014; Horton 2010; Knowles 2010). I wish here to take a slightly different approach. Rather than discuss different overlapping theories of obligation, I wish to identify a more general assumption shared between such philosophies and the broader approach to the issue of Political Obligation which results from this. This assumption is that the individual citizen is chiefly a ‘rational actor’ and is motivated primarily by her reason. This subsequently informs an approach which views rationality as the paradigm by which Political Obligation must be understood and conceptualised. I shall call this approach the ‘Rational Approach’ and will be the subject of discussion for the following chapter. Such broad meta-level analysis will undoubtably invite criticism. It could be argued that, in focusing on broadly shared meta-assumptions rather than the nuanced detail of each theory, I am draining some of the profundity and richness of thought from a great variety of philosophers and risk the danger of setting them up as proverbial ‘straw men’. Such a criticism has merit, and the inability to give each philosopher discussed the deep analysis they deserve is perhaps a limitation of my chosen approach. Nonetheless,

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the intention here is not to give thorough explanation of the ideas of each theorist discussed, nor is to give a detailed history of rationalism in politics. Rather, what I intend to achieve is the identification of the underlying assumption of the predominant approach to citizen–State relations, and the benefits and limitations which result from such an assumption. The clear benefit of this is that I will be able to illustrate a fundamentally important argument about politics precisely without getting bogged down in the more nuanced differences and debates between authors.

2.1

Rationalism and Political Obligation

The rise of a ‘rationalistic’ approach to politics is often considered to coincide with the ‘birth’ of ‘modern politics’. It is also frequently identified with the thought of Niccolò Machiavelli, often described as the ‘first modern political theorist’ (Strauss 1988). This association between Machiavelli and ‘rationalism’ is usually attributed to his rejection of Christian ethics; his ontological premise of the self-interested individual; his basing of morality in utilitarian calculation; and the affinity identified between his approach to politics and what would later come to be understood as ‘scientific method’ (MacIntyre 2002; Oakeshott 1967; Strauss 1988). This understanding has been crystallised in the view that his masterpiece, The Prince, constitutes a technical guidebook for politics: a ‘crib’ for would-be politicians (Oakeshott 1967: 25). Such assessment contains a great deal of truth. Nonetheless, I believe it would be incorrect to extend this interpretation to seeing Machiavelli as the initiator of the Rational Approach to Political Obligation. Whilst Machiavelli may have based his thought on the assumption of a utility-motivated subject, he did not seek to establish rationality as the central paradigm by which Political Obligation was understood. In The Prince, there is no suggestion that the relationship between the ruler and his subjects ought to be grounded on a clear rational understanding. On the contrary, Machiavelli insists that a ruler should focus more on ‘appearances’ than on ‘truth’ and subsequently advises that lies and deceit are often necessary means to ensure citizens remain loyal to political authority (Machiavelli 2009: 69–71). Such argument is complemented by Machiavelli’s discussion of the founding of the Roman Republic in his Discourses on Livy. Praise here is particularly given to Rome’s Second King, Numa Pompilius, whom Machiavelli deems the most important of Rome’s early founders due to his establishment of religious laws and practices. Numa’s Religious practices gave the perception

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that Rome’s laws were divine in origin; breaking them would subsequently be tantamount, not just to defying civil laws, but to angering the gods. Machiavelli openly acknowledges that there was no truth behind these claims to divinity; such claims were an elaborate hoax. Nonetheless, what is important is not the truth but rather the perception Rome’s laws were divinely ordained as it made subjects less likely to break or challenge them (Machiavelli 2008). There is perhaps no clearer example that, for Machiavelli, Political Obligation can be based on religious superstition, not truth, clarity, nor rationality. Machiavelli’s understanding of religious custom and tradition as the cornerstone of Political Obligation was far from innovative: his argument rather recovers the wisdom of many classical thinkers. We might observe such notable classical historians, philosophers, and political theorists such as Polybius (2010), Marcus Tullius Cicero (2008), Titus Livy (2008) and Plutarch (1906), all regarded Numa’s religious Laws as the foundation of Roman unity, stability, and success. Polybius in particular argued that ‘superstition’ is ‘precisely’ what gave the Roman State its cohesion (Polybius 2010: 411). Furthermore, despite a clear lack of truth in their divine origins, Machiavelli is not alone amongst his contemporaries in drawing inspiration from Roman Religion, and Numa in particular, when discussing ideas of Political Obligation. George Buchannan draws from such classical thinking when articulating what he believed ought to be the proper relationship between the Scottish Monarch and his (or her) subjects, invoking the example of Numa (Buchanan 2006: 86). Indeed, even amongst philosophers who advocated a greater importance for reason in human affairs, philosophers such as Francis Bacon (1985) and Hugo Grotius (2005), custom and tradition maintain a central importance in orientating subjects regarding their obligations and duties towards political authority. Grotius in particular derives his understanding of rational Natural Law from an interpretation of different religious practices, cultures, and traditions; the laws and traditions of Numa notably included (Grotius 2005: 1033, 1138, 1504). The assertion of reason as the central paradigm by which we should understand relations between subject and State rather emerges forcefully through the thought of Thomas Hobbes. Hobbes’ pioneering efforts are most clearly revealed in Leviathan Chapter XII. Here, Hobbes takes issue with the religious and customary paradigm of thinking which, as we have seen, previously served as the foundational understanding of political ideas. Hobbes argues that religious belief is a highly unsuitable basis for Political Obligation. He maintains that, as it is based on stories whose authenticity

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are doubtful, any sense of obligation founded on them will be undermined as soon as these fables are proven to be false. Furthermore, he insists such political notions are also ripe for abuse. Those who are believed to be authorities on these legends, such as priests, are given incredible amount of power as interpreters and conveyers of their morality lessons. Such a position opens the possibility of priests abusing their power as a means to get people to follow their commands, even to the extent of disobeying the political authority if the religious authority demands it. This potential for abuse indicated a huge flaw in the traditional religious understanding of Political Obligation, a flaw so great it threatened the stability of the polity (Hobbes 2008). Hobbes’ argument has to be regarded in the context of the English Civil War. In Behemoth, Hobbes’ own account of the war, he makes clear how the abuse of religion and custom was a major cause of the rebellion against the Crown (Hobbes 1990). Nonetheless, the more universal nature of Hobbes’ attack on the religious and customary foundations of politics is evident from his attack, not just on the Catholic and Presbyterian religions, but on the Islamic Faith, Roman Civic Religion, and the traditional beliefs of South America, signified in his dismissive treatment of Mohamed, Numa, and the King of Peru respectively. Hobbes’ rapid dismissal of Numa, a legislator praised by the ancients as well as by near contemporaries such as Machiavelli, Buchanan and Grotius, testifies to Hobbes’ quick and absolute rejection of this formally dominant way of thinking (Hobbes 2008: 77). Rather than deceive subjects into a sense of obligation by means of religious superstition, Hobbes believed they should be educated in the proper principles of politics and justice. Such education and awareness, he declared, would make them ‘much more fitted than they are to civil obedience’ (Hobbes 2008: 15). This was to be achieved through the instruction of reason. Such rational education Hobbes advised ought to be directed by the schools and Universities, once they had of course been purged of the religious influence which currently plagued them (Hobbes 1990: 71; 2008: 15). Hobbes actually recommended his own Leviathan as the textbook which would enlighten citizens as to their political duties (Hobbes 2008: 474). Thus, we may understand Leviathan itself as designed to convey a clear and rational account of Political Obligation. The conclusion that Hobbes intended his Leviathan to direct citizens towards was that they should always obey the commands of political authority, for, if they did not, they risked civil war, which was always the worst of possibilities. This is what Hobbes hypothesised would be the conclusions of an abstract

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rational actor: an ahistorical being who had been removed from all the confusing influences of religion and custom. If citizens put themselves in this rational individual’s position, thus liberating them likewise from the unnecessary confusion of religion, culture, and custom, they would come to the same conclusion.1 Nonetheless, what is important here is less Hobbes’ particular conclusions about the extent of the citizens’ obligation to the sovereign, but rather his pioneering of a purely rational articulation of the argument. Hobbes is often seen, alongside Machiavelli, as one of the two central figures who pioneered ‘Modern Political Philosophy’. This is in no small part due to the fact they both position the calculating self-interested individual at the heart of political ontology (Strauss 1988: 45–46; MacIntyre 2002: 125). The main difference between these two thinkers being, according to Leo Strauss, that Machiavelli portrayed a rational calculating prince whilst Hobbes depicted the rational calculating subject. Strauss claims the effect of switching from discussing ‘rational calculating ruler’ to ‘rational calculating citizen body’ has the effect of making Machiavelli’s ‘revolting’ account of politics more ‘innocent’ and ‘palatable’, and hence more widely acceptable; Hobbes becomes the ‘Sherlock Hommes’ to Machiavelli’s ‘Professor Moriarty’ (Strauss 1988: 48). Nonetheless, I would stress this shift in focus has a much more profound effect than mere appearances and palatability. Machiavelli, in only seeking to give rational advice to rulers, does not interfere with the traditional position of religion and custom at the core of subject and State relations.2 The Discourses henceforth unashamedly revives the classical Roman understanding of Political Obligation built on religious superstition, and The Prince openly encourages rulers to deceive their subjects. Hobbes, by contrast, as a result of his desire to provide citizens with a clear and rational understanding of their political duties, transforms the conventional understanding of Political Obligation by placing reason firmly at the centre of political relations, in the process usurping the classical position of religion, custom, and tradition as the central bond between subjects and political authority. It is thus Hobbes who truly pioneers a Rational Approach to Political Obligation. Following from Hobbes, we can observe rationality firmly taking root as the central paradigm through which Political Obligation is understood in much of Political Philosophy. Two consequences emerge from this. Firstly, his ‘rational individual’, although taking many guises, becomes a recurring character in the articulation of citizen obligations. Secondly, the Rational Approach continually seeks to justify itself vis-à-vis the more traditional

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customary approach it usurped as the central paradigm through which our duties should be understood; the evident superiority of rationality is continually stressed; and the more customary basis of politics ridiculed. The second consequence will be of particular concern when we later consider the limitations of the Rational Approach. For now, let us instead observe the prevalence of a rational-based understanding of Political Obligation at the centre of predominant theories of Political Obligation and the recurring appearance of the ‘rational individual’ in Political Philosophy. Both the above consequences of Hobbes’ pioneering effort are evident in the thought of John Locke. We will return to Locke’s defence of rationality, and subsequent ridicule of custom and tradition, later, as promised. Let us first however consider the dominant position of reason in Locke’s theory of obligation and the central role of the ‘rational individual’ in his thought. In Locke’s Two Treatises on Government, we may observe the central role played by the ‘rational individual’. The characteristics of this ‘rational individual’ do change between Locke and Hobbes’ accounts; power of reasoning has, in particular, greatly increased, and thus, the prepolitical state he inhabits is more peaceful than in Hobbes’ brutal account (Locke 1998: Book II, Chapter II). This increased rational capacity and pre-political stability further results in Locke’s State being much more limited than Hobbes’; by the virtue that more rational beings living in a more stable pre-political condition, they are perceived as more capable of organising their affairs before the State’s creation. Locke’s State thus becomes an arbitrating ‘umpire’ rather than Hobbes’ ‘mortal god’ (Locke 1998: 324). Nevertheless, such differences distract from the significant similarity: reason for Locke, just as for Hobbes, forms the central paradigm through which Political Obligations are understood. This is evident in the central role the choices of the ‘rational individual’ play in Locke’s thought. Yet, the central function reason takes in Locke’s argument is perhaps no more clearly revealed than when, in response to would be critics, Locke contends reason is ‘plain on our side’ (Locke 1998: 336). Such a claim clearly betrays that, for Locke, reason is the criterion by which arguments regarding citizen obligations ought to be surrender for judgement. In the ‘Essays on the Law of Nature’, Locke further emphasises the importance of reason in guiding human action: ‘right reason’ is what allows human beings to understand what is ‘good’ and ‘just’ and the ability to be directed by reason is seen as fundamental for anyone who ‘considers himself a human being’ (Locke 1997: 82).

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Attempts to ground political understanding solely on reason are also at the centre of most deontological theories. This is particular evident in the deontological thought of Immanuel Kant. Kant can in particular be seen to advance his purely rational understanding of obligations as a replacement for those grounded in contextual issues such as history and culture, thus following on from that second consequence I identified in Hobbes’ thought. In Metaphysics of Morals, Kant (2010) attempts to achieve this objective by establishing a priori moral imperatives which can regulate human behaviour across time and space. The crucial quality which allows such imperatives to transcend time and space is that they are based on reason and thus can be understood and accepted by all rational beings regardless of differences between cultures. Admittedly, Kant’s theory in the Metaphysics is more concerned with morality than strictly politics. Nonetheless, the political implications of Kant’s thought are revealed in his hypothetical community the ‘Kingdom of Ends’. This ‘Kingdom’ is described as a community of rational beings whose laws and regulations are directed by an objective rational law they all participate in the legislation of. Thus obligations, political and moral, are constructed around the hypothetical decisions made by individual ‘rational actors’ (Kant 2010: 41). Whilst Kant is primarily concerned with morals, politics is of a more central concern in the deontological thought of John Rawls, especially in his seminal work a Theory of Justice. Rawls (1999) argues that a society’s principles of justice ought to be constructed from what he calls the ‘Original Position’. This ‘Original Position’ constitutes a location where a subject’s particular qualities, such as race, culture, or gender, are hidden from her. Subsequently, when constructing the rules for the society she will come to inhabit, she only has her rationality to guide her. The subject of Rawls’ theory is thus, to all intents and purposes, our ‘rational individual’, familiar to us from the work of Hobbes and Locke, only now not making choices in a pre-political ‘State of Nature’ but rather from an abstracted position outside space-time continuum. Again, the important issue is that she only has her reason to guide her decision-making, and subsequently the political rules she establishes are the product of rational choice. Such ‘Social Contract’ and deontological theories may represent the Rational Approach in its purest form, with the hypothesised individual completely abstracted from historical, cultural, or social influences and left with only reason as a guide. Yet the primacy of reason in decision-making and a hostility to culture and tradition are not unique to Political Philosophies which develop such elaborate thought experiments as their premises.

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Utilitarianism, for example, is a philosophy which shares this hostility towards cultural and historical factors regarding political affairs and maintains, once again, that their place should be taken by reason. Such a belief is particularly evident in the thought of Jeremy Bentham. Bentham was highly enthusiastic about the advance of ‘reason’, believing in particular that a ‘rational revolution’ ought to occur within Britain’s legal system. Archaic legal practices, such as the wearing of wigs and robes and old-fashioned court language, needed to be abolished and replaced with a clearer, more rational, presentation and articulation of legal proceedings. This more rational basis was to be found in the principles of Bentham’s own theoretical system of utilitarianism (Bentham 2005, 2007). Bentham’s belief in rational legal reform persists in the thought of twentieth-century utilitarians. H. L. A Hart advocates that many of the archaic practices of the British legal system need to be reformed upon more rational principles. In particular Hart attacks the traditional dress and language of the court which make it appear like a ‘half-intimidating and half-comic historical pantomime’. Such practice evokes an ‘undeserved’ and ‘irrational’ respect for political authority which, Hart argues, ought to be replaced by a fairer, clearer, and more rational paradigm of understanding (Hart 1973: 12–13). John Stuart Mill similarly saw reason as the core guiding directive in citizen relations with the State: all citizens ought to develop the ability to think rationally and ‘intelligently’ for themselves, Mill argued, and not follow custom and tradition mechanically (Mill 2008: 66). In On Liberty, Mill established his principle which he believed ought guide relations between citizens and States. Known as the ‘Harm Principle’, this standard maintained an individual should be free to do as he pleases, and thus, the State should not interfere, so long as he did not do any harm to anyone but himself. Crucially, however, Mill argued that such a principle assumed the individual in question was a ‘rational individual’. Thus, behind Mill’s principle, is the assumption that citizens understood their relationship with the State through a paradigm of rationality. As for those who had not yet developed this paradigmatic understanding—those who still considered their relations according to religion or custom—such principles did not apply; they would have to make do with the dictates of an absolute ruler until they had sufficiently developed their rational faculties (Mill 2008: 14). The paradigm of rationality can also be found at the centre of Idealist Teleological Philosophy. This is clearly evident in the work of arguably the most famous Idealist philosopher G. W. F. Hegel (2008), but is also strongly apparent in the thought of the ‘British Idealists’, thinkers such as

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T. H. Green (1986a), Bernard Bosanquet (2012) and R. G. Collingwood (2005). Nonetheless, in notable contrast to the ‘Social Contract Theories’ of Locke and Hobbes and the deontological thought of Kant and Rawls, these Idealists do not attempt to remove the subject from her historical context nor develop their principles of human conduct in isolation from historical reality. On the contrary, such philosophers typically give much more consideration to contextual factors. Hegel regarded the individual’s awareness of himself as a member of groups such as the family as fundamental to his understanding of self (2008: 52). Indeed, it was Kant’s abstract and a priori reasoning which Hegel was in particular highly critical of. Such criticism is equally mirrored in the work of British idealists. Collingwood explicitly highlights the ‘ridiculousness’ of Kant’s attempts to establish moral principles independent from contextual situations, doubting if there would be anyone so ‘truly fanatical a Kantian’ to actually think such rules possible (Collingwood 2005: 117). Such attention to context has naturally led many scholars to doubt the importance of rationality in idealist philosophy. Roger Scruton argues that Hegel in particular must be considered not as a ‘rational reformer’ but rather as a ‘conservativeminded’ philosopher who sought to restore the importance of tradition and custom to political relations (Scruton 1990: 44). On such analysis, it would be wrong to include these philosophers in my illustration of the Rational Approach. I respectfully disagree. I would maintain that, although recognising the importance of context and situating the individual within a contextual matrix, such philosophers still regard the individual as primarily motivated by reason; despite being located within a cultural context, the subject is still our ‘rational individual’. Subsequently, any political understanding developed still derives primarily from the decisions a ‘rational individual’ would make, and are thus centred on the paradigm of reason, not culture and tradition. Such thinkers may thus give contextual factors more attention, but they do not, as Scruton claims, wish to recover custom and tradition at the centre of political relations, but rather, in the spirit pioneered by Hobbes, desire to arrive at an understanding of Political Obligation informed by reason. A closer examination of Hegel’s political thought provides lucid evidence of this claim. Whilst he does see institutions like the family as important, in the grand scheme of his philosophy, they are ultimately only a stepping stone in the individual’s development of ‘self’, a process which is only complete when he becomes a rational rights-bearing citizen of the modern State. When he reaches such a development, his obligations are to

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be directed primarily by his reason: the citizen feels obliged to the State because his rational interests are aligned with the rational interests of the State, and the latter promises to maintain the conditions which allow for him to fully realise his capacity for rational freedom (Hegel 2008: 240). As a consequence, the rational drive which directs his obligation towards the State must always trump any other drive which inclines him towards the family: in Hegel’s rationally orientated articulation of obligations, the State always takes precedence, as such precedence is in accordance with reason (Hegel 2008: 52). This interpretation of Hegel becomes more evident when we consider the German philosopher’s views on political events of his time. When commentating on the situation in Ireland, Hegel comments that the sectarian issues which complicate the island’s politics are ‘unprecedented’ for a ‘civilised’ nation (Hegel 1998: 307). Hegel is equally disparaging of the ‘pomp and ceremony’ and ‘tradition’ which is customary in British politics. The existence of this he believes is evidence that the English have ‘fallen asleep’ and failed to develop the proper rational institutions and laws as have other ‘civilised’ nations (Hegel 1998: 311). Such an attitude clearly refutes the idea that Hegel’s primary aim was to preserve customs and traditions for their internal worth. Rather than try and recover the importance of tradition and custom, as Scruton suggests, Hegel clearly viewed their presence as a hindrance if they inhibited a community’s development into a ‘civilised polity’ where laws are based on reason. More sensitive to the importance of custom than Hobbes, Kant, or Bentham, perhaps, but nonetheless, Hegel clearly shares their zeal for ‘rational’ political reform. The primacy of reason is also evident in Collingwood’s philosophy. Although he ridiculed Kant’s universalist thinking, this certainly did not mean Collingwood rejected the primacy of reason. In contrast to Kant’s abstract moral imperative, Collingwood recommended conduct be directed by ‘duty’. ‘Duty’ is not, however, a customary practice antithesis to reason, but rather reason utilised in regards to a particular situation; not a rejection of reason but the rejection of Kantian universal a priori reason (Collingwood 2005: 123–124, 220). This does not challenge the assumption that human beings are rational actors and that rationality should direct human affairs, only that one cannot use it to construct timeless rational laws. Subsequently, whilst rejecting a priori rights, Collingwood maintains the view that politics ought be understood primarily through the paradigm of reason. This is particularly revealed when Collingwood remarks that the German invasion of Belgium in 1914 was not a ‘duty’ because, although it may

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have been strategically wise, the cause of the action was not a rational decision but the psychological force of emotion, in particular the emotion of German nationalism (Collingwood 2005: 220). Clearly then, a duty must have at its core a rational choice, else it is not a duty. This reveals that for Collingwood again political relations must be understood according to the paradigm of reason. Indeed, invoking the spirit of rational progress found in Hobbes and Hegel, Collingwood views the progress of human society towards ‘civilisation’ as one in the direction of a condition where human beings live and work together as ‘animal rationale’, in contrast to ‘Yahoos’ who are moved by the impulses of passion (Collingwood 2005: 298). This priority of rationality, despite particular context, is arguably, however, most clearly illustrated in the thought of Green. In an essay ‘On Loyalty’, Green proposes the view that a sense of obligation has always existed in humanity, first found in the primitive ‘love of home’ which binds those who share a ‘common hearth’, before evolving into the more elaborate system of obligations as is found in Europe’s medieval feudal system. However, the most developed understanding comes when citizens become aware of the rational law which binds them together in obligation to the modern State. This is particularly strikingly when Green remarks: The Truly Loyal man is not he who shouts for King and Constitution, or who yields a blind obedience to the routine of existing institutions, but he who looks beyond them to the universal law of the common reason of men. (Green 1986c: 306)

Despite an increased focus on custom, we can thus still observe underpinning the thought of idealism generally is the assumption that humans are primarily rational beings and that their conduct will be primarily driven by reason. Thus, rationality is the central paradigm through which politics can, and should, be understood. There is further a traceable argument that any understanding of obligation based on custom or tradition ought to be gradually replaced with an understanding centred on reason. In this way, idealism reflects the spirit of rational reform found in ‘Social Contract Theory’, Deontology, and utilitarianism. This has been demonstrated clearly in the thought of Hegel, Collingwood, and Green, and I maintain justify them as exemplars of the Rational Approach, the predominant approach to Political Obligation.

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T. H. Green’s Teleological Theory: A Rational Approach

The broad consideration of the Rational Approach which unfolded in the previous section was necessary in order to reveal its central position across a wide range of political thought and its emergence in competition with an articulation of Politics Obligation based on custom and tradition, an important issue which I will return to in the next section. Before doing so, however, in order to gain a more acute and nuanced illustration of the Rational Approach, I will discuss the theory of Political Obligation as is found in the philosophy of Green. I select this focus for two main reasons. Firstly, Green’s ‘Principles of Political Obligation’ features one of the first recorded uses of the term Political Obligation (Green 1986a: 13; Horton 2010: 1). Secondly, Green not only creates an elaborate theory of Political Obligation, but he also attempted to utilise this theory to inform legislation on the pressing political concerns of his era. Indeed, many of his concerns, such as the restriction of alcohol sales, are still of significant concern to modern society. This gives Green’s thought a clear practical dimension which still speaks to our contemporary concerns. Green’s theory of Political Obligation has been characterised as teleological (Horton 2010). The teleological nature of his theory was indeed something Green himself drew attention to, the recovery of the Greek idea of ‘telos’ something he regarded as useful, necessary even, in correcting the oversights of ‘Social Contract Theory’. Green maintained that basing the limits of one’s obligation to the State on the idea of an ‘original contract’ was an incredibly ambiguous means of understanding Political Obligation, especially as such a contractual agreement likely never even took place. One important implication of such ambiguity was that the actual limits of government control would be near impossible to determine: it is debatable why precisely hypothetical ‘rational individuals’ would submit to government, and subsequently what the limitations of their consent would be (recall the different limitations advanced by Hobbes and Locke on State authority resulting from how ‘rational’ it was believed people inherently are). Thus, rather than basing obligation on a hypothetical past agreement, Green argued that it would be far more sensible to assess our obligation to the State in reference to the current function it was serving, and how that function would allow us to meet a desired ‘end’—or ‘telos’—deemed desirable for our community, thus judging Political Obligation on what we would like to achieve in future, not on what hypothetical

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individuals may have decided upon in the past (Green 1986a: 52–53). This begs the question, what exactly is this telos which Green believes the State ought to aim for and against which its legitimacy should be judged. Green describes the telos as the ‘common good’ of society as directed by the ‘general will’ (Green 1986a). The latter term will be, for those acquainted with Political Philosophy, instantly recognisable from the thought of JeanJacques Rousseau. In the Social Contract, the ‘general will’ is defined as the sovereign will of the political community, which, Rousseau claimed, ‘is always right and always tends towards the public good’ (Rousseau 1968: 72). The political community Rousseau here imagines is one that is small and self-regulating: there is no appointed political leader, but rather each individual member of the community partakes in the legislation of its laws. Thus, by obeying the ‘general will’, one can be, as Rousseau infamously put it, ‘forced to be free’ as he is only obeying a sovereign body he is a constitute member of (Rousseau 1968: 64). But, even if legislated by the people, how, one might ask, is this law ‘always right’ and always directed towards the ‘common good’? This is because the ‘general will’ is not simply a majority vote or even the ‘will of all’, by which Rousseau means the ‘sum of private interest’. The ‘general will’ is rather the common interest, it is what ‘lies in common’ between all the wills of individual members: ‘if we take away from these same wills, the pluses and minuses which cancel each other out, the balance which remains is the general will’ (Rousseau 1968: 72–73). What is ‘common interest’, Rousseau subsequently argues, is always right. The complexity and controversy surrounding Rousseau’s ‘general will’ is vast and legendary. Fortunately, we do not need to consider the difficulties and nuances of Rousseau’s thought here as Green significantly alters the concept of ‘general will’ when using it in his theory of obligation. Green’s modification of this concept is based on the belief that Rousseau, in maintaining that the ‘general will’ is ‘sovereign’, fundamentally confused the concepts of ‘general will’ and ‘sovereign power’. These two concepts could only be the same in a small direct democracy: a small political community in which each member could vote on every law and issue in the polity. In such small self-regulating communities, where the law is representative of each member’s will, the ‘general will’ could, perhaps, be considered sovereign. However, for Green, such a notion was not worth even hypothetically considering in the modern world dominated by large Nation States. Furthermore, even in small self-governing communities, the emergence of the ‘general will’ as a ‘sovereign power’ is highly unlikely; when a community

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voted it is far more likely divisions and personal interests would generate a ‘majority view’, not Rousseau’s ‘general will’. Consequently, Green maintained that ‘general will’ should remain an abstract concept: an abstract idea representing the ‘common good’ of society. Such an abstract idea cannot be a ‘sovereign power’—the actual governing force of a community—and thus, the two concepts had to be defined as distinctly different (Green 1986a: 67). To address ‘Rousseau’s confusion’, Green subsequently introduces a more practical understanding of ‘sovereign power’ into his thought. Drawing inspiration from John Austin, he defines ‘sovereignty’ as a definite human superior (or superiors) who can issue commands which society is in habitual obedience to (Green 1986a: 69). Green did not, however, abandon the concept of ‘general will’. Although such an abstract idea could not be at the same time a ‘sovereign power’, it could, Green suggested, be the criterion by which we assess the legitimacy of the ‘sovereign power’, and the subsequent extent of our obligation to obey it. In producing his theory of Political Obligation, Green subsequently offers a synthesis of the political doctrines of Rousseau and Austin. In constructing this synthesis, Green draws explicit attention to the caveat in Austin’s account of ‘sovereignty’ that the superior will be obeyed if subjects are in a ‘habit of obedience’. What, therefore, Green asks would ensure that citizens were in a habit of obedience to the sovereigns’ commands? The answer is if these commands were in accordance with the people’s ‘common good’, and thus, the polity’s ‘general will’. Green thus cleverly shifts the ‘general will’ away from the unrealistic position of ‘sovereign’, which it held in Rousseau’s thought, and transforms it into the standard by which obedience to the sovereign is justified. This conceptual shift produces Green’s theory of Political Obligation: Let this sense of desire- which may be properly called general will - cease to operate, or let it come into general conflict with the sovereign’s commands, and the habitual obedience will cease also. (Green 1986a: 68–69)

We may thus clearly understand that, for Green, citizens ought to feel obliged towards the State when its actions are within the boundaries of the ‘general will’. When it acts out with this perimeter, obligation ceases. Nonetheless, it is still rather unclear what the ‘general will’ actually is; yes, it is the criterion by which we understand our obligations, but it is an incredibly ambiguous and unclear measurement. Green does associate ‘general will’ with ‘the common good’. However, this is equally a rather

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contestable and obtuse concept which can, as Green Scholars have pointed out, lead to circular argument: the ‘general will’ is understood to aim at the ‘common good’, but, if the ‘general will’ is also understood to be the ‘common good’, we have the tautological notion that the ‘common good’ is that which is in the ‘common good’ (Nicholson 1990). The question remains: what is the ‘common good’ exactly? Indeed, in some ways Green’s understanding is even more difficult to define than Rousseau’s. At least with Rousseau, whilst it may be unclear how the ‘general will’ became ‘general’ and ‘always right’, it was clear what it primarily is: the collective decision of a small self-governing polity. However, in shifting the ‘general will’ from the ‘sovereign power’ to an abstract idea, Green loses this key element in Rousseau’s thinking. In Rousseau, we could have interpreted the ‘general will’ to be the ‘common good’ because it was the ‘people’s will’. Such a notion is controversial, but at least it is clear. Green’s ‘general will’, being by nature an ‘abstract concept’, cannot be understood as such. A hint as to what Green understands the ‘general will’ to be can, however, be found in another attribute in Rousseau’s articulation. When discussing a citizen obeying the ‘general will’, Rousseau describes him as ‘compelled’ to ‘consult his reason’ rather than ‘study his inclinations’ (Rousseau 1968: 64). There is a foundational connection made in this line of thinking between ‘following the general will’ and being ‘rational’. Such a link is greatly expanded and built upon by Green and becomes the central argument upon which his theory of obligation comes to rest. Drawing from Rousseau, but also greatly from Kant, reason in particular forms two key arguments in Green’s theory: first, the ‘common good’ is argued to be the empowerment of citizens as autonomous rational beings; second, it is human being’s rational capacity which will allow them to recognise this telos is within their own interest.3 Thus, Political Obligation rests on the State’s ability to fulfil this ‘telos’ of empowering its citizens as autonomous rational beings, and citizens will accept this telos when they consider it rationally. To subsequently clarify Green’s above articulation of Political Obligation: habitual obedience will last so long as the State acts in a manner which will enable its citizens to develop into rational autonomous beings, should it cease to act in this manner or act in contradiction to this telos, obedience will cease.4 Green’s theoretical argument regarding Political Obligation becomes much clearer when we observe it applied to particular political debates. Take for instance the issue of compulsory education: Green argued that it would be impossible for an individual to be able to reach her full potential

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if she lacks an elementary education as, to lack a formal education, is to be severely disadvantaged in modern society (Green compares it to lacking a limb). Subsequently, Green maintains the State should provide a system of compulsory education for all children. This may involve a restriction on some freedoms, for example, children cannot go out and earn a wage when they should be at school, but this is justified by the greater long-term good of furnishing children with the skills required to make the most of their future possibilities. This is of course in line with the ‘common good’, as it provides children with the means to become full autonomous rational adults in future, and, if their parents are properly rational, they will see this is in both their own and their children’s best interests. The State is thus responsible for legislating compulsory education, as it supports its young citizens in fulfilling their potential; citizens are obliged to obey the State’s order to send their children to school as it is in the best interests of their children, as is apparent to anyone who thinks rationally about the issue (Green 1986b). The issue Green was, however, most concerned with was the ‘social evil’ of excessive alcohol consumption. This issue was an ‘evil’ as one who spent his wealth on alcohol and was frequently intoxicated was, frankly, not an individual in a position to best fulfil his potential. The evil of alcohol is furthermore not limited to the drinker, for the absent intoxicated father who spent all his money in the tavern also negatively impacted on the development of his family, and rowdy drunken groups disturbed the neighbourhoods of others. Thus, one who was under the influence of alcohol was clearly not in command of his rational faculties, and to have such persons impacting so severely on the peace and development of others was also not in the community’s rational interest. Subsequently, the State should legislate in order to restrict alcohol sales, and citizens should feel obliged to obey such laws as it is in the rational interest of both themselves and of wider society: it is for the ‘common good’. To give up the ‘not very precious liberty of buying and selling alcohol’, Green argues, society will become ‘more free to exercise the faculties and improve the talents which God has given them’ (Green 1986b: 212). We might from this summarise Green’s theory of Political Obligation and its implications. The citizen is obliged to obey the State so long as its actions are in accordance with the ‘general will’. This ‘general will’ is understood to be the ‘greater good’ of the political community, in particular the teleological end of a more rational and autonomous citizenry. Citizens are expected to accept this as it is in accordance with reason: rational citizens

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will want to improve their capacity for rational thought and develop into autonomous beings, and, as their education and rationality is enhanced, will increasingly become aware of importance of the State in this development, and duly feel obliged towards it. Importantly, rationality thus takes central position in Green’s thought, as both the standard by which the legitimacy of the polity is judged and the means by which citizens comprehend their obligations. Green’s theory does appear to make clear logical sense. However, the problem arises that, whilst it may be a suitable theory of obligation for a community of ‘rational individuals’ capable of deducing the greater ‘moral good’ in their benevolent State’s commands, how suitable is it actually for real people in real political communities who may not all have the developed levels of rationality that Green presumes? Consider for instance the legislation on alcohol. It is assumed that citizens should obey laws on the restriction of alcohol because this is for their greater good. What, however, happens when this is challenged? It is assumed by Green that citizens ought to accept this because it is rational: a rational person would accept that alcohol inhibits them and thus obey laws which restrict their ability to purchase it. When a citizen disagrees, however, the logical conclusion from Green’s argument is that such a person must be incapable of understanding her long-term interests and, indeed, must consequently not be in full command of her rational faculties: if it is rational to obey the State’s laws restricting the sale of alcohol, then, to oppose such laws, must, by virtue of this logic, be irrational. We can indeed actually observe such thinking manifest when Green debated the restriction of alcohol at gatherings in Oxford. During a particularly heated debate, the Bishop of Peterborough, Green’s antagonist on this occasion, insisted that a restriction of alcohol sales was a breach of individual liberty; he would rather have ‘England free’ than ‘England sober’. Green responded to the Bishop by informing him that, if he wanted to have the liberty to get drunk, then he ought ‘go back to the naked savage to find it’ (Green 2003: 255). The linking of the ‘liberty of the drinker’ to notion of the ‘savage’ is notable here. In a bid to discredit the Bishop’s view, Green directly accuses him of thinking like as ‘savage’ and not like a civilised citizen. This reflects the logical situation that Green has thought himself into: if his position is rational, then his opponent must be irrational; if he represents a ‘higher civilised form of being’, his opponent must be cast in the mould of a lower form of a ‘savage’. The denial of rationality and civility inhibits any possibility of constructive discourse, for how is one supposed to have a fruitful conversation with the irrational?

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Conversation impossible, the only solution is to discredit opponents with the slur of derogatory language.5 It may be suggested that Green’s comments to the Bishop were made in the heat of the debate, and such a use of demeaning language can be over analysed. However, as we will see in the next section, Green’s use of demeaning language is far from uncommon, and terms such as ‘savage’ and ‘barbarian’ litter arguments indicative of a Rational Approach and are frequently used to discredit different paradigms of thinking. This, I will show, signifies the clear limitations of the Rational Approach in understanding Political Obligation.

2.3

The Strengths and Limitations of a Normative Rational Paradigm

Before considering the limitations of the Rational Approach, one must first of all admire the benefits of such an endeavour to centre politics on clear and transparent argument. This shifts politics away from deception and manipulation and puts emphasis on empowering the citizen with the ability to comprehend politics through her own understanding. It, to borrow Kant’s maxim, empowers citizens to use their ‘own understanding’ (Kant 1996). There is subsequently a turn away from deception, manipulation, and force, towards a greater emphasis on education, the latter being a crucial component in the thought of figures such as Hobbes (1990: 70–71; 2008: 474) and Green (1986a: 161–162). Such an effort is, if nothing else, admirable. We might also observe in this light the ‘universality’ of the Rational Approach. One of the benefits of taking a ‘rational’ standard to Political Obligation is that it creates a criterion by which we can judge, not just our own political relations, but also those that exist in other polities. It also gives us a standard by which we can assess the legitimacy of political regimes; to talk about any international criterion for political behaviour, such as international law or Human Rights, we need some kind of standard which can apply to all humans; ‘Reason’ can possibly supply this. One can thus admire the ambition and confidence of such an approach, in addition to the hopefulness entailed within it. However, is it too hopeful? Is its depiction of a world of educated beings driven primarily by their reason not just too utopian? This is indeed one of the criticisms of the Rational Approach raised by Horton: it resembles more a fictional account of political relations, akin to the US television show The West Wing, than it does ‘real world’ politics. Furthermore, focusing almost exclusively on ‘rationality’, such an approach simply does not truly take into consideration the

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multitude of motivational and practical complexities which affect decisionmaking and colour human life. Theories focused primarily on ‘moral rules’ thus, at best, form little more than an ‘edifying fantasy’ which bears little resemblance, and can have only minimal influence, on political reality (Horton 2017: 488). This is perhaps most evident in the thought of Green. His vision of a society in which we are all rational enough to recognise the dangers of alcohol, or in which all parents recognise the value of their children’s education, is one we may like to live in. Nonetheless, it is rather fantastical: there will always be individuals whom, even if they recognise the dangers of alcohol consumption, will still drink due to the complexities and difficulties of life which will outbalance such ‘rational insight’, still more those who will continue to drink simply because they enjoy it regardless of long-term health costs; there will equally always be those parents, for many complex reasons, who do not see the value of education and will not encourage their children to attend school, perhaps even encouraging them not to attend. Such a world is more capricious, bleaker even, than Green’s rational society, but it is perhaps more in tune with the reality we live in. The Rational Approach would doubtfully respond that such criticism is overlooking the normative focus of the paradigm: it is not necessarily attempting to describe the world as it is, but as it ought to be. If the Rational Approach is anything, it is a normative paradigm of Political Obligation: it establishes an account of politics which we should strive to emulate. We may not have a society as described by Green, in which everyone is rational and conscious of the community’s ‘common good’, but that does not mean we should give up in trying to realise one. In trying to emulate such ideas, although we may always fall short, we nonetheless do improve our societies. To give up such emulation would be to resign ourselves to the world we have without trying to improve it. In reply, however, one might point out that, to have some prescriptive power, a theory must portray a world close enough to our own so that realising it would not be an impossibility. As Horton again points out: if a theory is to have some impact, it must present a world which is genuinely realisable (Horton 2017: 488). This strongly normative slant of the Rational Approach nonetheless reveals a deeper issue with its ability to serve as a paradigm for understanding Political Obligation, certainly at least the ‘situation’ of Political Obligation. This limitation is, in short, that focusing so heavily on how citizen and State relations ought to be, it overlooks how these relations actually are. Indeed, more than this, as this approach centres its theory on ‘rationality’, it deems that perspectives and behaviours that contradict its

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normative paradigm are by virtue ‘irrational’ and ergo ‘mistaken’, ‘wrong’, and ‘in need of correction’: if the ought of the Rational Approach does not correspond to the is of political relations, then, as the ought is ‘rational’, the is must be irrational; subsequently, it is the is, not the ought, which is wrong and in need of correction. The Rational Approach becomes inhibited from comprehending perspectives or relations which fall outwith its paradigm of rationality as the logic of its thinking poses rival conceptions must be inherently irrational and wrong. Indeed, rather than attempt to understand such views, the approach dismisses them through deprecatory labels which emphasise their supposed ‘irrationality’, such as ‘savage’ or ‘barbarian’. We received a glimpse of this in Green’s reply to the Bishop of Peterborough, when he dismissed the Bishop’s opposition to alcohol licensing legislation as a position of the ‘savage’. The degrading dismissal of alternative perspectives becomes more apparent, however, when the Rational Approach comes into conflict with the approach of ‘tradition and culture’, which it sought to replace as the central pivot upon which citizen and State relations rested. This is perhaps first evident in Hobbes’ Leviathan, especially, as was highlighted in section one, his rapid dismissal of religious ideas which had formed the basis of much understanding on Political Obligations for centuries (Hobbes 2008: 77–78). Similarly, in Behemoth, Hobbes remarks that those who rebelled against Charles I, most notably the Scots, did so due to their passions rather than their reason, being motivated by such factors as thirst for plunder, ancient hatreds, and personal ambition (Hobbes 1990: 30–32). Hobbes clearly thinks the Scots were mistaken to rebel and, if they had properly consulted their reason, would have acted differently. However, there is here no real moral condemnation, he certainly does not label them ‘barbarians’ or ‘savages’. Hobbes rather suggests they had acted foolishly because they had allowed passion and thirst for glory to overtake reason. Nonetheless, a dyadic division still emerges: it is rational to obey the State as it provides security; the Scots, in rebelling against the State, were ergo acting irrationally (Hobbes 1990). Hobbes’ view of reason as ‘utilitarian tool’ as opposed to ‘moral framework’ prevents his dismissal of custom and tradition developing into moral condemnation; such people are perhaps short-sighted and mistaken but not morally ‘bad’. Locke, who does link rationality closely with morality—indeed links ‘being rational’ to ‘being human’—does launch moral condemnation on those behaviours and perspectives which escape the rational paradigm of his thought. Such perspectives are deemed as ‘less-thanhuman’ or ‘subhuman’. It is consequently in Locke we truly observe labels

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such as ‘savage’ and ‘barbarian’ first deployed to dismiss perspectives outwith the rational paradigm. In the ‘Essays on the Law of Nature’, Locke argues that those who do not consult their reason, but rather rely on tradition and custom for guidance, are likely to fall into ‘barbarous’ habits and ‘evil’ customs (Locke 1997: 85). Such people are ‘blind’, and ‘follow the herd in the manner of brute beasts’ (Locke 1997: 127). Such logic and subsequent use of language are not limited to Locke, but rather can be viewed as common across the Rational Approach. Mill remarks that his understanding of the relationship between citizens and State does not apply to those ‘barbarians’ who are not in full use of their rational faculties. Such ‘barbarians’ should instead be content in obligation to an ‘Akbar or Charlemagne’ until they have developed into a more rational and civilised condition (Mill 2008: 14–15). In The Social Contract, Rousseau famously attests that those who do not follow the rational thinking of the ‘general will’ can be ‘forced to be free’ (Rousseau 1968: 64), a maxim latter repeated by Bosanquet (2012). Collingwood classifies those as ‘barbarian’ who actively seek to destroy the ‘civilised’ rational world. The ‘barbarians’ he identifies in particular are the leading polities of the Muslim world, alongside Nazi Germany. Collingwood, in his attempt to develop ‘barbarism’ into a philosophical concept rather than simply a dismissive slur, also further tries to make explicit the link between ‘barbarian’ and ‘unintelligibility’. He highlights the origins of the word ‘barbarian’ in the Classical Greek notion of those who cannot speak the language of civilised people, this indicating a sense of unintelligibility in those whom the label is attributed to. The ‘barbarian’ is thus depicted as one who is beyond the realm of reason and has no real sensible mode of thinking one can engage in dialogue with: ‘The will of the barbarian’ is ‘a will to do nothing ’, a will to ‘acquiesce in the chaotic rule of emotion’ (Collinwood 2005: 307). Interestingly, Collingwood (2005) identifies ‘rational’ ‘civilisation’ with Christian Europe, and ‘barbarism’ with those ‘outside’ of the Christian world. The distinction between ‘rational’ ‘civilised’ Europe and the ‘barbarians’ who wish to destroy it reveals a more sinister use to which such dyadic thinking can be deployed: the justification of imperial expansion. Most notably, Hegel labels polities which ‘lag behind’ the development of the ‘rational’ European State system as ‘barbarians’ (Hegel 2008: 319). Subsequently, he is dismissive of the culture and traditions of non-European civilisations. Notably the whole continent of Africa is described as having no culture and no religion, only ‘sorcery’ (Hegel 1991: 99); the peoples of the Americas similarly had not culture or religion to speak of, only the

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‘rudeness of barbarism’, before the first ‘rational’ Europeans arrived (Hegel 1991: 99). Such barbarous people Hegel further insisted cannot be considered to have the same rights as those living in civilised rational States; the subjection of the former to the latter is indeed justified in order bring them closer to a proper rational standard of being (Hegel 2008: 319). Thus clearly imperialism is justified if it serves the greater good of bringing these ‘barbarous’ peoples into the paradigmatic thinking of rationality. Indeed, Hegel attests it a ‘brave task’ that the English have taken upon themselves as ‘emissaries of civilisation’ to ‘barbarous peoples’ (Hegel 1991: 455). Beyond potential sinister uses, the assumptions of the Rational Approach also limit its ability to comprehend political relations as they actually exist in particular societies. Believing its model of Political Obligation to be rational and superior to those based on customary understanding, the approach begins from a position that these alternative modes of political behaviour are inferior. Indeed, believing its approach to be in accordance with reason, these other forms are believed to be tainted with irrationality. From this position, it becomes unable to properly understand these alternative political modes and moves quickly to criticism and dismissal. The Rational Approach, in short, is unable to comprehend political behaviours and relations which exist beyond its paradigm of reason. This is most clearly illustrated in the thought of Collingwood. The last form of ‘barbarism’ that Collingwood seeks to analyse in The New Leviathan is ‘German Barbarism’, by which he denotes the increasingly authoritarian nature of the German State in the late nineteenth century and the rise of Nazism in the early twentieth. Collingwood does not see the Germans as naturally ‘barbarians’, but rather as a once civilised people who, due to certain historical occurrences, turned their back on ‘civilisation’ and moved towards ‘barbarism’. He thus seeks to investigate what events caused the German people to follow this path. Thus, although remarking that the Germans always had the characteristic of ‘bad neighbours’, Collingwood insists that their turn to ‘barbarism’ begun with the experience of the Bismarck regime. Nonetheless, as the discussion progresses, Collingwood ceases to try and develop any understanding of what led the German people to Nazism, instead becoming increasingly dismissive of their behaviour as irrational and unintelligible. Consider for instance, and just to cite a few examples: the Nazis ‘thought with blood’ which is faster than the ‘old-fashioned way of doing it with your brains’ (Collingwood 2005: 377); ‘I am not sure that the Nazis understand what logic is for’ (Collingwood 2005: 377); ‘therein lies the whole difference between thinking like a sane man and thinking

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like a Nazi’ (Collingwood 2005: 377); the claims of German nationalists that land beyond Germany’s borders belonged to them were ‘childishly boastful’ and ‘a symptom of lunatic greed and envy’ (Collingwood 2005: 379); and finally that German nationalists of the nineteenth century were ‘muddle-headed’ and ‘addicted to self-deception’ (Collinwood 2005: 382). There is consequently little attempt to understand the circumstances that led to increasing authoritarianism in Germany. Alternatively, we find a systematic dismissal of their behaviour as irrational and unintelligible, indeed bordering on madness. Collingwood’s inability to properly analyse the actual experiences of German citizens can be seen as a consequence of his ‘rational civilisation’ and ‘irrational barbarity’ dichotomy. As the Germans are rejecting European Civilisation, which is grounded in rationality, they must be adopting a position of ‘barbarity’, characterised by irrationality, unintelligibility, and the chaotic rule of the passions. There can consequently be no comprehensible understanding for why they have chosen to do so: in rejecting reason, the only conclusion we can draw is that they have lost sense of themselves in a chaotic frenzy of passion. Such theorising prevents any opportunity to properly comprehend the events under consideration. The Rational Approach has appeal in its hope of establishing a clear transparent paradigm by which all subjects can properly understand their Political Obligations for themselves. This would free citizens from manipulation and superstition, and place emphasis on education. There is further a hope that reason can be a universal enough mode of thought that it can transcend particular political communities, thus allowing communication, comparison, and evaluation between different polities. However, the approach has clear limitations. At first, its faith in human reason and the ability of citizens to think rationally and follow universal principles, is, at best, rather utopian. It also fails to take into consideration the multiplicity of contextual factors which inform human decision-making and shape relationships in reality. Such thinking can also impede understanding. In its assumption of rationality, it implies alternative perspectives on politics are irrational and unintelligible. This limits its ability to understand alternative viewpoints, which it dismisses with terms such as ‘barbaric’ and ‘savage’. The perspective of real existing citizens is thus overlooked as Political Obligation is articulated according to hypothetical rationality. Citizens are expected to act in accordance with this view and dismissed as wrong when they do not. Such thinking also has a more sinister side: in viewing rationality as superior and correct, it can lead justification to the subjugation

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of communities who do not adhere to this view through the claim such subjugation is for their ‘greater good’ through the introduction of reason. I suggested earlier that the nature of this limitation lies in the Rational Approach’s overtly normative nature: its attempt outlines how citizen and States ought to relate to each other and not the is of how they actually do and thus subsequently dismisses cases of is which do not correspond to their ought out of hand. The Rational Approach can thus perhaps give some interesting arguments about why one should have obligations to the State, it can give logical ‘answers’ to the ‘problem’ of Political Obligation, but is not the best approach for understanding how citizen and State relation do actually operate in real political communities, the ‘situation’ of Political Obligation.

2.4

Rationalism and Obligation in the Scottish Legal System

Approaching the issue in this abstract, predominantly normative, manner, such an approach also does not always consider, not just how obligation and legitimacy is in particular political communities, but also how the ‘rational paradigm’ itself might actually be deployed in communicating such ideas and narratives to citizens: not just how the Rational Approach is constructed through logical philosophical argument, but also how it may be utilised by States in their attempts to communicate a sense of obligation to their citizens; not just as an ‘answer’ to a ‘problem’, but how it manifests and operates existentially in the ‘situation’ of Political Obligation. The approach through the encounter I have presented as means of hermeneutically revealing ideas of Political Obligation as they are communicated, received, and contested in particular political communities. In the light of this discussion of the particularly abstract nature of the Rational Approach, I will here consider how focusing on an ‘encounter’ may aid us in revealing this rational paradigm in operation, not as an abstract philosophical argument, but as means through which the State communicates a sense of obligation existentially to its citizens. To do so I will focus on a particular encounter Scottish citizens may have when encountering the State through the law courts. A brief snapshot of Scots law gives insight into how central the notion of ‘rationality’ is to its justification. When one reads Scottish legislation, one is immediately confronted with a prevalence of ‘rationality’ and the ‘rational individual’ underpinning its commands and statutes. We might for

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instance observe the figure of the ‘rational individual’ particularly evoked in the legal definition of ‘negligence’: the standard of care that is expected to be given to an employee is that which would be expected by the hypothetical or notional ‘reasonable man’ (Marshall 1999: 422). The ‘Criminal Justice and Licensing (Scotland) Act 2010’ is further saturated with the language of rationality. Consider for instance that ‘threatening behaviour’ is that which would cause a ‘reasonable’ person alarm. A defence against such an accusation is in turn to show that one’s actions can be considered ‘reasonable’ in context (Scottish Government 2010: Sect. 38). A definition for ‘stalking’ is similarly that which could cause a ‘reasonable person’ alarm. A possible defence, again, is to demonstrate one’s actions can be considered ‘reasonable’ (Scottish Government 2010: Sect. 39). ‘Voyeurism’ is considered a criminal offence if the party being watched cannot ‘reasonably’ be considered to have given consent (Scottish Government 2010: Sect. 43). In the laws against Extreme Pornography, material is considered ‘pornographic’ if it is of a nature that it can be ‘reasonably assumed’ to have been produced solely or principally for sexual arousal (Scottish Government 2010: Sect. 51A). It is a defence if accused of carrying an offensive weapon if it can be proved one had ‘reasonable’ excuse for carrying it (Scottish Government 2010: Sect. 37). Someone who sells a knife or a crossbow to a person under the age of eighteen has a reason for defence if ‘no reasonable person’ could have thought the customer was under eighteen or if the customer produced documents which would have convinced a ‘reasonable person’ that they were over the age of eighteen (Scottish Government 2010: Sects. 35, 36). Across these illustrations, it is communicated that an illegal act is largely an act which someone would ‘not reasonably’ do. In turn, a defence against criminal accusation is to demonstrate that one’s actions can in fact be shown to be ‘reasonable’. In this manner, the criteria of ‘reason’ takes central position within the consideration if someone has acted legally or illegally. The legislation thus conveys a message that the State’s laws would be obeyed if the individual was acting according to her reason, and thus, the State’s laws are acceptable to one who is in control of her rational faculties; a rational being would obey the State and feel obliged towards it for the protection it offers against ‘irrational’ dangerous lawbreakers. Law-breaking is indeed implied to be an ‘irrational behaviour’: one who does not agree with and obey the State’s laws is thus not one who can be considered ‘reasonable’. To summarise in terms of Political Obligation therefore, when one encounters the laws of Scotland the message is conveyed that if one is rational, then one ought to accept the laws of the

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State, it is on the contrary only an ‘irrational’ individual who would defy the State and break its reasonable laws. Such a snapshot into the Scottish legal system can reveal the prevalence of rationality in its means of communicating the legitimacy of the law to its citizens. Here, it would indeed seem much of the arguments typical of the Rational Approach have bled out from philosophical discussion and into the practical articulation of State legislation. This perhaps should not come as a great surprise; indeed, it may be expected that the dominant theoretical justification of Political Obligation in Western philosophy is mirrored by the language used to actually justify the legitimacy of the law in a typical developed Western State. This may also not be of great surprise given the particular example of Scotland which has had a long history of legal reform aimed at bringing Scots law in line with philosophical and rational principles. Figures such as the Viscount of Stair, deemed one of the fathers of Scots Law whose writings are accredited with setting the ‘legal tone’ of the State, purposely sought to ground legislation in a philosophical appreciation of reason (Marshall 1999: 101). Indeed, Stair defines the law in his Institutions of the Laws of Scotland as nothing less than ‘the dictate of reason, determining every rational being to that which is congruous and convenient for the nature and condition thereof’ (Stair 1981: 73). To this I might add that many readers, when consulting the above legislation, may find it very much in line with common sense: it would likely seem to many readers that Scottish law on issues such as weapons or pornography is very reasonable, and further that the criteria of ‘reason’ in judging these laws seem the most appropriate faculty in assessing the State’s legislation. To such a reader, likely brought up and raised in a modern State, the prevalence of reason in State legislation may appear interesting, but ultimately unremarkable: it is likely what they would come to expect in the language of legal legislation of the modern State. Nonetheless, as unsurprising as this may be, it is still important to recognise how fundamental the language of rationality is in communicating ideas of legal legitimacy and obligation to the law in modern States like Scotland, and how an encounter with the State in the form of its legal legislation can reveal a narrative very similar to that of the Rational Approach. The prevalence of reason, however, becomes more significant when one considers that the laws of Scotland, and the arguments as to why Scottish subjects should feel obliged to obey them, were not always couched in such rational language. It may seem to us today ‘common sense’ that the law appeals to what is assumed as ‘reasonable’, but this is in fact largely

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an innovation of the Eighteenth century. Previous to this, obligations to the State and its legal system were largely articulated not through reason but through understanding of family and kinship groupings: one did not understand one’s obligations to obey State laws through the criteria of one’s own capacity for reason, but rather in accordance with one’s family or kin group’s relationship with the State (Dawson 2007). Obedience to the State and its laws was not regarded as the product of rational individual choice but rather a reflection of one’s wider family relations. Thus, we can observe the State making criminal whole family groupings and outlawing certain family names, such as ‘MacGregor’, on the assumption that certain kin groups were antagonistic to the polity’s laws. This is remarkable as subjects here are considered to be in opposition to the State, not because of any individual choice or disposition, but rather because of their connections to a larger kin grouping.6 Such outlawing of the MacGregor name is mirrored by the governments ruling that loyal ‘Heads of Households’ are responsible for the conduct of all those who share their family name: if the head of the family is loyal to the State it is assumed that so will all those who share in the family name, and he is personally responsible for those in his family who act otherwise.7 We can indeed see this put into action when the Earl of Argyll pledged his allegiance to James VI’s Government, not just for himself, but for all those who share in his surname ‘Campbell’.8 Such a system was further entrenched by the fact that many legal offices, such as ‘Sheriff’, were hereditary to certain powerful families, such as the Campbell Earls of Argyll. Such a system gave legal power to the Head of House to enforce his family’s obedience and bring to justice those other families who were not considered loyal to the State. Such a link between family relations and obligation was so central to the Scottish legal system that maintenance of Hereditary Sheriffdoms was written into the 1707 Act of Union.9 It was only after the abolishment of hereditary offices in 1747 that the Scottish legal system was properly reformed along more rational, individualist, and ‘professional’ terms (Lenman 1995; Whetstone 1981).10 The examination of previous legal articulations and the mediums for understanding Political Obligation cast better light on the current system in Scotland. Although we may consider the modern articulation based on individual choice and rationality as perhaps commonplace, comparing it to the previous system grounded on kinship, we become aware of the central importance of rationality in articulating ideas of obligation. In the modern Scottish State system, the law is presented as in accordance with reason and thus it is communicated that, if one is rational, one will feel obliged to

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obey its commands. This makes contrast to the previous system by which one was expected to be obliged to the State if one’s family members were in a positive relationship with the polity. One could in turn be regarded as an ‘enemy to the State’, not as a result of personal choice, but rather as a consequence of familial relations. We also discover that the central role rationality plays in communicating Political Obligation in the Scottish State was not always in place, but rather was introduced to replace an older system based on family connections. Thus, just like how the Rational Approach replaced a customary and religious approach to understanding Political Obligation, so this rationality in the language of the Scottish State replaced an older familial understanding. Subsequently, through studying how the State may be encountered in its legal statutes and court proceedings, we can see the emergence of a rational articulation of obligation which reflects the emergence of the Rational Approach found in Political Philosophy. We saw in the example of kinship that one’s opposition to the State was viewed against the horizon of family membership. Thus, when one was guilty of subverting the State’s laws, it could be regarded as a consequence of one’s family ties. However, what happens when one disobeys the State in the era of the more individual rational articulation of State legitimacy? As we have seen, it is articulated by the State that it is rational to obey its laws and commands. By virtue of this, it would subsequently be ‘irrational’ to disobey the State and break its laws. We can observe such binary logic in a fascinating encounter between the Scottish State and one John Maclean, a Marxist agitator, during the latter’s trial for sedition in 1918. During the trial, the Lord Advocate, Scotland’s chief legal officer and thus a representative of the State, insisted that in Britain no person is prevented from publicly discussing politics, or even advocating socialism. However, the Marxist Maclean has gone beyond this as he has attempted to incite disloyalty, sedition, and mutiny. This is something ‘no society can afford’. Interestingly the Lord Advocate goes on to further insist that no person ‘this side of Eternity’ could understand why Maclean would carry out such actions, actions he claims risk the destruction of the very liberty and safety which he enjoys, and which ‘we’ were defending abroad (Broom 1973). The Lord Advocate is claiming that the State is there to protect the liberty and safety of its subjects. Furthermore, in the Lord Advocate’s view, to oppose the State is consequently irrational and unintelligible because it risks the subject’s freedom and safety, as is illustrated by the statement no person ‘this side of Eternity’ would understand Maclean’s motives. The State’s position, as provided by the Lord Advocate, can clearly be seen here

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to reflect the Rational Approach: it is presumed that the State protects the individual citizen and enhances his life and thus citizens should obey this authority and feel obliged for the protection given. Maclean, however, contests the State’s narrative. He insists that it is he who represents the side of freedom and justice and represents the Scottish people in their struggle against their oppressor. To support his claims, Maclean mentions several cases in which the British State has, he insists, acted to the detriment of its citizens. This includes the millions of men that were sacrificed during the Great War, a War Maclean insists was waged for the sake of ‘Empire’ and to enrich the capitalist class. In addition to the atrocities carried out on the battlefield, Maclean further accuses the State of inflicting torture upon objectors to the war, like himself, within Peterhead prison. He further proceeds to sight the ‘Defence of the Realm Act’ (1914), as a breach of the rights and interest of its individual citizens. He further argues this oppression and exploitation is not just a contemporary phenomenon, brought on by war-time conditions, but has historical precedent. As evidence of this claim, he highlights in particular State involvement in the ‘Highland Clearances’ of the Nineteenth century. We can thus interpret Maclean’s reply to the State’s ‘unintelligibility’ claim that he has very clear and lucid motives to reject its authority: the systematic abuse of its citizens. Thus far from ‘irrational’, from Maclean’s perspective, his position is very rational. It would rather only be a capitalist, or someone ignorant to the full extent of the atrocities carried out by the State, who would be unable to empathise with him. Maclean’s response to the State is clearly heavily influenced by Marxist thought, of which Maclean was a declared follower. This conflicting idea of truth and rationality, who it is who really sees the State’s true nature, also implies heavily a ‘class’ or ‘false consciousness’. Such arguments will be considered in more detail when we turn to consider the Marxist perspective on Political Obligation in detail in Chapter 4. What this reveals at present, however, is that the rational articulation of Political Obligation in practice, when expressed in existential encounters, suffers from a similar weakness as its philosophical counterpart: basing its argument for obligation on individual rationality, it creates a situation where, by virtue of this logic, those who reject State authority are cast as irrational. This prevents the possibility of understanding such opposing positions to the State, regardless of any justifiable basis such opposition may contain (Maclean 2003).11 Examining the encounter between Scottish citizen and the State in the form of law and the law courts has this given us fruitful insight. First, it has

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allowed us to observe such an articulation of obligation presented not as a purely philosophical argument but rather dispensed by the State as a justification for its laws. It thus provided an area for us to examine the functioning of this narrative in concrete political reality at an existential level. It has also allowed us to observe that this rational articulation of obligation is not, as we might assume, commonplace, but replaced an older articulation based on kin relations. This reveals just how poignant and central rationality is in articulating State obligation amongst such developed Western States which I take Scotland as a typical example of. Finally, it reveals that this articulation in practice shares the same weakness as in theory: assuming that obligation is rational, it casts opposition to the State as irrational. This prevents understanding or dialogue with opposition to State authority when this binary rational framework is in place. Such initial inquiry has shown the benefits of moving investigation of Political Obligation away from abstract philosophical arguments to a consideration of how States may communicate a sense of obligation to citizens existentially within worldly situations.

Notes 1. This I interpret as the thrust of Hobbes’ overall argument throughout Leviathan. However, for more detail, see especially Chapters XIV, XV, and XVII (Hobbes 2008). 2. Excellent analysis of the importance of religion in Machiavelli’s thought is provided by Maurizo Viroli in Machiavelli’s God. As Viroli argues in this book: Machiavelli believed a healthy polity requires a strong religion which teaches citizens to serve their fatherland and love liberty (Viroli 2010: 154). 3. Green claims the value of the institutions of civil life are that they allow one to exercise one’s will and ‘enable him to realise his reason i.e. his idea of ‘self-perfection’’ (Green 1986a: 16). Green also makes a similar claim that political rights are derived from the possession of ‘rational will’ and are aimed at furthering the ‘realisation of rational will’ (Green 1986a: 27). When discussing the notion of the ‘general will’ Green further links it to the notion of ‘pure practical reason’ as advocated by Kant (Green 1986a: 57). Consider also in Prolegomena to Ethics, Green describes reason as the ‘parent of the law’ (Green 1906: 233). He further claims that it is the subject’s capability of reason ‘alone’ which makes him ‘a possible author’ and a ‘self-submitting subject’ of the law (Green 1906: 234). Reason is further considered the ‘basis of society’ (Green 1906: 236). Green continues that it is reason which allows the subject to obey both the laws of his family and, most importantly, the State (Green 1906: 252).

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4. In ‘Principles of Political Obligation’ Green draws most notably on Rousseau, and in Prolegomena to Ethics, there is an explicit Kantian influence. However, in this final articulation of citizen-State relations, there is an unmistakably Hegelian character. See especially Hegel’s final understanding of the State as justified in so long as it secures the rights necessary to ensure the citizen fully develops into a rational autonomous agent (Hegel 2008). 5. The Bishop’s argument is of course, rather ironically, also based on reason, in particular a Lockean understand of citizen rights. Nonetheless, the lack of dialogue and recourse to derogatory labels between two manifestations of the Rational Approach only serves to further emphasise the limitations of assuming one’s argument to be justified primarily on an understanding of reason. 6. The Edict outlawing the name ‘MacGregor’ is available at the ‘Records of the Parliament of Scotland’. See www.rps.ac.uk. 7. The Act reads: ‘the said chieftains, principals of the branches, and householders worthily may be esteemed the very authors, fosterers and maintainers of the wicked deeds of the vagabonds of their clans and surnames’. It is available in full at ‘The Records of The Parliament of Scotland’. See www. rps.ac.uk. 8. The ‘Earl of Argyll’s Promise’ reads: the Earl is ‘promised, bound and obliged himself to make all the persons of the surname of Campbell dwelling upon his lands and heritage… answerable to justice’. See www.rps.ac.uk. 9. See the Union Act with England (1707), Article XX. 10. A particularly powerful example of the functioning of kinship in the law, and as a medium of understanding one’s obligation to the State, comes as late as 1752 during the trial of James Stewart for the murder of Colin Campbell. The presiding judge of the case was the Campbell Duke of Argyll. Although no evidence was provided to link Stewart with the murder, Argyll would nonetheless find Stewart guilty ‘as an aider and abetter’ and sentence him to death. Argyll remarkably justifies his sentence through the narrative framework of kinship. He claims Stewart’s guilt is proven by his belonging to the Stewart family, who Argyll insists, had consistently opposed the British Government over the previous century. This he points out is in stark contrast to the Campbell family, whom both himself and the victim belonged, who had repeatedly demonstrated their sense of obligation to the State. Such sentencing proves testament to the power of kinship narratives in past understandings of the Scottish political system and notions of Political Obligation: one’s relationship to the State, and indeed, one’s status as innocent or guilty, are firmly couched, not on individual basis or choice, but in regards to one’s familial relations. Documents and proceedings of the trail, and analysis, can be found in Macarthur W. The Appin Murder and the Trial of James Stewart: A New Survey of a Historical Mystery (1960).

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11. Maclean’s full ‘Speech from the Dock’ is made fully available online by the Marxist Internet Archive. See www.marxists.org.

References Bacon, F. (1985). The Essays (J. Pitcher, Ed.). London: Penguin. Bentham, J. (2005). A Fragment on Government (R. Harrison, Ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bentham, J. (2007). An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation. Mineola: Dover Press. Bosanquet, B. (2012). The Philosophical Theory of State. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. British Government, Union with Scotland Act. (1707). Available at legislation.gov.uk. www.legislation.gov.uk/aep/Ann/6/11/contents. Broom, J. (1973). John Maclean. MacDonald Publishers: Edinburgh. Buchanan, G. (2006). A Dialogue on the Law of Kingship Among the Scots (R. A. Mason & M. S. Smith, Eds.). Edinburgh: The Saltire Society. Cicero, M. T. (2008). The Republic and the Laws (N. Rudd & J. Powell, Eds.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Collingwood, R. G. (2005). The New Leviathan or Man, Society, Civilisation and Barbarism (D. Boucher, Ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Dawson, J. (2007). Scotland Re-formed, 1488–1587. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Egoumenides, M. (2014). Philosophical Anarchism and Political Obligation. London: Bloomsbury. Green, T. H. (1906). Prolegomena to Ethics. Charleston: Bibliolife. Green, T. H. (1986a). Lectures on the Principles of Political Obligation. In P. Harris & J. Morrow (Eds.), T. H. Green: Lectures on the Principles of Political Obligation and Other Writings. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Green, T. H. (1986b). Lecture on Liberal Legislation and Freedom of Contract. In P. Harris & J. Morrow (Eds.), T. H. Green: Lectures on the Principles of Political Obligation and Other Writings. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Green, T. H. (1986c). On Loyalty. In P. Harris & J. Morrow (Eds.), T. H. Green: Lectures on the Principles of Political Obligation and Other Writings. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Green, T. H. (2003). Temperance and Freedom. In P. Nicholson (Ed.), T. H. Green: Miscellaneous Writings, Speeches and Letters. Bristol: Thoemmes Press. Grotius, H. (2005). The Rights of War & Peace (Vols. 1–3, R. Tuck, Ed.). Indianapolis: Liberty Fund Inc. Hart, H. L. A. (1973). Bentham and the Demystification of the Law. The Modern Law Review, 36(1), 2–17.

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Hegel, G. W. F. (1991). The Philosophy of History (J. Sibree, Ed.). New York: Prometheus Books. Hegel, G. W. F. (1998). The English Reform Bill. In Z. A. Pelcynski (Ed.), Hegel’s Political Writings. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hegel, G. W. F. (2008). Outlines of the Philosophy of Right (S. Houlgate, Ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hobbes, T. (1990). Behemoth or the Long Parliament (S. Holmes, Ed.). London: The University of Chicago Press. Hobbes, T. (2008). Leviathan (J. C. A. Gaskin, Ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Horton, J. (2010). Political Obligation. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Horton, J. (2017). What Might It Mean for Political Theory to Be More ‘Realistic’? Philosophia, 45(2), 487–501. James, Viscount of Stair. (1981). The Institutions of the Law of Scotland (D. M. Walker, Ed.). Bristol: Western Printing Services Ltd. Kant, I. (1996). An Answer to the Question: What Is Enlightenment? In M. Gregor (Ed.), Immanual Kant: Practical Philosophy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kant, I. (2010). Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals (M. Gregor, Ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Knowles, D. (2010). Political Obligation: A Critical Introduction. Abingdon: Routledge. Lenman, B. (1995). Integration and Enlightenment: Scotland, 1746–1832. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Livy, T. (2008). The Rise of Rome: Books 1–5 (T. J. Luce, Ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Locke, J. (1997). Essays on the Law of Nature. In M. Goldie (Ed.), Locke: Political Essays. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Locke, J. (1998). Two Treatise of Government (P. Laslett, Ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Machiavelli, N. (2008). Discourses on Livy (J. Bondanella & P. Bondanella, Eds.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Machiavelli, N. (2009). The Prince (T. Parks, Ed.). London: Penguin Classics. MacIntyre, A. (2002). A Short History of Ethics: A History of Moral Philosophy from the Homeric Age to the Twentieth Century. Abingdon: Routledge. Maclean, J. (2003). Speech from the Dock. Available at the Marxist Internet Archive. https://www.marxist.org/archive/maclean/works/1918-dock.htm. Marshall, E. (1999). General Principles of Scots Law. London: Sweet & Maxwell. McArthur, W. (1960). The Appin Murder and the Trial of James Stewart: A New Survey of a Historic Mystery. London: J. M. P. Publishing. Mill, J. S. (2008). On Liberty. In J. Gary (Ed.), John Stuart Mill: On Liberty and Other Essays. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Nicholson, P. P. (1990). The Political Philosophy of the British Idealists: Selected Studies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Oakeshott, M. (1967). Rationalism in Politics and Other Essays. London: The Trinity Press. Plutarch. (1906). Plutarch’s Lives (Vol. 1) (A. H. Clough, Ed.). Boston: Little, Brown and Co. Polybius. (2010). The Histories (R. Waterfield & B. McGing, Eds.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rawls, J. (1999). A Theory of Justice. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Rousseau, J. J. (1968). The Social Contract (M. Cranston, Ed.). London: Penguin. Scottish Government. 2010. Criminal Justice and Licensing Act (Scotland). Available at http://www.legislation.gov.uk/asp/2010/13/contents. Scruton, R. (1990). The Philosopher on Dover Beach. Manchester: Carcanet Press. Strauss, L. (1988). What Is Political Philosophy? And Other Studies. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Viroli, M. (2010). Machiavelli’s God (A. Shugaar, Trans.). Princeton: Princeton University Press. Whetstone, A. (1981). Scottish County Government in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. Edinburgh: John Donald Publishers.

CHAPTER 3

The Importance of Tradition and Culture: Context-Based Paradigms of Obligation

In the previous chapter, I grouped dominant theories of Political Obligation together under one broad Rational Approach. The motivation for such grouping was to bring attention to certain common assumptions about the citizen being ‘rational’ in these theories. There is however one theory of Political Obligation which is frequently discussed in the major works on the subject which I did not group into the Rational Approach, an approach often labelled ‘communitarian’ (Egoumenides 2014: Chapter 5; Knowles 2010: Chapter 11). The reason why this approach does not fit into the ‘rational’ paradigm is that it is considerably different from the approaches discussed in Chapter 2. It is different in the sense it does not share the assumption that the citizen is ‘rational’; indeed, it actively challenges such an assumption. Instead, it argues that we must understand the citizen, not as a primarily ‘rational’ ‘individual’, but as a being immersed within a particular historical and cultural environment. It is subsequently not the abstract criteria of ‘rationality’ which will inform political decision-making, but rather contextual concerns arising from the particular historical period the citizen lives in. As a result, a paradigmatic understanding is developed which has historical and cultural context at the centre. As mentioned above, the label ‘communitarian’ is frequently attached to such an approach. Centring Political Obligation on historical and cultural context is however far older and far broader than is indicated by the term ‘communitarian’, a controversial label which arguably only became

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prominent in Political Theory in the late twentieth century.1 Therefore, instead of the term ‘communitarian’ I will instead use the notion of a wider ‘Context-based Approach’.2 This will avoid the over association of this approach with one particular theory and, just as with Chapter 2, identify a wider and deeper paradigmatic mode of thinking on the issue of Political Obligation.

3.1

Conservatism and Communitarianism

One of the clearest illustrations of a Context-based Approach is political conservatism. If theories such as ‘Social Contract’ and utilitarianism wish to replace custom and tradition with rationality, conservatism can be understood as having a desire to ‘conserve’ such phenomena from the onslaught of rational reform. Conservatives dispute the confidence placed in the human capacity for rational thought. Instead of trusting reason as a guide to Political Obligation, one must instead seek guidance from the institutions and practices which have stood the test of time. Indeed, conservatives reject the label of ‘conservative ideology’, rather suggesting conservatism be understood as an ‘attitude’ or ‘disposition’: a preference for the stability of what exists rather than the over-optimistic desire for hypothetical alternatives (see especially Oakeshott 1967: 169). This sombre realism signifies a differentiation between conservatism’s ‘practical’ and ‘pragmatic’ thinking and the abstract utopian philosophy of its rationalist opponent. Such thinking is evident in the philosophy of Hume, who shows particular scepticism towards the faith Enlightenment thinkers placed in humanity’s capacity for reason. That rationality could form a better foundation for political relations Hume believes incredibly utopian; attempts to put such thought into action are subsequently an unacceptable risk to what peace and security have been achieved by time-tested traditional institutions (Hume 2008). Hume illustrates what he believes to be the limitations of human reason in a short thought experiment given in A Treatise on Human Nature. Hume imagines a waterlogged meadow that needs draining. He proposes that two neighbours who live adjacent to this meadow would agree to drain it as both would receive direct benefits from such an action, thus the advantages are immediately manifest to both parties concerned. However, if one was to propose such a project to a community of a thousand the work is very unlikely ever to be undertaken. This is because it is unlikely that so many people, who would not all receive direct benefits, would be able to comprehend its overall advantages—the ‘greater good’—it would achieve.

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Thus, Hume’s argument is that people may understand the good of actions which are to their immediate benefit, but their rationality is not so profound as to be capable of grasping the greater ‘common good’ of a community. He further adds that, even if the project was somehow agreed upon, it would be unlikely to be finished as each individual would try and escape the burden and expense of the work; people are likely to be less dedicated to serving this less tangible ‘greater good’ which they can barely comprehend and thus will avoid work and become distracted if something more immediately beneficial arises. This, Hume asserts, is why political authority exists: to override the limited capacity and whims of the populace and make sure that tasks necessary for the greater benefit of the polity are undertaken and completed (Hume 1985: 590). This leads one to the question of why people would accept and follow such an authority? It cannot be anything as complex as rational consent or an appreciation of a ‘rational greater good’; people unable to conceive of the benefits of public drainage are unlikely to be able to rationally comprehend their relationship with authority. Hume rather insists people simply obey political authority because they are in the habit of doing so. What develops this habit? The gradual moulding of obedience through customs and traditions of the polity over a long period of time (Hume 1985, 2008). It is as a consequence of such thinking that conservative thought in the spirit of Hume has subsequently focused on how cultural practices cultivate a sense of loyalty in the individual. This further shifts the focus from ‘reason’ to ‘passion’. Rather than considering how to educate citizens about their obligations through the medium of reason, means are sought by which to cultivate a sense of obligation to the polity by ensuring people ‘love’ their country. Subsequently, a familiarity and nostalgia for the land in which citizens are raised and live in is used to foster a sense of affection for their country of birth. Customs and traditions train this affection for one’s country to be transformed into a love of its ruling authority, a love which will in turn cultivate a sense of attachment and obligation to this authority (Burke 2004; Scruton 2002). Conservative thinkers discuss many different traditions and customs which can foster this ‘love’ and ‘nostalgia’ and further associate it with political authority. One of the most frequently discussed political traditions is hereditary monarchy, playing a prominent role in the thought of Hume (1985) and Edmund Burke (2004), as well as contemporary conservative philosopher Roger Scruton (2002). In The Meaning of Conservatism, Scruton explains the particular ‘genius’ of the modern British Monarchy in regard to Political Obligation. This particular

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‘genius’ is that monarchy transfigures the abstract concept of ‘State’ into the tangible and relatable form of a human person; rather than owing obligations to an abstract bureaucratic and legal order, we instead feel like we owe our loyalty to a human being whom we can relate to and feel affection for. This can in effect be understood to be returning the ‘personal’ aspect to politics which was lost in the transference of obligations from a King (or Queen) to the State by using the monarch as a relatable manifestation of modern political authority. The traditions and practices of British political life then serve to foster in its citizens both familiarity and reverence for the Queen, thus cultivating a sense of affection for her person, an affection which is then, through her association with the British State, transferred into an affection for the British Political Establishment. This allows a bond of affection and empathy to develop between citizen and State, a bond which is far stronger than speculative rational philosophising (Scruton 2002: 193). Nonetheless, is such an approach not, at best, a manipulation of human passion, at worse, an abuse of it? Are human emotions not being exploited in order to ensure loyalty to the British State? Does Hobbes’ theory not seem more honest, and ultimately preferable, in its attempts to be transparent and educate citizens, rather than attempting to play upon their passions? It would seem the conservative response is a little unpalatable in the light of the Rational Approach’s desire to treat citizens as autonomous individuals capable of coming to informed decisions about their obligations. Conservatives would doubtlessly reply that, as morally honest as the Rational Approach may claim to be, it is just too utopian to believe human beings could rationally conceive and agree on the greater good of the polity and subsequently too risky to reform politics on such an idea. If we desire peace and security, we need to put faith and invest in our institutions and traditions which have maintained order over the centuries. To call these into question, for whatever noble reason, is to put the stability of the polity in jeopardy and risk the most terrible political event possible: the dissolution of government and civil war (Hume 2008: 280). In contrast to conservatism, communitarianism baulks at the idea of giving such support to authority purely from fear of revolution. Indeed, communitarian thinkers, such as Amitai Etzioni, criticise such a view as being overly authoritarian. Instead, they situate themselves between the extremes of liberalism and conservatism: rejecting the assumption of the autonomous ‘rational individual’ as the central actor in politics, but not necessarily suggesting such rejection should lead to a buttressing of State authority through cultivating a tradition of obedience (Etzioni 1996).

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Thus, communitarianism shares with conservatism its scepticism of a ‘rational individual’ whose hypothetical decisions can be built into a paradigm for understanding obligation. This is not however because they fear such an assumption could undermine State authority. Rather, they believe that such an ‘individual’ is an ontological impossibility: such ‘individuals’ exist only in the imagination of the philosophers of the Rational Approach, in reality, citizens exist embedded within a cultural and historical matrix which shapes their identity and choices. As an ontological impossibility, the idea of an abstract individual is subsequently also a false premise from which to design a paradigm capable of understanding political relations as they exist in the real world. Communitarian opposition to rationalism is thus less based out of a normative desire to buttress authority, and subsequently avoid revolution, as a philosophical dispute over how the Rational Approach conceptualises the citizen. The communitarian critique of rationalism was born largely out of a critique of the philosophy of Rawls, and, to be precise, his thought experiment of the ‘The Original Position’. In this thought experiment, Rawls asked the reader to imagine an individual decides upon the principles of justice for the society she will enter from a position beyond time and space in which she has no knowledge of any particular features she will have when entering society, factors such as religion, race, or gender. The thinking is, abstracted from and ignorant to such factors, the individual will decide principles she believes to be the most just using only her reason to guide her. To communitarians, as interesting as such an experiment may be, and as ‘just’ such principles may appear to one occupying this ‘Original Position’, any conclusions it comes to will ultimately be irrelevant. People simply do not, and never can, truncate themselves from society and construct a world based on pure rationality. On the contrary, they are always embedded within a social–political context which informs decision-making. If they were put in such an abstract position and had their cultural framework and particular interests removed from them, it is unlikely whether they would be able to make any significant choices at all (Sandel 1998: 179). If any meaningful decisions could be reached, it would further be unlikely that they would be accepted by citizens living in real communities, who would be more concerned with the particular historical issues and pressures their communities face rather than some abstract rational principles which are insensitive to such conditions. Constructing the principles and obligations of political communities based on hypothetical rational calculation is thus a fruitless and rather pointless exercise. Instead, we must focus on understanding

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principles and obligations as they exist within particular historically bound communities, and any suggestions or prescriptions must be made in relation to those particular communities (MacIntyre 2007; Walzer 1983). Communitarianism has subsequently sought to hypothesise the individual as embedded within a particular social–political context, and thus one who understands herself and her choices in relation to this context she is embedded in. We thus have as an ontological basis, not the autonomous rational subject, but a being immersed and indistinguishable from her historically bound social matrix. In the light of this, Alasdair McIntyre has emphasised that the human being always approaches issues as a bearer of certain roles related to this immersive context: one is never merely an ‘individual’, but rather is always a member of a particular family; a citizen of a particular town or city; a member of a certain profession or guild; one always belongs to a tribe, clan, or nation. Such roles subsequently imply certain behaviours and duties one is expected to perform: one has particular duties as a ‘daughter’ or a ‘mother’; one is expected to behave in a certain way as a member of certain professions, such as ‘teacher’ or ‘doctor’; one has obligations to the clan or nation one belongs to. Thus, when making decisions, one not only decides what is good ‘for me’, but rather ‘what is good for me as a bearer of these roles’ (MacIntyre 2007). Thus, principles and obligations are not understood by the criterion of abstract rationality, but rather in relation to an understanding of these particular roles the citizen understands herself in relation to. A comparable understanding of the human being is given by Charles Taylor when he describes human life as ‘dialogical’ in character. Individual identity, Taylor argues, is not produced in isolation by the individual’s effort alone but always in dialogue with others. One understands one’s membership of family, not by solitary reflection, but through dialogue with our mother, father, grandparents, and siblings; understanding of ourselves as members of a particular political community is produced through conversation with other members and engagement with the community’s history and culture. Such ‘others’ form an intelligible framework, what Taylor terms a ‘horizon of significance’, against which we understand who we are. Decisions are thus again not made in solitary isolation using abstract reason, but in dialogue with the world we are situated in (Taylor 2003). Understanding the particular context the individual is located in, understanding what forms and informs this ‘horizon of significance’, is essential in understanding a citizens’ decisions and her relations with others, notably, her relationship with political authority.

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There are central differences and disagreements between ‘conservative’ and ‘communitarian’ thought. We are however able to detect a similar basis by which we can understand these as Contextual-based Approaches: the rejection of abstract reason as the guiding force in understanding decisionmaking and relationships, and in its place an appreciation for the particular historical and cultural context the individual is embedded. Nonetheless, one significant divergence that appears between conservatives and communitarians is worth noting. Rejecting reason as a suitable foundation for political relations, conservatives typically advocate the use of traditions and customs as a means of evoking emotional attachments to the polity. This is advocated in order to strengthen the unity of a polity, frequently out of a fear of social discord and revolution (Hume 1985, 2008; Burke 2004). Communitarian thought appears to conversely reject the foundation of reason because it is deemed unrealistic and irrelevant. The turn to context is thus more as a result of an attempt to gain a sounder and more realistic understanding of human beings and their relationships. Thus, conservatism is often incredibly normative: it puts across the argument that tradition ought to take central place in politics as to ensure order and unity. Communitarians by contrast, in their attempt to gain a more realistic appreciation of human relations, tend to be more interpretative of approach, hermeneutical even. That is not to say that Communitarians do not provide normative argument. It is evident that they do. In particular, judging custom and tradition as important for human self-understanding, a normative argument is often supplied regarding the need to protect such customs and traditions. Taylor most notably argues that Francophile culture is central for the self-understanding of many Quebecois and thus provides normative argument that such Francophile culture must be protected by Canadian law (Taylor 2011). Nonetheless, in their focus on interpreting human relations and communities, communitarians can be understood to be much more hermeneutic in orientation, and indeed, are sometimes explicitly so. This is important as, in this hermeneutic vein, communitarianism can be seen to be most sympathetic to my own approach to Political Obligation. I will focus hereafter on the Context-based Approach in the communitarian vein as to make evident where it shares ground, and where it differs, from my own approach.

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3.2

Associative Political Obligation: A Context-Based Approach

Associative Theories of Obligation can be understood as theories which conceptualise obligations as occurring through association with certain groups. There are two aspects of such obligations which need to be immediately made evident. Firstly, such obligations are said to be ‘particular’: they are not obligations owed to everybody, but rather owed only to other members of the particular group or association one is a member of. Secondly, they are said to be ‘non-voluntary’: they are obligations incurred through membership of a group which one does not explicitly choose to be a member of (Horton 2010: 47–48). An example often cited of such a particular non-voluntary association is the family: we do not choose our family but are ‘born into one’, yet we still incur obligations to other particular members of this group despite such lack of choice (Horton 2010; Vossen 2011a, b; Renzo 2012). It should be further noted that ‘Associative Theories’ are divided into two camps. The first can be understood as a non-voluntarist articulation of contract theory. The second is described as a ‘communitarian’ approach which considers members of the group to have a ‘thick’ ethical commitment to one another. A prominent example of the former is given by Margaret Gilbert (2006), whilst the most influential articulation of the latter is given by Horton (2007, 2010). Given my desire to consider a Context-based Approach of communitarian vein, it is Horton’s theory I will focus on. Horton takes issue with what he terms the ‘Hobbesian’ approach to Political Obligation, an understanding which is akin to what I have articulated as the Rational Approach. Such a theory holds that, if human beings are to flourish, certain conditions must be established and maintained, most notably security and stability. This is indeed the crux of Hobbes’ argument in Leviathan. Providing such basic conditions subsequently constitutes the ‘generic good’ of political authority, and the provision of safety and stability provides an immediate rational reason why one should feel obliged to it. Horton’s issue with such an articulation of obligation is that, whilst it may inform us why a polity is valuable, and thus why one may feel obliged to a polity, it does not explain the particular relationship and sentiments citizens have to the particular polity they belong to: it is incapable of explaining why we feel an obligation to our polity (Horton 2007: 7–10). Such a theory may explain why Hobbes’ hypothetical individuals found value in his theoretical Commonwealth, but it cannot

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account for the particular relationship and sentiments a British person feels for the British State. It is to address this issue that Horton claims the ‘associative argument’ is required. The philosophical underpinnings of this argument will be familiar from the discussion of communitarianism, drawing notable inspiration from MacIntyre in particular. The premise is that we are all born into particular groups and associations, such as families and nations, and it is as members of these particular groups by which we understand our identity and formulate our decisions. Subsequently, it can also be said that we are all born into a particular polity, and in recognising my membership and identifying myself with this particular polity, incur-related obligations towards it (Horton 2007: 10–11). Thus, being born a citizen of the UK and identifying as ‘British’, I incur particular obligations towards the British State as well as other members of the British political community. Such obligations, it is worth reiterating, are non-voluntary: I did not choose to be born into the UK; and particular: they are obligations not towards the German State, or French State, or Hobbes’ hypothetical Commonwealth, but to the British State in particular. Horton further divides the ‘Associative Theory’ into two facets: objective and subjective. ‘Objective’ refers largely to the facticity of being a member of a community. It is called ‘objective’ as it does not rely on the citizen’s emotions, sentiments, or attitudes: it is a product of the objective fact of membership, regardless of how one feels about being part of this group. Thus, by simply having the status of ‘British citizen’, one also carries a number of rights, obligations and legal responsibilities regardless about whether one identifies as British or not (Horton 2007: 12). In contrast, the ‘subjective’ aspect is precisely concerned with citizen’s sentiments, emotions, and attitudes. This facet is concerned with how the citizen identifies with the polity, incorporating and internalising aspects of it as part of her own understanding of self, an understanding which will subsequently drive her sentiments and decision-making. It is this ‘subjective’ aspect which then informs, not one’s facticity of membership, but one’s sense of obligation towards the polity. Concerned with the spring of citizen sentiment towards political authority, this facet has been identified by commentators as the most important aspect of ‘Associative Theory’ (Renzo 2012). Such subjective identification with the polity is frequently achieved through shared narratives between the citizens and the State. Historical narratives in particular make one feel like one’s life is a part of the greater history of the political community and identifying with this makes one feel

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more affiliated towards the polity. The ‘trite’ examples Horton gives of this are American appeals to the ‘Founding Fathers’; French appeals to the ideals of the Revolution; and British evocation of the Dunkirk Spirit. Such stories are designed to provoke national unity, in particular in a time of crisis, to create a sense of collective togetherness and make the individual feel an intrinsic part of the polity. When these two facets come together, that is the ‘objective’ facticity of membership to a polity and the ‘subjective’ identification with it, the conditions of ‘Political Obligation’ are fully met (Horton 2007). Horton identifies two situations in which these facets can come apart. The first is when the citizen is factually a member of one polity but feels subjectively attached to another. This, however, whilst creating a particular problem for the polity in question, does not undermine the concept of Political Obligation: it does not dispute that the citizen feels a sense of Political Obligation, only this sense of obligation is directed at a different polity than the one she is legally a member of. The second situation is when a citizen does not feel any obligations to another polity, yet still identifies weakly, if at all, with her polity; in other words, the citizen feels no subjective attachment to any polity. The best example of such an ‘apathetic’ citizen is the Philosophical Anarchist: one who does not actively campaign to politically oppose the State, but nonetheless insists that she has no obligation towards it. The most notable philosopher to hold such a view is A. J. Simmons (1996), whom Horton engages with throughout his work on Political Obligation. In critique of Simmons, Horton remarks that the Philosophical Anarchist argument is somewhat disingenuous and manifests in bad faith: the Philosophical Anarchist refuses to acknowledge the legitimacy of the State but yet does not actively oppose it, rather selecting to disingenuously enjoy the full benefits of membership whilst denying any sense of loyalty to the group. It thus becomes a somewhat parasitic position in that its ability to exist is dependent on the existence of the State’s protection and can subsequently only exist if its views are not commonly adopted: if everyone became Philosophical Anarchists then the polity would collapse and along with it the privileged position from which a person could launch such speculative criticisms (Horton 2007: 16). Such a position is not seen by Horton as a major threat to Political Obligation because it is made out of ‘bad faith’ and is ultimately self-defeating. Horton’s argument that we have obligations that we did not choose has been unsurprisingly controversial. In particular, it is argued that such a position, in which justification is sought entirely within the context of the

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particular authority and not from an external moral criteria, could lead to the endorsement of some questionable political communities. The example frequently given is one could be both objectively obliged and subjectively obliged to the Third Reich (one could be both a legal member of the State and a dedicated Nazi). It would thus seem, by associative standards, the criterion has been met for genuine Political Obligation in this abhorrent State. In order to criticise this State, an external moral criterion is needed, such as the standard of Human Rights derived from universal rationality, to make the case that obeying the Nazi State is morally wrong despite particular legal facts or citizen feelings. This argument is made by both liberals (Knowles 2010; Vernon 2007) and anarchists (Egoumenides 2014; Simmons 1996). Building on such criticism, Simmons (1996) in particular argues that much of the content of ‘Associative Obligations’ can be seen as a form of ‘false consciousness’ as people may be manipulated into believing certain narratives and identities. Such manipulation in particular can be orchestrated into convincing people that they ought to obey an institution which actively oppresses and exploits them, or to encourage citizens to carry out atrocities in the belief they are obliged to carry out such acts for the greater good of their polity. The latter argument instantly brings to mind the example of the atrocities carried out by the Nazi SS on the Eastern front, actions which were justified by their location in the grand narrative of the ‘fight to the death’ between the Germanic and the Slavic peoples. In response to this criticism, Massimo Renzo has argued that the subjective aspect of Horton’s theory needs to be recognised as ‘quasi-voluntary’ and elevated to the primary criterion by which the question of obligation is assessed. It is argued that the acceptance and internalisation of our polity membership should be recognised as an endorsement, and it is only if such an endorsement is made can a citizen be truly under an obligation. Such an amendment, Renzo claims, addresses the manipulation accusation as genuine endorsement cannot be a product of ‘brainwashing’ or ‘indoctrination’ (Renzo 2012). One may of course be sceptical to what extent this does truly address the issue: by what criteria, for example, do we judge whether the concentration camp guard was indoctrinated or did willingly identify with the Nazi State? Nonetheless, hermeneutically, this is very interesting as it asks further questions about the process by which the citizen experiences, internalises, and endorses narratives and arguments. With this argument, Renzo also brings attention to the fact that endorsement or rejection of certain narratives is not done in isolation, but in regard to other

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competing narratives of memberships (Renzo 2012). Thus, one may feel a sense of obligation to their polity weaken, not as a result of a sense of obligation to another polity or out of apathy, but rather due to a competing claim of membership to a religious group. This raises the questions of how such claims are made upon the citizen, how she experiences them, and what factors sway her decisions. This is of incredible hermeneutic interest for understanding the citizen’s political relations and will be something in need of consideration when constructing the approach through the encounter. Horton does of course reject the idea that, without an external criterion, the Theory of Associative Obligations logically leads to the endorsement of immoral polities. I agree with him. However, this idea of the need for an external, or a priori, moral framework to serve as a criterion for judging Political Obligation is relevant to any approach which seeks to primarily understand particular obligations rather than give normative argument and is a criticism frequently aimed at hermeneutics more generally (Baron 2018: 66–67). Thus, whilst raising the issue here, I will postpone reply until I reach my consideration of limitations to a hermeneutic approach in Chapter 7. In the remainder of this section, I will instead focus on the similarities and differences between the Context-based Approach and the ‘approach through the encounter’. Similarities and differences will largely centre around both approaches’ claims to be ‘hermeneutic’ in nature. The ‘hermeneutic nature’ of Associative Theory can briefly be summarised as an enterprise which seeks, not to justify obligation on hypothetical principles or an idealised end result, but rather to give plausible account of how citizens do understand and form political relationships within the actual communities that they live in. It is this hermeneutic focus on the real and embedded, and not the hypothetical and abstract, which proponents and sympathisers of Associative Theory have indeed been keen to emphasise (Horton 2010; Renzo 2012). Such intention seems very like the intentions I laid out for my own approach in Chapter 1. Where then does my approach differ from this Context-based theory? The distinction I would identify is that the hermeneutic natured Context-based Approach focuses predominantly on interpreting obligations through an understanding of the social roles the citizen carries. It is less concerned with how such roles are propagated and experienced, in short, ‘encountered’, and how a relationship is built out of such encounters. By its own admission, the Associative Approach is less concerned with how the citizen gets into relationships than ‘the nature of these relationships themselves’ (Horton and Windeknecht

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2014: 911). It is on the contrary precisely the existential experience in which such roles are communicated, and how such experiences may produce a sense of obligation or not, that I am primarily concerned with. This difference, and its implications, can be better explained through a consideration of ‘narrative’. It may be recalled that it was narratives that were alluded to as the means by which citizens feels connected to their polity, and thus a primary means by which a sense of obligation is generated. I will in particular turn here to consider an example from MacIntyre, given that he both provides one of the most extensive discussions of the functioning of narrative and that his ‘socially-embedded’ understanding of the human provides much of the ontological basis for Associative Theory. In After Virtue, MacIntyre gives a clear illustration of how narrative is vital for understanding human action. He asks us to imagine a man digging a hole. Such an action could be defined as ‘gardening’, ‘taking exercise’, or ‘pleasing his wife’. Nevertheless, if we do not know the narrative history of this man’s personal affairs, or of such practices as horticulture, we cannot truly understand these actions (MacIntyre 2007: 206). Indeed, he could be a dementia patient who mistakenly believes he is in 1940s Flanders and is digging anti-tank ditches. To establish this, of course, we would have to know the narrative history of his mental health. The only way to understand which action he is doing would be to situate it within a narrative history. If we understand, for instance, that the man is very much in love with his wife, but has nonetheless recently fell out of her good graces, he may be attempting to improve the garden as an effort to win back her favour. Located in this narrative, the man’s actions are suddenly intelligible to us. Equally, to understand ‘digging holes’ as part of an effort to ‘garden’, we must also recognise this action in the context of gardening, a practice which again has its own narrative history. In short, in order to make the action intelligible, we need to locate it within its narrative framework, ‘the marital relationship’ and ‘gardening’ and thus understand it in regard to this context which it is situated in. This also further reveals the ‘social roles’ mentioned earlier, for the man is no longer just an abstract ‘man’, but is a ‘husband’ and a ‘gardener’, and again, his actions are intelligible when understood as a discharge of responsibilities associated with such roles. One can only understand this behaviour if we understand the man’s social role that caused him to discharge this action, and thus the subsequent narrative which makes such roles and actions intelligible (MacIntyre 2007: 206). There is one crucial question I believe needs to be asked here: Who are these social roles and narratives making the man’s action more intelligible

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to? It is not the man, for he surely knew his intentions before he reached for the trowel. On the contrary, it is to the external observer watching the man that such a framework makes actions intelligible: it is the observer who takes the action and relates it to social roles and frameworks. The roles and narratives that make up the ‘context’ thus take the form of a backdrop or lens which make observed behaviour intelligible. The implication of this is that it does not allow us insight into the man’s own understanding of his obligations and activities. It does not reveal to us how these roles and narratives are communicated to him. How, for example, does the man know his wife wants him to improve the garden? How does he know that digging holes will improve the garden? This approach provides us with a framework to understand the man’s action, but it does not tell us how such narratives and roles were communicated to him, how he perceives them and responds to them. This approach, in short, does not give attention to the existential moments of encounter in which the knowledge was conveyed to the man that he should complete these roles and why he accepted them; the encounter in which the wife communicated that she would be pleased if the garden was improved, or, indeed, the past encounters which persuade the man he wants to please his wife and not ignore her and watch football with his friends instead. It is these existential moments which my approach through the ‘encounter’ wishes to recover and build a fuller understanding of such relationships from. Furthermore, by hermeneutically extracting such narratives from the encounters they are produced, communicated, and contested through, the approach will gain a more precise and particular account of these narratives; by interpreting the narrative of this marriage from the encounters between husband and wife, we get an account, not of ‘marriage’ per se, but of their particular marriage. It is thus not such narratives and social roles as conceptual guide, but as ideas and arguments projected through existential experiences, I intend to recover and through this be able to gain better appreciation of their acceptance, contestation, and operation across time and space in existing communities. In this way, I intend my approach to ‘open up’ the concept of these social roles. It does not simply wish to mediate the action with the social role, but rather open up this social role and unpack the means by which it was represented existentially to the individual. It may be said that my approach is still akin to the Context-based Approach. In particular, it might be said that what I intend is a further excavation of the ontological ground that philosophers such as MacIntyre and Horton first uncovered. I could empathise with such a view to a degree

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as I share a similar ontological premise, the citizen’s existence being constituted of embedded social roles and narratives and share the desire to hermeneutically interpret these as a basis for understanding obligation. I do however believe I diverge from the Context-based Approach in two vital ways. Firstly, I have understood the Context-based Approach as committed to a better understanding of the context, whether this be social roles, narratives, or customs and traditions, in order to better appreciate obligations. I do not propose however that the encounter interprets such context per se, but rather interprets how the phenomena embedded in such context manifests existentially in a way it can be encountered by those who inhabit it, and what sense of obligation is communicated from such encounters. I would thus understand my approach less ‘context-based’—or even focused—but existential. I am not interested in understanding the phenomena which make up a given context objectively but as they manifest and represents themselves in existence. It is through examining what is communicated in such existential manifestations and representations I intend to hermeneutically extract an understanding of obligation which exists in polities. Secondly, what will subsequently be offered in this book is less a ‘theory’ of obligation, but more a means of inquiry into the situation of Political Obligation. It is not a theoretical account of obligations that I hope is realistic or convincing which I will present at the close of this book. Rather it is the ‘encounter’ as a tool by which one can excavate ideas, narratives, and arguments of obligation as they are operating in real political communities. By an ‘approach through the encounter’, I thus denote, not a theory, but a means of inquiring into the nature of obligation as it exists in particular communities. This ‘means of inquiry’ as opposed to ‘theory’ I believe marks my intentions and thought as qualitatively different from the Context-based Approach. This qualitative difference does of course mean my approach and the Context-based Approach are not rivals in understanding obligations. Indeed, in further excavating the nature of obligation in particular contexts, I believe the approach through the encounter could compliment a Context-based Approach greatly. However, it does not mean it is an inquiry that is exclusive to a Context-based Approach but can be used in accordance with others. Indeed, the approach would be of great service to the Rational Approach in its uncovering of this rational-based thinking about Political Obligation within functioning political communities, and how such arguments may be experienced existentially. This multipurpose use of my inquiry I believe demonstrates its uniqueness, its great potential

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use, and the qualitative difference the ‘approach through the encounter’ has from the predominant ways of thinking about obligation.

3.3

Confucian Communitarianism: The Context-Based Approach in China

A criticism often levelled against communitarians is that, whilst giving penetrating analysis of liberal society, they fail to provide a viable alternative ‘communitarian society’ or convincing account of a ‘communitarian polity’ (Wallach 1987). Thus, whilst they offer critical insight into why a purely rational articulation of political relations is unrealistic, their focus is overtly on developing this critique rather than providing example or illustration of a more ‘community’-orientated polity. Debate thus circles around abstract theoretical critique rather than advancing to demonstration or hermeneutic analysis of communities which do function in the manner communitarians describe. This accusations that communitarianism has been better at analysing the history and arguments of liberalism than investigating how alternative communities are, or may be, structured is one scholars sympathetic to the approach must respond to. One response is to look beyond Western liberal democracies, where much of the communitarian critique has predominantly emerged, to other political cultures which may provide an example of a polity in resemblance of the communitarian idea. East Asia has proved attractive in this search. It has been argued that in East Asia, and typically the culture of East Asian Confucianism, one may find communities which share the socially embedded ‘role-based’ understanding of the human being which lies at the centre of communitarian ontology. It thus appears to provide example of a comprehensive way of life where one may put communitarian ideas into practice (Fox 1997). Such a unity between Confucianism and communitarianism has also been attractive to scholars of East Asia, who, in response to claims that Western liberalism is the ‘only game in town’, have sought a vehicle to demonstrate the validity and worth of an alternative vision of politics stemming from East Asian tradition (Kim 2014). Of course, the marriage of a philosophical critique emerging predominantly in North America with a cultural tradition whose roots lie in East Asia has not been seamless. Scholars, such as Wexi Hu, have highlighted that the eastern Confucian understanding of community is very different than the Western understanding: eastern ideas of community are based on a hierarchical order of communities, in contrast to more horizontally

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structured overlapping idea of communities in the west (Hu 2007: 477). Nonetheless, rather than weakening the notion of ‘Confucian Communitarianism’, such differences have rather been regarded as a strength of this union of ideas. Hu in particular highlights that the significantly different cultural background that ‘Confucian Communitarianism’ draws from makes its alternative view of politics more profound and distinct than ‘western’ communitarianism, the latter being too close to the liberal tradition it is trying to criticise (Hu 2007). Scholars have offered studies of Confucian political culture in Singapore (Bell 1997); South Korea (Kim 2014); and, increasingly, China (Bell 2008) to provide potential alternatives to the Western liberal model of politics. Turning to consider ‘Confucian Communitarianism’ is also an enticing prospect at this point in our discussion. So far it has been established that a key aspect of the Context-based Approach is to reject abstraction and universality in addressing issues of Political Obligation, and instead focus on how obligations are articulated in particular polities in accordance with an understanding of the particular context such communities are embedded in. Nonetheless, it will not have escaped an attentive reader’s notice that, despite an emphasis on particularities, discussion of the Context-based Approach has been rather general: a general critique of an abstract Rational Approach has been unpacked, and a broad discussion of the importance of particular context has been considered, with passing examples providing short illustration. Subsequently, considering ‘Confucian Communitarianism’s’ attempts to understand relations in a particular East Asian polity provides the opportunity to actually consider how a particular historical and cultural context informs our understanding of obligations in a particular community. In this section, I will investigate attempts to conceptualise and ground political relations in China according to an interpretation of Confucian thought and culture. Like the Context-based Approach broadly, Confucian political thought in China often begins with critique. Such critique takes the form of an explicit criticism of Western liberalism (Jiang 2013), and a more subtle and cautious criticism of Marxism (Tan 2012; Fröhlich 2017), on the basis that both political theories are of an abstract nature and of Western heritage, and thus largely unsuitable to the particularities of Chinese culture and politics. The widespread adoption of these abstract and western-centred theories in China has resulted in the abandonment of China’s traditional historical culture, something Confucians believe will be detrimental in the long term to Chinese politics and society (Tan 2012; Fröhlich 2017). Arguably the

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most extensive critiques of ‘western rationalism’ comes from Jiang Qing, who is largely regarded as contemporary China’s leading Confucian thinker (Bell 2008: 12). Jiang directs his critique predominantly at liberal theory, as opposed to Marxism, highlighting the inadequacies of ‘Social Contract Theory’ in particular. Jiang argued that contract theory, by reducing political relations to the hypothetical choices of rational individuals, returns an impoverished understanding of politics which is unsuitable for meeting the concerns of contemporary society. More specifically, this approach divorces citizens from the moral guidance and wisdom found in a community’s history and culture. Without such a transcendent guide, politics becomes based on narrow self-interest and is dominated by extreme forms of selfishness, commercialisation, and hedonism. In addition to this, Jiang believes such a reductive view of politics further reduces judgement to instrumental reason, which he maintains is highly detrimental to State legitimacy, and, subsequently, Political Obligation. He maintains that the State cannot be understood purely through reason as it has ‘sacred’, ‘mysterious’ and ‘aweinspiring’ qualities which defy humanity’s rational faculty. Jiang maintains that the sense of obligation to the Chinese State was, traditionally, not due to a rational calculation or a ‘commonplace feeling’, but rather was conceived as a sacred duty. A sense of Political Obligation thus takes on a more moral, even religious, character. This is evident in Jiang’s understanding of ‘loyalty’, which he describes as a sacred and profound ‘call’ which arises from a ‘heartfelt moral sense of belonging’. Such a profound psychological feeling Jiang sees as the ‘spring’ of a citizen’s sense of obligation, and thus the sentiment which holds the political community together. If it is to inspire such a strong psychological attachment, the State must therefore possess ‘sacred’ and ‘awe-inspiring’ qualities. However, the rationalisation of politics has the effect of ‘exorcising’ such qualities, leaving in its place a rational ensemble of constitutional and legal arrangements. Such a State cannot hope to inspire such deep sacred attachment and thus must instead appeal to rational self-interest if it is to maintain its citizen’s loyalty. The consequence of this is that the bond between State and citizen is fatally weakened, any sense of Political Obligation is thinned, and the State will likely face a crisis of legitimacy (Jiang 2013: 90). A Confucian theory of obligation therefore seeks to locate the nature of politics and the State in its ‘historical identity’. Confucianism does not locate the nature of the State in rational self-interest, as does liberalism, nor class dictatorship, as does Marxism, but in its enduring and ‘awe-inspiring’ national history which has grown through a long period of time (Jiang

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2013: 71). Confucian thought claims for itself a privileged position as the wardens of China’s history. Sor-Hoon Tan argues that, given Confucianist thought’s identification with Chinese traditional society, Confucian scholars are the self-appointed custodians of Chinese culture and tradition. In illustration of the functioning of this role, Tan draws particular attention to the Mandarin translation of ‘tradition’: chuan-tong. The etymology of this word is important as it brings together the idea of transition, chuan, with the connotations of ‘unity/continuity’ and ‘norm/guide’, tong, thus rendering the idea of that which is transmitted from the past can unite and guide a community in the present. As ‘custodians’ of China’s past, it is the Confucians who take on this role of ‘transmitters’ of what is valuable in past tradition: they have the responsibility of assessing what in the past is valuable and interpreting this value into an appropriate guide for the current concerns of the Chinese community (Tan 2012). This notion of ‘transmission’, it is claimed, makes such an approach to traditional culture ‘pragmatic’ as opposed to ‘dogmatic’. As Tan argues, the Confucian project of transmission contains a crucial critical element in its task of selecting what parts of Chinese history and culture are appropriate for use in the present. Confucian scholars must not, she argues, concern themselves predominantly in matters of textual criticism or debate the historical authenticity of interpretations of the Confucian classics, but rather reconstruct Confucianism to meet the modern age (Tan 2012).3 One might wonder what parts of China’s heritage these ‘custodians’ recommend is ‘transmitted’. It would be appropriate to begin such discussion with a quality which has been most closely associated with Confucian thought: ‘filial piety’. Family relations have long been regarded as a core norm in guiding relations in traditional Chinese society. Hu remarks that Confucianism regards politics as a translation of family ethics, with the State being regarded as a magnified family (Hu 2007: 476). The central place of such a family-oriented understanding has however proved controversial. Joseph Chan, considered a more ‘liberal’ Confucian, has argued traditional values such as ‘respect for one’s parents’—frequently interpreted as ‘obeying one’s parents’—are incompatible with modern autonomy and are not conductive to the long-term well-being of children. Such a value should therefore not be ‘transmitted’ (Chan 2013: 105). Jiang however rejects this critique. Arguing that Chan has isolated one aspect of filial piety (obedience) from a greater understanding of the spirit of Confucianism, he has subsequently misunderstood it as an imperative rule. ‘Piety’ should rather be regarded as a disposition of conduct, which is first cultivated in the

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family and then transcends into other aspects of life. ‘Obedience’ is thus not imperative—indeed Jiang labels it conditional—but rather a form of behaviour that is appropriate to one’s elders when the community is following the proper Confucian spirit as a whole (Jiang 2013: 179). We might thus understand, in relation to Political Obligation, one first learns to feel obligation to one’s parents, and then, when this has been learnt in a close familiar setting, it is then transmitted to the political community and the State. This is crucially not an imperative that one must obey, but rather the cultivation of a particular spirit and an understanding of how to act in obligation when obligations are due. Another facet of Confucianism is ‘ritual’. Rituals are believed to be important in bringing the political community together and giving ideas and values an ‘immanence’ (Fox 1997: 574). Daniel Bell has in particular highlighted the importance of traditional ‘Hierarchical Rituals’ in Chinese society. Bell acknowledges that rituals built on an understanding of hierarchy may be viewed, especially by liberals and Marxists, as an entrenching of feudal hierarchy. He however insists this need not be the case, arguing such rituals can bring a community together and, despite their hierarchical form, serve egalitarian ends. This is the case when rituals involve both the powerful and the disadvantaged as, having these sections of society come together, it can raise consciousness of them being members of the same community and cultivate an affection and concern for the poor amongst the rich. Bell highlights as example the ritual involved in communal Chinese meals. Traditionally, communal dishes are placed at the centre of the table and the elderly normally select their food first. This is representative of the idea of ‘filial piety’ at mealtime, but also has a crucial self-cultivation element. Children are in particular taught not to force their access to food, but rather wait until the elderly, the weaker and less able members of the group, get their portion first. This teaches self-restraint and deferred gratification to the young, but also fosters in them a concern for the less able members of the community and makes them conscious of the need to ensure all members, regardless of ability, get their necessary requirements. Thus, although hierarchical, such a ceremony creates an egalitarian value in the community (Bell 2008: 49). We can thus observe a number of means by which traditions and cultures can be ‘transmitted’ as a means to instruct and foster a close sense of community in contemporary China. One could cite more examples, but this would be to distract from the fundamental issue of this inquiry which is the nature between citizens and State. The philosopher who has consid-

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ered how Confucianism can instruct this fundamental political relationship in most depth is undoubtably Jiang, who has given extensive consideration to how Confucianism can bestow legitimacy on the Chinese State and render it a proper object of its citizens obligations. Jiang insists that a legitimate Chinese State must meet three forms of legitimacy: ‘Heaven’, ‘Earth’ and ‘Human’. ‘Human’ refers to the legitimacy given to the State by its people; ‘Earth’ refers to a legitimacy bestowed by history; ‘Heaven’ refers to a ‘transcendent’ and ‘Sacred’ legitimacy. Jiang offers a detailed outline of how a Chinese State may embody these three forms of legitimacy, most notably his proposal of a ‘tricameral legislator’ which represents each of the three forms. To understand better how Confucian culture influences Jiang’s polity—how Confucian thought acts as a ‘transmitter’ of tradition in guiding the State and its relations with its citizens—we may take a closer look at the ‘legitimacy of Heaven’. ‘Heaven’, being a ‘transcendent’ and ‘sacred’ criterion, is rather difficult to conceptualise. To understand its relation to Confucianism, however, what is important to recognise is that it is Confucian Scholars who are seen as the most appropriate interpreters of ‘Heaven’s Mandate’. It is subsequently Confucians who are bestowed with the role of interpreting the legitimacy of the State and in guiding its actions and relations. Jiang identifies three crucial ways the Confucian Academy can regulate Chinese politics: it is given supervisory power over politics, setting the ethical framework in which the State and its officials may justly act; it educates and sets the examinations for government officials, thus making sure agents of the State are properly versed and learned in Confucianism; and it leads and directs the rituals and ceremonies of the State (Jiang 2013: 57–60). ‘Political Obligation’ in this sense is very much grounded in accordance of the State with Confucian culture and instruction. Through this inquiry, we can get a glimpse into the notion of a political community directed by the particular traditional and cultural context of Confucianism. Communal relations are held together on traditional Chinese ethics such as ‘filial piety’, and feelings of concern and unity are fostered between members of the community through their participation in tradition rituals and ceremonies. The State’s relations to citizens are further instructed by its accordance with the traditional qualities and ethos of China as are embodied by Confucianism. Confucian scholars themselves further take the role of interpreting and reconstructing this traditional culture in a manner deemed most suitable for addressing the contemporary concerns China may face. There are two issues with this picture that one must draw

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attention to. Firstly, it will be clear how closely this ‘Confucian’ approach corresponds with the ethos of the Context-based Approach. One might observe a shared rejection of abstract reason, with conduct and relations being drawn from the particular culture and history of the community in question. There is focus on emotion in directing relations. There is also a particular focus on practical means of fostering such obligations, notable in the emphasis given to rituals. In this way, obligation to the polity is cultivated through the experience of the citizen embedded in the particular practices and values of the community they inhabit, in this case, the rituals and ethos of traditional China as embodied in Confucianism culture. The second issue is, whilst these philosophers may describe a Confucian inspired political community which does resemble communitarian ethos, does this description actually resemble contemporary China? In many ways, it does not, and it certainly misses one elephant in the room: the Chinese State is (officially) Marxist, not Confucian. Such an issue reveals a central quality of this Confucian communitarianism: it is overtly normative. Such Confucian Philosophers are not describing how Confucianism currently informs political and societal relations in China, but how they could, and ought, inform them. The theory of Political Obligation one gleams from this discourse is thus a normative argument about how State and society relations in China ought to be, not an interpretation of how they are. Indeed, one may note that the subsequent utopianism of these arguments rival that of the most abstract ‘rational’ theories. This is evident in Jiang in particular. As Bell has noted, Jiang’s argument for a ‘tricameral legislator’ is as likely to be realised in China as the creation of new hereditary seats for British aristocrats in the House of Lords (Bell 2008: 140). In accounting for how political relations in China actually function, the closest is Bell, who does discuss in detail the influence of Confucianism on contemporary Chinese politics in both his works China’s New Confucianism (2008) and The China Model (2015), the latter of which elaborates on a particular Confucian political characteristic of Chinese Government: ‘Meritocracy’. Nonetheless, both of these works are still heavily normative rather than hermeneutical. Bell advocates a Confucian tradition he finds inspiring (2008: xvi) and composes a defence of the Meritocratic Chinese system (Bell 2015: 4). His discussion of Confucian rituals, whilst drawing on contemporary practices, on the whole forms an argument for the revival of such traditions, an understanding of which is largely drawn from the philosophy of classical Confucian thinker Xunzi. It is thus largely a normative argument for the rival of tradition, not a hermeneutical interpretation of

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how tradition currently functions (Bell 2008: 38–55). Indeed, when such Confucians do engage with hermeneutic exercise, it is often not of current Confucian practice, but of the Confucian classics, in an effort of interpreting them in a manner which can guide politics and society (Fox 1997; Hu 2007; Tan 2012). The emphasis is squarely on normative recommendation of how relations, such as Political Obligation, can be formulated on Confucian lines. It is not overtly concerned with how ideas of Political Obligation actually operate and function in contemporary China. This is not in and of itself necessarily a problem. As Bell (2008) notes, Chinese politics are in a State of dynamic evolution, and thus it is important to provide visions for the polity’s future. Nonetheless, it cannot be said they provide an interpretation or an account of how ideas such as Political Obligation might function in contemporary China, which is a vital concern if we are to understand political relations within a particular community. I believe this normative focus again demonstrates the importance of the type of approach I advocate in this book: the means of inquiry which will allow us to understand, not how Political relations might or ought function, but how they do. In the next section, I will show how the encounter could enrich an understanding of political relations in China. In particular, I will give a glimpse, not of how obligation may be constructed on Confucian lines, but of how Confucian culture is being presented in regard to Political Obligation in contemporary China: not how Confucianism ought to inform Political Obligation but in what ways it currently is.

3.4

Traditional Culture, Obligation and the Chinese State

In the previous chapter, to consider an encounter in which ‘reason’ was presented as the language by which obligation was communicated, I focused on the language and presentation of the legal courts in Scotland. To consider how culture and history are used to convey obligation in China, I will take as my subject of analysis the speeches of Chinese President Xi Jinping. The position of President Xi has taken a special place in the politics of China in recent years. In 2017, Xi abolished limitations on presidential terms, thus clearing the way for the unlimited extension of his own Presidency. He has furthermore had ‘Xi Jinping Thought’ enshrined in the Chinese Constitution. This has given Xi an exalted status on par with Mao Zedong (Moore 2018). Xi’s position and insertion of his ‘thought’ in China’s constitution have meant that his words and writings to an extent constitute the rationale

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and legitimacy of the contemporary Chinese State, certainly in a way no leader in the west could parallel. Xi’s speeches have been collected into two volumes, entitled The Governance of China, and produced with the explicit purpose to convey the Chinese Government’s 4 philosophy and its domestic and foreign policies (Xi 2014b: Publishers note). Xi’s arguments as to why Chinese citizens are obligated to the Chinese State can subsequently be understood to be the Chinese State’s reasons. The encounter with Xi’s speeches and writing thus effectively conveys the central thought and message of obligation propagated by the State. It thus appears the ideal source from which to analyse the encounter with the State in China. When encountering Xi’s rhetoric, it becomes immediately evident that history and culture hold a central importance for modern Chinese politics and identity. Xi frequently refers to history and culture as the nations’ ‘soul’ (Xi 2017a: 378; 2017b: Section VII). He further discusses history as a ‘mirror’ by which one can better understand oneself and one’s relations and further prepares us for the future (Xi 2017a: 380). In this, Xi’s thought resembles the ontological assumptions of the Context-based Approach: the citizen is a historically embedded being who comes to form a conception of self through the historical phenomena she is immersed in. Given this importance attributed to history and culture, Xi insists that China must work to protect and enhance its traditional heritage. Xi insists that confidence in this culture is essential to the future success of the nation. During his address to the Ninetieth Congress of Communist Party of China (hereafter CPC), Xi similarly attests the country must strive to keep alive the visions and moral norms of China’s traditional culture (Xi 2017b: Section VII). As well as this focus on history and traditional culture, Xi’s rhetoric also emphasises the importance of values which we may associate with Confucianism. In his address to the CPC Congress, Xi stresses the importance of keeping alive virtues such as ‘respecting one’s elders’ and ‘loving one’s family’ (Xi 2017b: Section VII). In a speech to the First National Conference of Families in 2016, Xi further explicitly expressed the importance of families, particularly highlighting how family values are an essential component of the Chinese character (Xi 2017a: 382). Confucian thought here is explicitly drawn upon, quoting both the Confucian Philosopher Mencius and the Confucian Classic The Book of Rites (Xi 2017a: 384–385). We can thus see Xi stressing the importance of China’s history and culture, putting forth a vision that such tradition is essential for both self-understanding and a proper understanding of the Chinese polity. In this sense, the message being communicated from the Chinese State, through the words of Xi, is

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that citizens should understand themselves through the particular Chinese historical matrix which they inhabit. In this way, Xi appears to present an outlook not dissimilar from both the larger Context-based Approach and the particular vision of the Chinese Confucian Communitarians discussed in the previous section. However, this focus on traditional Chinese culture raises the question of what role Confucianism should play in articulating the relationship between Chinese society and State. In the vision of the Confucian Communitarians, Confucian thought represents this traditional culture and was the paradigm of thought that political relations should be understood and articulated through. Confucianism thus became, to use Tan’s language, the ‘transmitter’ of traditional values into present circumstances. It becomes evidently clear from Xi’s rhetoric that the Chinese State does not share enthusiasm for Confucianism to have such a role. Scholars have remarked that Confucian teachings do play a function in influencing the moral thought of Chinese leaders such as Xi (Bell 2015; Penny 2015). Indeed, in the two volumes of Xi’s Governance of China, Confucius is drawn upon to give moral example on numerous occasions (Xi 2014b, 2017a), although mention of Confucian Philosophers is notably absent in his landmark 2017 address to the CPC (Xi 2017b). There is however much less mention of Confucianism as a philosophy or school of thought, and when it is mentioned, it is discussed as an example of a Chinese philosophy which can influence and be shared with other civilisations (Xi 2017a: 555) or as part of a more ‘hybrid’ Chinese culture: part of a synthesis along with the other ‘native’ Chinese philosophy Taoism and ‘Indian originating’ Buddhism (Xi 2014b: 286). Such treatment of ‘Confucianism’ can be understood in the light of the ‘relegation’ of Confucianism from ‘Political Philosophy’ to ‘traditional culture’, a sphere which it occupies with Taoism and Buddhism, a policy first adopted by Xi’s predecessor Hu Jintao in order to neutralise the threat of Confucianism as a rival Political Theory to the Marxist State ideology (Holbig and Gilley 2010: 410). The consequence of this is to relegate Confucian thought from the dominant paradigm and framework for interpreting China’s traditions into just one of those traditions itself in need of interpretation if it is to be contemporary relevant. Confucianism is effectively relegated from ‘transmitter of historical material’ to ‘part of the historic material in need of transmission’. Xi’s continuation of this policy is clearly expressed in a speech he gave on the two-thousand-five-hundred-and-sixty-fifth anniversary of Confucius’ birth. In the speech, Xi does stress the value of Confucian thought

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and insist it still has relevance for modern China. However, he makes abundantly clear that, as an important component of Chinese traditional culture that Confucianism is, it is only one of many components of Chinese traditional culture. Xi explicitly draws attention to other key components of traditional culture, notably Taoism and Buddhism, as well as praising foreign cultures and schools of thought which have enriched Chinese tradition. Xi then concludes the main body of his speech with reference to Marxism. Members of the CPC, Xi declares, are Marxists, and as Marxists, they stress that one must approach these traditions with a ‘scientific manner’ and with a view to China’s current situation (Xi 2014a). This discussion of Confucianism and Marxism makes clear the position of the two theories in the rhetoric of Xi and the Chinese leadership. Confucianism is one component of Chinese traditional culture, relegating it from ‘interpreter of the past’ to ‘part of the past in need of interpretation’. The role of interpreter and transmitter is thus bestowed upon Marxism, which becomes the unchallenged ideology of the country and the paradigm by which political relations must be understood. Subsequently, Xi stresses that social research in China must be done through the critical insight of Marxism (Xi 2017a: 369); Marxist intellectual subjects must be strengthened and provided for (Xi 2017a: 373); it is through the paradigm of Marxism that the media needs to communicate with the people and the paradigm by which journalists should lead public opinion (Xi 2017a: 360); and it is Marxism which is most notably argued to be best placed in interpreting and rejuvenating traditional culture (Xi 2017b: Section VII). The importance for understanding the role given to Marxism can be grasped when one is reminded that Marxism is the official ideology underpinning CPC rule and thus the legitimacy of the current State. It is argued that Marxism is the best means by which to rejuvenate China and ensure the continuation of its traditional culture, and subsequently, a Marxist State is the best-placed institution to guide and accomplish this rejuvenation. The Marxist State is the best, indeed the only body, capable of defending and enhancing China’s ‘soul’, and it is on this basis that citizens should obey and feel obliged towards it. In his address to the CPC, Xi makes clear that the rejuvenation of China was only possible as a result of the leadership of the Marxist State, without which such rejuvenation would have remained wishful thinking (Xi 2017b: Section II). In a more subtle, but illustrative example, Xi explains the relationship of obligation between Chinese citizens and the Marxist State through appeal to Mao’s famous ‘Long March’. It was Mao’s Communist Party that ensured China’s victory against the

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Japanese and led China into an age of rejuvenation. Just as those revolutionaries found success in following the leadership of Mao’s communists, so, on China’s ‘New Long March’, will the nation be rejuvenated only if all remain loyal and assume their obligations to the Chinese State led by the Marxist Party (Xi 2017a: 59). Tradition and culture are evidently important in the Chinese State’s articulation of legitimacy and obligation. They do not however take the same importance as is attributed to them by the Context-based Approach, especially that by Confucian Communitarians in regard to contemporary China. In particular, traditional cultures, like Confucianism, are not seen as a paradigm which ought to be adopted in order to articulate arguments for obligation. On the contrary, such traditions are seen as something that needs to be protected. Obligation is instead articulated on the basis that the current Marxist State is best suited to protecting and enhancing this tradition. This encounter thus uncovers a slightly more complex, although arguably more intriguing and controversial, presentation of Political Obligation. The Chinese State does appeal to history and culture when constructing its narrative of Political Obligation. It does not however represent itself as an embodiment of traditional culture, as Confucian Communitarians would advocate. It rather positions itself favourably vis-à-vis this notion of cultural and historical identity as its ‘protector’. Obligation is thus not due to the State because it embodies tradition and culture, but as an independent third element obligation to which is necessary if such contextual heritage is to be protected and enhanced.

Notes 1. Communitarianismis a controversial label as it is often used by commentators to describe a particular school of thought, but many theorists associated with such thinking (such as Alasdair MacIntyre and Charles Taylor) do not selfidentify as ‘communitarian’. A great overview of communitarian thought is given by Stephen Mulhall and Adam Swift in Liberals and Communitarians (1996). 2. We saw in the previous Chapter that Hobbes’ pioneering rational-based Political Theory was competing against a far older custom-centred theory of politics. We could subsequently understand such theorists as Cicero and Polybius, in their praise of religious culture in ensuring the stability of the polity, as representative of a Context-based Approach. Nonetheless, for the sake of brevity, I will here take as my focus such Context-based theories as have emerged during the period of the modern State and those which have

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been articulated after Hobbes’ pioneering efforts. Subsequently, the arguments discussed will largely have been advocated in response to the Rational Approach asserting itself as the central criterion of Political Obligation. 3. Tan is not alone in seeing Confucianism as this critically minded ‘transmitter’ of China’s tradition. See Thomas Fröhlich’s work on the Confucian Philosopher Tang Junyi for similar discussion (Fröhlich 2017). 4. My emphasis. The phrasing that Xi’s speeches explain Government philosophy reveals the explicit link between Xi’s views and arguments and the Chinese State’s.

References Baron, I. (2018). How to Save Politics in a Post-truth Era. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Bell, D. (1997). A Communitarian Critique of Authoritarianism: The Case of Singapore. Political Theory, 25(1), 6–32. Bell, D. (2008). China’s New Confucianism: Politics and Everyday Life in a Changing Society. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Bell, D. (2015). The China Model: Political Meritocracy and the Limits of Democracy. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Burke, E. (2004). Reflections on the Revolution in France, and on the Proceedings in Certain Societies in London Relative to That Event. London: Penguin. Chan, J. (2013). On the Legitimacy of Confucian Constitutionalism. In Q. Jiang; D. Bell D & R. Fan (Eds.), A Confucian Constitutional Order: How China’s Ancient Past Can Shape Its Political Future. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Egoumenides, M. (2014). Philosophical Anarchism and Political Obligation. London: Bloomsbury. Etzioni, A. (1996). The New Golden Rule, Community and Morality in a Democratic Society. New York: Basic Books. Fox, R. A. (1997). Confucian and Communitarian Responses to Liberal Democracy. The Review of Politics, 59(3), 561–592. Fröhlich, T. (2017). Tang Junyi: Confucian Philosophy and the Challenge of Modernity. Brill (Published Open Access Online). Gilbert, M. (2006). A Theory of Political Obligation: Membership, Commitment, and the Bonds of Society. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Holbig, H., & Gilley, B. (2010). Reclaiming Legitimacy in China. Politics and Policy, 38(3), 395–422. Horton, J. (2007). In Defence of Associative of Political Obligations: Part Two. Political Studies, 55, 1–19. Horton, J. (2010). Political Obligation. London: Palgrave Macmillan.

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Horton, J., & Windeknecht, R. G. (2014). Is There a Distinctively Associative Account of Political Obligation? Political Studies, 63, 903–918. Hu, W. (2007). On Confucian Communitarianism. Frontiers of Philosophy in China, 2(4), 475–487. Hume, D. (1985). A Treatise of Human Nature (E. Mossner, Ed.). London: Penguin Classics. Hume, D. (2008). Selected Essays (S. Copley & A. Edgar, Eds.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Jiang, Q. (2013). A Confucian Constitutional Order: How China’s Ancient Past Can Shape Its Political Future (D. Bell & R. Fan, Eds.). Princeton: Princeton University Press. Kim, S. (2014). Confucian Democracy in East Asia: Theory and Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Knowles, D. (2010). Political Obligation: A Critical Introduction. Abingdon: Routledge. Moore, G. (2018). Review—Cheng Li: Chinese Politics in the Xi Jinping Era, Reassessing Collective Leadership. Journal of Chinese Political Science (Published Online). MacIntyre, A. (2007). After Virtue, A Study in Moral Theory. London: Duckworth. Mulhall, S., & Swift, A. (1996). Liberals and Communitarians. Oxford: Blackwell. Oakeshott, M. (1967). Rationalism in Politics and Other Essays. London: The Trinity Press. Penny B. (2015). Classic Xi Jinping: On Acquiring Moral Character. In G. Barmé, L. Jaivin, & J. Goldkorn (Eds.), Shared Destiny. Anu Press (Published Online Open Access). Renzo, M. (2012). Associative Responsibilities and Political Obligation. The Philosophical Quarterly, 62(246), 106–127. Sandel, M. (1998). Liberalism and the Limits of Justice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Scruton, R. (2002). The Meaning of Conservatism. South Bend: St Augustine’s Press. Simmons, A. J. (1996). Associative Political Obligations. Ethics, 106(2), 247–273. Tan, S. (2012). The Pragmatic Confucian Approach to Tradition in Modernizing China. History and Theory, 51(4), 23–44. Taylor, C. (2003). The Ethics of Authenticity. London: Harvard University Press. Taylor, C. (2011). The Politics of Recognition. In A. Gutmann (Ed.), Multiculturalism. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Vernon, R. (2007). Obligation by Association? A Reply to John Horton. Political Studies, 55, 865–879. Vossen, B. V. D. (2011a). Associative Political Obligations. Philosophy Compass, 6(7), 477–487.

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Vossen, B. V. D. (2011b). Associative Political Obligations: Their Potential. Philosophy Compass, 6(7), 488–496. Wallach, J. (1987). Liberals, Communitarians, and the Task If Political Theory. Political Theory, 15(4), 581–611. Walzer, M. (1983). Spheres of Justice, A Defence of Pluralism and Equality. New York: Basic Book. Xi, Jinping. (2014a). Speech in Commemoration of the 2,565th Anniversary of Confucius’ Birth. Reproduced by China-US Focus. Available at http://library. chinausfocus.com/article-1534.html. Xi, Jinping. (2014b). The Governance of China Volume I. Beijing: Foreign Language Press. Xi, Jinping. (2017a). The Governance of China Volume II. Beijing: Foreign Language Press. Xi, Jinping. (2017b). Secure a Decisive Victory in Building a Moderately Prosperous Society in All Respects and Strive for the Great Success of Socialism with Chinese Characteristics for a New Era. Report Delivered to the 19th National Congress of the Communist Party of China on 18 October 2017, full transcript translated and reported in The China Daily. Available at http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/china/19thcpcnationalcongress/2017-11/ 04/content_34115212.htm. Last accessed 13 March 2018, 11:07 A.M.

CHAPTER 4

The Oppressor and the Oppressed: Marxist and Other Critical Paradigms of Obligation

The Rational Approach and the Context-based Approach are opposed on a great many issues concerning Political Obligation, disagreements stemming largely from diverging assumptions regarding the ontological basis of the citizen. Nonetheless, they do agree on one central point: the citizen does have an obligation towards political authority. Their disagreement is rather over how such obligation is best articulated. The approach introduced in this chapter will differ significantly from these approaches in this regard. This approach rejects the idea that citizens have any obligations to the modern State. Arguing instead that all forms of political authority are designed by one group or class to oppress the majority of the population, this approach maintains theories supporting Political Obligation are attempts to manipulate or deceive this majority into accepting an authority that rules against their interests. The ‘Critical Approach’ does not seek to articulate a convincing theory of obligation, but rather seeks to ‘criticise’ notions of Political Obligation in order to challenge and unmask the systems of exploitation and oppression it asserts are inherent within political institutions. Such a radically critical view of political relations will likely evoke in readers’ mind the spectre of Karl Marx. Such an association is understandable as Marxism is undoubtably one of the most influential and sophisticated radical critiques of human society which has emerged in the modern era, if not across the entirety of Western Philosophy. Nonetheless, the Criti-

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cal Approach should not be subsequently reduced simply to ‘Marxism’. Indeed, critical perspectives of Political Obligation existed long before Marx’s birth and arguably have existed as long as there has been political authority to be critical of.1 Similarly, just as the Critical Approach can be seen to have a long history, so also modern variations of the approach are broad and diverse. Under this paradigm of ‘critical’, one could include not only Marxism, but also Critical Feminism, the Critical Theory of the Frankfurt School, Political and Philosophical Anarchism, and Postmodernism. What makes such theories illustrative of the Critical Approach is the argument that the State is designed to entrench the hegemony of a one group, whether this be an economic class or a particular gender, at the expense of the rest of the political community. Although such theories share a great deal with, and can be said to be influenced by, Marxism (some admittedly more than others) in their focus on different forms and points of oppression, they can be understood as very different theories and testify to the great variety of ways in which one can be ‘critical’ of Political Obligation and the legitimacy of the modern State. In light of this, although I will introduce the Critical Approach through the philosophy of Marxism (as I believe it to be the most familiar, clearest, and systematic articulation of a Critical Approach to Political Obligation), I will attempt to give due to attention to the variety of arguments that are illustrative of this approach, in particular complementing Marxism’s class-based analysis with the gender-based critique inspired by Critical Feminism, before considering the strengths and limitations of the Critical Approach more broadly construed.

4.1

The Marxist Critique of Obligation

The Rational Approach to Political Obligation is largely informed by the philosophical assumption of an individual motivated primarily through reason. The Context-based Approach opposed this view by questioning the ontological premise of the ‘rational individual’, instead insisting we must consider the citizen to be primarily motivated by the historical and cultural phenomena she is immersed in. In light of this debate, it would be appropriate to first consider Marx’s ontological premise regarding the situation of the human subject. In his works, Marx claims to study the human being as she ‘really exists’. He thus rejects the notion of the abstract individual favoured by the Rational Approach, instead insisting that we must consider human subjects as embedded within a network of social and material relationships. ‘Man’, Marx bluntly states, ‘is no abstract being squatting

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outside the world’ (Marx 1992: 244). Marx subsequently appears to share the same ontological premise as the Context-based Approach. Indeed, the insistence on thinking of the human beings as immersed in an existing matrix of social and material relations is an ontological assertion one could expect from philosophers such as MacIntyre. Where Marx differs from the Context-based Approach however is in his normative assessment of the social phenomena the subject is embedded in. Whilst the Context-based Approach viewed culture and tradition as a largely positive influence on human existence, Marx saw culture and tradition as a deception designed to mask oppression and cultivate an accepting obedience to unjust political systems. The focus of Marxism is thus not to understand or support existing traditions and cultures but rather to utilise critical analysis to reveal their inherent oppressive nature. This critique of social phenomena is best understood through Marx’s discussion of religion. Indeed, Marx himself remarking that the ‘criticism of religion’ is the ‘prerequisite of all criticism’ (Marx 1992: 244). Marx argues that human beings, throughout history, have been under the impression that they must act according to the dictates of a ‘God’. Subsequently, this supreme Deity became the standard by which human beings assessed and judged their behaviour and their conduct towards others. ‘Gods’ however do not actually exist but are rather the fanciful creations of the human imagination, mere ‘phantoms of the brain’ (Marx and Engels 2007: 37). When worshipping and serving ‘Gods’, humans are therefore just worshipping their own fanciful creations. Behind this however is a greater ‘truth’: it is human beings who actually shape and give meaning to the world, they have only alienated this creative capacity from themselves and transformed it into these fanciful deities. World Religions are thus, in essence, worshipping an alienated part of humanity. Human beings subsequently need to be liberated from these false religious beliefs and made aware that it is they who truly define and shape their world (Marx and Engels 2007). This argument is not original to Marx. It is rather an argument popularised by the Young Hegelians, a group of philosophers of which Marx, and his lifelong collaborator Friedrich Engels, were once members. Notable members also included Bruno Bauer, whose satirical work The Trumpet of Last Judgement Against Hegel the Atheist and Antichrist maintained the logic of Hegelian philosophy leads to a rejection of Christianity (Bauer 1989), and Ludwig Feuerbach, whose work The Essence of Christianity articulated the thesis that a ‘creator God’ was an alienation of humanity’s own creative capacities (Feuerbach 1989). Marx and Engels’ differences, and thus

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originality, rather comes from their split with these Young Hegelians. This split was a result of Marx and Engels’ belief that these Young Hegelians, as radical as they were, were simply not radical enough. Marx agreed religion was an illusion but went further and proposed that this illusion was no accident but was created for a purpose. This purpose was to provide a form of mental escapism from the horrors of the real world: one could accept the toils and tribulations of life if one believed it would lead to a perfect existence enjoyed in the afterlife. To remove this belief, to remove the hope for rewards beyond the grave, would render all worldly suffering meaningless and unbearable. To liberate humanity from only religion, as the Young Hegelians would, will subsequently not set humanity free; on the contrary, it will only make them aware of the true pointlessness of their worldly suffering (Marx 1992). Marx and Engels diverged from the Young Hegelians in their belief that a critique of religion alone was not satisfactory: one ought to extend this critique to other political, social, and economic spheres of human existence. Marx uses the metaphor of drug abuse to convey his argument about religion: religion is the ‘opium of the people’ (Marx 1992: 244). Such a metaphor is indeed very useful in understanding Marx’s thoughts and his critique of the Young Hegelians. If we discovered a friend or a family member was abusing drugs, our first response would likely to be to try and take the substances away from him as to prevent the continuation of such abuse. However, this would be unlikely to prevent the continuation of such behaviour, and the addict would likely try and gain more drugs from another source. The reason for this: there is likely some underlying social reason, some trauma for instance, that is motivating the destructive behaviour. As long as this underlying cause remains, it is unlikely the person will desist from abusing drugs. This is why Government Health and Social Services put resources into practices such as Cognitive Behavioural Therapy in order to identify and address the deeper causes of substance abuse. It is believed, only if the fundamental causes and triggers of drug abuse are resolved, can it be possible to address the addiction. This is very similar to the issue of religion for Marx. Religion is caused by a desire to escape from the unpleasant, unbearable even, conditions that most human beings inhabit, just as substance abuse is frequently a means of escaping from the horrible social or personal situation of the abuser. Consequently, if one is to remove religion from the minds of the populace, they will still be in a position of suffering and will likely soon develop another illusion in order to escape the unpalatable reality of human existence. If we are to truly liberate

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humanity, therefore, we must not just dispel the illusions of religion, but actively change the conditions of human life which caused people to flee into the fantasy of religious belief: to get people to give up the illusions about their world ‘is to call on them to give up a condition that requires illusions ’ (Marx 1992: 244).2 The Young Hegelians thus represent the well-meaning relative who confiscates the stash of drugs; Marx and Engels represent the Social Worker who seeks to change the underlying conditions which led to substance abuse in the first place.3 Marx and Engels subsequently shifted their focus away from abstractions and towards an analysis of existing social and economic institutions: the criticism of heaven becomes the criticism of earth (Marx 1992: 245). Marx critically analysis the political institutions and social structures of human societies in order to find the reason why, for so many, human existence is so unpalatable. At the root of society, he identifies the problem as economic. Apart from some essential differences, human beings, for Marx, are animals. Like animals, they need items such as food, water, and shelter to survive. Unfortunately, such items are not abundant. Subsequently, human society becomes divided into those who control the means of producing such resources and those who are forced to work for those in control: the world is effectively divided into the ‘haves’ and ‘have nots’. Those who ‘have’ become concerned with maintaining their control over these means of production, and subsequently begin designing a social structure that will ensure their continued dominance. Societal values, political institutions, philosophical beliefs, and religions are all designed to give a sense of legitimacy to those who own the means of production and convince those who are forced to serve them that subservience is justified. If we consider the example of religion, the belief that there is an afterlife does not simply provide escapism for the oppressed, but also helps secure the position of the oppressors. If one believes one is forced to live a miserable life solely for the benefit of another, one is likely to rebel. If one however believes this order is justified by God, and one will be rewarded for one’s suffering in the afterlife, one will be less likely to protest, and indeed may accept conditions happily. In the same way, social ideas are also used to maintain the dominance of the ruling body. Values such as ‘fealty’, for instance, supported the rule of agrarian feudalism: a serf was taught to obey his lord because it was considered virtuous and to refuse servitude would be considered ‘shameful’. If one wanted to be considered virtuous in the Feudal world, one had to also accept the unequal structure of this society (Marx and Engels 2007).

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Marx summarised these arguments under the maxim that ‘ruling ideas’ were the ideas of the ‘ruling economic class’: the class who control the means of material production also control the means of mental production. Marx argues that within the dominant class emerges a ‘thinking class’. This group will become the ‘conceptive ideologues’ of the class and will work on ‘perfecting the illusion of the class’ (Marx and Engels 2007: 65). In contrast, the oppressed class, whose time is taken up working for their oppressors, do not have time to think or to give their perspective on society. They subsequently will not develop their own ‘thinking division’. Unable to produce their own philosophies to criticise and challenge those produced by the ruling class, they simply accept the ruling class’ perspective as the only perspective; the ideas produced by the ruling class are not seen for what they are, simply the perspective of the ruling class, but are accepted by an exhausted overworked subservient class as ‘universal’, as ‘objective truth’. This acceptance of ‘ruling ideas’ by the oppressed class blurs the difference and antagonism between them: in accepting their ideas and values, it appears to the oppressed class that their oppressors share the same goals. Institutions and policies, designed to maintain class oppression, are presented as if they are for the universal good of all society; the exploitation of the oppressed class is presented as if such oppression was in the interest of the oppressed (Engels 2010: 216). The implications for Political Obligation are clearly evident: those ideas which form the basis of arguments for obligation and State legitimacy, whether they be built on custom and tradition or the actions of hypothetical rational actors, should not be accepted. They are arguments put forward by a ‘thinking elite’ in an attempt to fool the majority of people into obedience to a State whose true intention is to continue their exploitation. Such arguments and ideas need to instead be challenged and criticised for what they are: the ideological deception of the ruling class. In light of this, it is worth now turning to directly consider Marx and Engels’ analysis of politics and the State. Politics, for Marx, is merely a struggle in which the propertyowning class seeks to justify and maintain their control of production at the expense of the property-less class. Political power is thus ‘the organized power of one class for oppressing another’ (Marx and Engels 2002: 244). The State is the instrument by which such oppression is imposed: the executive of the modern State ‘is but a committee for managing the common affairs of the whole bourgeoisie’ (Marx and Engels 2002: 221). This view of the State as an instrument of ‘class oppression’ was most thoroughly illustrated by Engels in The Origin of the Family, Private Property, and the

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State. Engels describes how the State emerged from a breakdown in archaic societies, a breakdown caused by growing inequality between those who owned property and those who did not. In order to prevent this inequality developing into antagonisms and open conflict, a ‘supposedly’ independent body was created to keep order between the classes, the State. However, this ‘independent’ State was rarely neutral and was in fact created by the rich propertied class. Thus, under the guise of ‘keeping order’, in reality, the State became the instrument by which the oppressed class were ‘held down’ and exploited. The Ancient State, Engels thus asserts, was ultimately the instrument by which slave-holders maintained dominance over their slaves; the feudal State was the means by which the aristocracy controlled the peasant serfs; and the modern State is the apparatus for exploiting wage labour by capital. The modern State is in essence a mechanism for guarding private property and ensuring that the proletariat serve unquestionably in the capitalist economy (Engels 2010). Marx and Engels’ views on the State, and our supposed obligations to it, have left a vast legacy. The view that obligations are a form of deception, and the State is nothing more than an instrument of class oppression, is central to the thought of many Marxist revolutionaries. Vladimir Lenin described the State as a ‘special machine for suppression’, and further, if emancipation is to be achieved, advocated a violent revolution that was required to ‘smash’, ‘break’, and ‘shatter’ this ‘machine’ (Lenin 1992: 81, 96). The analysis of ideas and values as a means of revealing oppression is however perhaps better represented by those who strived with more theoretical efforts to criticise political power. Antonio Gramsci in particular further developed the idea of ‘hegemony’: how the ‘ruling ideas’ ascertained an objective validity, and how the proletariat are indoctrinated into accepting these ideas. He in particular investigated how this hegemony of ideas was diffused through society: through systems such as school education and trade unions (Gramsci 1971). The Critical Theory of the Frankfurt School similarly worked to expose forms of domination in society’s values and ideas. Hebert Marcuse sought to show how the values of ‘rationality’ and ‘efficiency’ were used to generate esteem and appreciation for the actions of the State and, in the process, mask the frequently abhorrent ends such policies were directed towards. The rationality of the system, he argued, diverts the citizen’s attention and prevents him from seeing behind the machine to who is using it and what they are profiting from it. He cites the Nazi State’s efforts to appear logical and efficient, and thus distract the people from the irrational and destructive agenda which lay behind this

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rational façade. This manipulation was also apparent in the US building of its nuclear arsenal: the scientific prowess of the US nuclear programme inspired admiration in a public conditioned into valuing science and logic as cardinal virtues, whilst masking from them the brute fact that the State was amassing weaponry which could end human life on the planet (Marcuse 2002). Nonetheless, it is worth recalling that such a ‘critical’ perspective of the State and Political Obligation is not limited to an economic-based analysis. Instead of focusing on class, Postmodernism has attempted to demonstrate the innumerable points of contestation between political authority and the groups it seeks to manipulate, exploit, and oppress (Deleuze 1988). Most notably, Michel Foucault, in works such as Discipline and Punish (1991) and Society Must Be Defended (2004), analysed how State power had manipulated and shaped human subjects into obedience to its (often unjust) authority, whilst also stressing a much more diverse and complex origins to such systems of oppression than simple economic class antagonisms. Similarly, Frantz Fanon maintained that political systems were built primarily on oppression, yet nonetheless argued such oppression had at its origin, not in economic class, but in race (Fanon 2005). Finally, Simone de Beauvoir, in her second-wave feminist work The Second Sex (2011), would highlight the roots of oppression in gender inequalities. Thus, we can view a wide variety in analysis and core assumptions about the nature of political oppression. Nonetheless, what these diverse philosophies share with Marxism, and thus how they are illustrative of the Critical Approach, is that they maintain a relation of oppression lies at the heart of modern political systems, and in the modern State especially. As a consequence, theories of Political Obligation, in that they seek to give justification for obedience to unjust institutions, are regarded as efforts to mask oppression and manipulate citizens into obedience.

4.2

Beyond Class: A Gender-Based Criticism of Obligation

In order to illustrate a ‘gender-based’ Critical Approach to Political Obligation, I will here draw from arguments of what shall be termed ‘critical feminism’. Approaches illustrative of critical feminism will be understood as perspectives which challenge political institutions on the basis that they are constructed according to a ‘masculine understanding’ and are biased towards a particular understanding of the ‘male’. Critical analysis is subse-

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quently used to reveal this bias and the subjugation and exclusion inherent within. This can be understood in contrast to ‘liberal feminism’ which, whilst arguing for gender equality, nonetheless does so whilst also widely endorsing the basis of the modern political system, viewing such institutions as the State as ‘gender neutral’. In short, critical feminism is critical in its refusal to accept established political norms and institutions and desire to critically reveal the systems of oppression that are inherent within them.4 This distinction I have highlighted between ‘critical’ and ‘liberal’ strands of feminism, and its implications for Political Obligation, will become more apparent when we consider the arguments of Mary Wollstonecraft. In A Vindication of the Rights of Women, Wollstonecraft puts across the central argument that women should have equal rights and access to society because they are, or at least have as much potential to become, as ‘rational’ as men. It is rather a product of the prevailing custom which encourages women to care more about beauty than intellect, which ‘degrades’ them from being considered equal rational creatures. The emancipation of women can subsequently be achieved through a national programme of rational education in which boys and girls are taught together. Such an educational system would restore women to the status of ‘rational beings’ and subsequently entitled to the same rights and position in society as their male counterparts (Wollstonecraft 2014. See especially Chapter 12 ‘On National Education’). One of the most striking facets of Wollstonecraft’s argument is the central role ‘reason’ plays in her understanding of politics and society. ‘Reason’, although traditionally associated with men, is regarded by Wollstonecraft as a, or rather the, universal human quality. Reason is further the central quality which makes one a political agent. Subsequently, one might understand Wollstonecraft to be rather atypical of the Rational Approach to Political Obligation: it is argued that human beings have the universal capacity for reason, they further ought to base their understanding on reason rather than custom, and thus ultimately politics should be constructed according to a paradigm of rationality. Indeed, despite being highly critical of his depiction of women, Wollstonecraft shares much with Rousseau’s more general views of humanity and politics. She specifically notes approval of his view that civic virtue is dependent on rationality (Wollstonecraft 2014). It is also further telling that Wollstonecraft shares another trait, or rather limitation, of the Rational Approach: the disparaging indignation for perspectives and behaviours which contradict her rational paradigm of thinking. She is notably critical of women who continue to admire beauty and sentimentality over rationality, describing them as ‘spaniels’,

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and even referring to the ‘woman of fashion’ as an ‘irrational monster’ (Wollstonecraft 2014: 64). Wollstonecraft’s scorn is not however limited to women but also extends to male behaviour which falls out with her rational paradigm. Military servicemen, for example, whom Wollstonecraft claims are cultivated for following orders rather than being independent rational thinkers, she chastised as foolish throwbacks to a more barbaric age (Wollstonecraft 2014: 21–27). Thus, just as with philosophers such as Locke, Wollstonecraft believes custom and tradition degrades human beings. Those who adhere to such notions are beyond consideration and are dismissed with deprecatory and degrading labels. A very different perspective is gleamed from the thought of Simone de Beauvoir. Beauvoir does not accept ‘universal’ human values, but rather challenges their supposed objectivity. In The Second Sex, Beauvoir asserts that men, whilst claiming to see the world ‘objectively’, have in fact described it according to a ‘masculine’ viewpoint: they have forgotten that they contain an anatomy of ‘hormones and testicles’ and believe they see the world from a completely objective perspective (Beauvoir 2011: 5). The anatomy of women however has, conveniently, not been forgotten. The female perspective is not regarded as a different but equal perspective to the male, but rather as deformed perception resulting from the peculiarities of the female gender: women’s ovaries, uterus, and hormones locks her in ‘subjectivity’ and acts as an ‘obstacle’ preventing her from ascertaining the objective truth (Beauvoir 2011: 5). Thus, through a convenient half-forgetting of sexual biology, male perspectives are enshrined with the quality of objective truth whilst female perspectives are considered to be a deprivation of truth. The masculine perspective, considered ‘truth’, is thus given the status of hegemon whilst the feminine is suppressed. Women are placed into the position of second class beings unable to properly comprehend reality and dependent on men to discover and communicate the truth; hence the title of Beauvoir’s work The Second Sex. The immediate consequence of this is what is ‘good for men’ has come to be seen as ‘good for all’, and the institutions which benefit the ‘good of men’ as institutions which uphold the ‘good of all’. Beauvoir stresses we should not however accept this situation and rather critically reveal the values and institutions for what they are, entrenchments of the male hegemonic perspective, and work to rehabilitate the equally viable feminine perspective. Women who do follow the Enlightenment rationalism into collapsing the differentiation between the genders, thus endorsing a male value system and suppressing

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their own female perspective, are exercising ‘bad faith’ and denying their true existence as a ‘women’ (Beauvoir 2011: 4). An attentive reader will note that, just as Wollstonecraft bore resemblance to the Rationalist Approach, so Beauvoir resembles the Critical Approach. Indeed, Marx’s analysis of ‘ruling class produces ruling ideas’ is reflected in Beauvoir’s argument, only now it is expressed as ‘ruling gender produces ruling ideas’. Institutions such as the State are subsequently not viewed as a means of suppressing one economic class by another, but rather the suppression of one gender by the other. Political Obligation subsequently is not an illusion designed to make workers accept the authority of property owners, but rather a perspective designed to maintain the hegemony of ‘masculinity’ over ‘femininity’. Gender, not class, is the focus of critical analysis, but still the same intent can be identified: to reveal systems of oppression inherent in the State and ideas of obligation towards it. Such philosophers have subsequently argued that feminists must not engage with the State nor with mainstream thinking about Political Obligations, lest they risk being subsumed by masculine hegemonic thinking. This, it could be argued from a ‘critical’ perspective, is what Wollstonecraft is ultimately guilty of. Instead, political structures and norms must be challenged and uniquely feminine values, which the patriarchy ignores, must be championed from outside mainstream political involvement (Kantola 2006: 2; Tickner 2001: 13–14). As one of the leading feminist critics of Political Obligation, Carole Pateman, stressed: women require civil freedom as women, not ‘as pale reflections of men’ (Pateman 2018: 14). Such a Critical Approach subsequently views the State as an enforcer of ‘masculine political hegemony’, or, as Ann Tickner refers to it, the ‘masculine writ large’ (Tickner 1992). Tickner indeed highlights that ideas of masculinity are clearly utilised in order to portray legitimacy: when personified, the State is often in the form of a male dressed in armour and prepared to defend his subjects; a striking visual example of this being Hobbes’ depiction of the ‘Leviathan’ as a man in armour carrying a sword. The evocation of a ‘male protector’ here is particularly powerful as it implies the State is charged with protecting its citizens just as the ‘man’ is charged with protecting his ‘family’; what the State subsequently carries out is legitimate and should be respected as it is done for the good of his citizens, just as the will and actions of the ‘man’ should be respected and obeyed as they are for the good of his family (Tickner 2001: 52–54). Such an understanding of the State has clear implications for Political Obligation: it implies that the State manipulates its citizens into obedience to its laws and policies

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through appeal to deep-seated notions of gender. This issue becomes even more apparent when feminist philosophers argue that theories of obligation ignore, or directly exclude, women. As Tickner argues, when women are absent from the founding myths or thought experiments that justify a society, a source of gender bias is inevitably created (Tickner 2001: 52). One of the leading philosophers who has articulated such a criticism is Pateman. Pateman maintains that the ‘Social Contract Theory’ especially, not only ignores women, but also deliberately excludes them from its paradigmatic thinking, and thus, by extension, political life. In the Sexual Contract , Pateman maintains this exclusion is signified by ‘Social Contract Theory’s’ articulation of the ‘abstract individual’. These ‘individuals’, Pateman maintains, are not as devoid of contextual characteristics as proponents of this theory would maintain. On the contrary, they reflect the nature of ‘rational’ ‘property-owning’ men. The understanding of politics and obligations that emerge from this are subsequently not neutral understandings based on pure rationality, but rather an argument used to subtly uphold the interests of rich men. Women it assumes have already, by virtue of the ‘sexual contract’ known as the ‘marriage contract’, assumed a subservient position to men. The political contract is thus made only by the men, who believe they can represent ‘their women’ by the powers given to them in this ‘sexual contract’. In this way, the ‘Social Contract’ not only excludes feminine positions from Political Obligation, but also further entrenches the oppression of women by building upon the ‘sexual contract’. ‘Social Contract Theory’ is not a universal basis for obligation but a ‘fraternal pact’, a pact by which brothers become equal citizens whilst simultaneously endorsing the subjection of their ‘sisters’. Pateman thus insists we need to challenge the ‘Social Contract Tradition’ of Political Obligation in order to uncover and expose this oppressive ‘sexual contract’ which underpins it (Pateman 2018). Just as ideas about gender can be used to manipulate citizens into obligation, so they may also be used to discredit opposition towards political authority. This has in particular been highlighted in the works of Caron Gentry and Laura Sjoberg, who have analysed how gendered stereotypes of women have been used to minimalise and marginalise ‘violent women’ who take up arms against political authority. Gentry and Sjoberg have identified in particular that women’s political violence is marginalised through the use of three stereotypical gendered images: that of the ‘mother’, ‘monster’, and ‘whore’. Each of these images represents an exaggeration or denial of the women’s ‘sex’: the ‘mother’ implies the women carry out an action

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due to her biological function of giving birth; ‘monster’ implies she carries out an action as a consequence of a default in her feminine character; ‘whore’ implies she acts either out of an uncontrollable hyper sex-drive, a sexual perversion, or an inability to have intercourse. The effect of such narratives is to reduce women purely to her ‘sex’, portraying this as the central motivation for her actions, and thus diverting attention from any rational or political reason for why she may be opposing the State (Gentry and Sjoberg 2015). This can be better understood when considering the ‘monster’ narrative. Taking the historic case of the British warrior Queen Boudicca, who led her tribe in rebellion against the Roman rule of Emperor Nero, Gentry and Sjoberg attempt to show how a focus on her ‘depraved’ female nature distracts from any discussion of real political issues. In depictions of Boudicca, Roman writers deliberately portray her as ‘monstrous’ and ‘bloodthirsty’, a depravation of what one would usually have expected to be the norm of behaviour for women at the time. The effect of such portrayal was thus to shift discussion to the supposed savage and ‘unwomanly’ characteristics of the Queen and ignore the personal or political motivations for her rejection of Roman rule: it suited the Romans to establish Boudicca as terrifying and monstrous, so that future discussion focused on the savage and ‘unwomanly’ brutality of her actions and thus overlook proper consideration of her personal and political motivations. It subsequently appears that Roman authority was challenged by brutal, barbaric women and not by an individual who may have genuine political motivations (Gentry and Sjoberg 2015: 96). A more contemporary example Gentry and Sjoberg highlight is that of Ulrike Meinhof, a leader in the ‘Red Army Faction’ Marxist group in West Germany. The West German State would maintain Meinhof’s decision to reject its authority and plan attacks against it were the result of a hypothetical brain injury they claimed Meinhof must have acquired in past surgery. This is despite the fact that multiple psychiatrists and pathologists stated that Meinhof did not display pathological behaviour. Nonetheless, the West German State was so determined to link her actions to a hypothetical brain injury that, following her death in 1972, they removed her brain and kept it in a jar in the hope future science might prove them right.5 Gentry and Sjoberg highlight this as an indication to the extent to which a State may go to use a gendered stereotype of female as a ‘monster’, as opposed to consider the genuine political reasons why a female citizen would turn against her own State (Gentry and Sjoberg 2015: 97–96). The implications for obligation are evident: a ‘normal woman’ would feel obliged to her State and obey the law; there

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must subsequently be something monstrously wrong with her if she desires to break this relationship.

4.3

The Problem of ‘False Consciousness’ and the Limits of the Critical Approach

The Critical Approach teaches us a crucial lesson concerning narratives of Political Obligation: they are not always designed to communicate clearly but can also prey on stereotypes and prejudices to manipulate citizens into obligation. This has been most evident in the discussion of gender, where it was observed how ‘gendered ideas’ could be deployed as means to manipulate citizens into an acceptance of State power whilst simultaneously silencing opposition and discrediting those with legitimate grievances. One must therefore have critical caution when interpreting and understanding ideas propagated by the State as to be aware and make evident such manipulation when it occurs. As Magda Egoumenides, in her recent work on Philosophical Anarchism and Political Obligation, argues: due to this possibility of abuse, one must take a critical attitude when approaching the study of the State and the ideas of obligation which support its claims to legitimacy (Egoumenides 2014: 52). Such critical insight is a strength of the Critical Approach and is indeed something I will need to take under serious consideration when considering the hermeneutic approach through the encounter. As my approach will be interpreting ideas of obligation as are transmitted by the State through encounters with its existential manifestations, it is the message that the State wishes to give its citizens which will be being uncovered and interpreted. It is therefore possible that such messages may be designed to appeal to prejudice and stereotype with the effect of manipulating citizens into their obligations. The messages uncovered could indeed even be designed to outrightly deceive citizens. A critical eye will be necessary in order that the approach through the encounter does not in result further propagation of such ideas and narratives. Nonetheless, whilst I agree with the need of critical awareness when interpreting narratives of Political Obligation, I reject the idea that we should consequently always assume the State is ‘bad’ or ‘oppressive’. I agree with Egoumenides that we must adopt a critical attitude in our studies, but I reject the notion that this critical attitude be based on an assumption that the State is ‘always’ ‘evil’ (Egomenides 2014: 203). Equally, whilst one must take a critical attitude as to identify attempts to manipulate and deceive through ideas of class or gender if they occur, I reject the assumption that

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the State is inherently a manifestation of class or gendered oppression. I ultimately argue that one must have a critical attitude, but one must not assume a priori that the State is always an oppressor who consistently intends to deceive and manipulate its citizens. If one assumes the State is always an oppressor, it assumes the citizen, or at least a large proportion of citizens, are always oppressed. It subsequently assumes that if a citizen is oppressed, then they must be made aware of this oppression. If they cannot see it, they must be in some way deceived: the way they feel about the world and their political relations are wrong and they must be made to see the ‘truth’ of the issue. They must be suffering from a ‘false Consciousness’. If they do not believe they are ‘oppressed’, if their views do not fit according to the ‘paradigm of political oppression’, then their perception must be ‘false’ and subsequently not worth genuine consideration. Again, we have the situation here where Political Obligation is constructed on an a priori assumption about what citizen and State relations consist of and those perspectives which do not fit with the paradigm are dismissed as ‘false’. Let us take a claim by Egomenides to illustrate this. Egomenides claims that there is nothing ‘loveable’ about the State, it is always evil, and its existence is always a problem (Egomenides 2014: 51). Such critical caution may at first seem wise. However, let us think for a minute about those who do genuinely ‘love’ their State. Such a claim that insists the State is never truly ‘loveable’ implies that those who do find it ‘loveable’ are in some way deceived; this ‘love’ is nothing more than false consciousness. If we think back to our example about Monarchy in Chapter 3, it implies that those who ‘love’ the UK out of an extension of their affection for the British Monarch have in some way been deceived. Of course, if we assume a priori that such people are deceived, we will not consider their perspective of politics and obligation seriously: their view is ‘false’ and a product of deception. Rather than seeking an impartial consideration and interpretation of the sense of obligation transmitted through monarchy, we will instead immediately seek to criticise and expose the manipulation and deception inherent in this idea. The normative desire to reveal manipulation and liberate from deception will eventually overtake any desire and effort to interpret and understand the perspective of those who genuinely do feel affection towards the monarchy, and by extension, the British State. Such citizens will instead be viewed negatively as ones who have been duped or deceived and subsequently ignorant to the ‘truth’. This indeed resembles the views of Simmons who, when criticising Associative Theory, argues that the fact of being born into a particular country, and having been cultivated

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to love this country since birth, does not mean we actually have any moral obligations towards it. Such thinking is a ‘mass delusion’ and a symptom of a false consciousness (Simmons 1996: 264). The immediate problem with this is that it assumes a great proportion of the human population’s beliefs are ‘a mass delusion’. Such a claim is not only inherently arrogant, but also such dismissal prevents any genuine consideration of such views: one cannot engage and interpret a view in good faith when one has already decided that it is a delusion. Or let us consider the experience of Johanna Kantola. In introducing her work Feminists Theorise the State, Kantola describes how the paradigmatic understandings of States, most notably the Critical Marxist paradigm, do not correspond with her own experiences of growing up under the authority of the Finish State. The assumption that the State is purely a machine of class oppression simply did not correspond with the experience of a State which provided her with free school meals, provided her with a grant to study at University, and supplied her with childcare so she could work fulltime outside the home. These encounters Kantola had with the State did not reveal an entity which was primarily designed for her oppression. Nor did such a State, which appeared to have such concern for the empowerment of women, corresponds with the gender-based critique that the State is essentially patriarchal. This schism between paradigm and encounter naturally led Kantola to question whether she had previously been naïve in regarding the Finish State as ultimately positive (Kantola 2006: 1).6 The Critical Approach would undoubtably answer: yes, Kantola is naïve. These so-called empowering features of the State merely mask its essential oppressive purpose. This positive view, affection even, she has for the Finish State is subsequently a false consciousness. Indeed, Egoumenides suggests that the provision of education and healthcare can in fact be a means of manipulating citizens into obedience into oppressive regimes, the latter potentially creating a condition of dependency on the State and making it appear an indispensable institution (Egoumenides 2014: 244–245). However, such a conclusion would again be incredibly arrogant and would involve a dismissal of the reality of Kantola’s perception of the Finish State. One might rather argue that Kantola’s positive experiences with the State simply fall out with the Critical Approach’s paradigmatic thinking: the potential of a positive empowering Finish State simply does not compute with the Critical Approach’s assumption that all States are machines of oppression. To dismiss such perceptions as a false consciousness, stemming from gullibility or naivety, in turn, appears like an arrogant and desperate attempt to

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discredit such experiences rather than admit the limitations of the Critical Approach. It will have become evident to the reader that the Critical Approach shares remarkable similarity with the Rational Approach: both make assumptions about the citizen, that she is ‘rational’ or she is ‘oppressed’, and subsequently have preconceived understandings of what the ‘truth’ of political relation are. When citizens do not share this ‘truth’, their viewpoint is a priori dismissed and discredited. Such discreditation in the Rational Approach was achieved through the attribution of labels such as ‘savagery’ and ‘barbarism’, and the Critical Approach likewise has its own degrading term ‘false consciousness’. The limitations of the approach outlined here are indeed remarkably similar to the criticism of Collingwood in particular, as was discussed in Chapter 2. Collingwood’s assumption that the State was an edifice of reason, which any ‘rational being’ would feel obliged towards, resulted in his dismissing any opposition to it as ‘irrational barbarism’. Such an understanding prevented him from properly considering and understanding why individuals may turn to alternative forms of politics: seeing them as products of irrationality and barbarism, they were simply ‘wrong’ and the reasons behind them unintelligible. In the same way, aspects of the ‘critical’ approach, which assume the State is always an oppressor, assert that a fully conscious being will recognise such oppression as the ‘truth’ about their relationship with this institution. Any citizen who does not recognise this ‘truth’ must subsequently be in a condition of ‘untruth’ and the political beliefs they hold must be ‘false’. Such thinking can lead to some clear ironies. If we consider for example Wollstonecraft, whom I stated above was representative of the Rational Approach, maintained that ‘reason’ was the proper basis of politics and dismissed those who did not attain to this standard as ‘barbarians’ or ‘yapping spaniels’. However, if one was to take a ‘critical gendered’ perspective to her argument, one could reply to Wollstonecraft that it is she herself who is suffering from ‘false consciousness’: in asserting that one must be ‘rational’, it could be argued that Wollstonecraft is adopting ‘masculine’ traits and proposing an argument which serves to entrench the patriarchy. We subsequently are left with an unbridgeable gap between Wollstonecraft and her critical feminist opponent as each believes the other is suffering from some sort of delusion. When one assumes the State is always an oppressor and the citizen always oppressed, it creates a severe limitation in the approach’s ability to properly understand and interpret Political Obligation. That is because, in assuming that the citizen is oppressed, when a particular citizen or community does

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not share this perspective that they are ‘oppressed’, the logical conclusion is that such citizens must be deceived and suffering from mass delusion: their perception is a false consciousness. This claim of false consciousness therefore, in that it represents the Critical Approach’s inability to comprehend perspectives which do not fit its paradigmatic thinking, and subsequent attempt to devaluate and dismiss such contrary views, demarks the limitations of the Critical Approach in understanding Political Obligation.

4.4

Gender and Obligation in the USSR

In classical Marxist theory, the State, being but a tool of oppression, would disappear once the exploitative economic system it protected was destroyed (Marx and Engels 2002; Engels 2010). Lenin similarly called for the Bolshevik revolution to ‘smash’ and ‘break’ the oppressive State machine (Lenin 1992). Nonetheless, when the Marxist inspired revolutions did take place in the Twentieth Century, revolutionary leaders soon realised that the ‘machine of State’ was in fact a valuable, essential even, instrument for speeding the process of centralisation and industrialisation necessary for communist society and for protecting the revolutionary movement from its external and internal enemies. As Mao Zedong explained to his critics: Yes we do [want to abolish the State], but not right now; we cannot do it yet. Why? Because Imperialism still exists, because domestic reaction still exists, because classes still exist in our country. (Mao 2004)

As the State did not therefore ‘wither away’, but on the contrary became a central feature of post-revolutionary society, Marxist leaders were forced to conceptualise why, after having been so critical of the bourgeois State, the people should have a sense of obligation to its Marxist cousin. Mao responded by claiming obligation was due because, in contrast to the oppressive bourgeois State, this new Marxist State genuinely had the interest of the Chinese people at heart and would further lead the way towards the utopia of a classless society. Thus, obligation was due to the State so long as it strived towards the end goal of communism (Mao 2004). That the Marxist State was a proper object of its citizens Political Obligations because it best served the interests of the ‘people’ (a term originally denoting the proletariat but which has become increasingly more loose in its definition), would subsequently prove a central narrative of State legitimacy in the People’s Republic of China (Holbig 2009; Weatherly 2006).

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We indeed observed an interesting illustration of this in Chapter 3, where President Xi constructed a narrative of obligation towards the Marxist State vis-à-vis an understanding of the value of Chinese historical culture. The intriguing prospect this raises is that Marxism, whilst understood largely as a Critical Approach to notions of Political Obligation, when encountered existentially in one of these post-revolutionary polities, can conversely take the form of a narrative supporting political authority and State legitimacy. This sense of Marxism being utilised not to criticise but rather support Political Obligation is something which is indeed overlooked by most accounts of Political Obligation. One of the benefits of the hermeneutic approach through the encounter is that it can uncover narratives of obligation as they are produced and contested in existing polities, and thus uncover such intriguing use of ideas and language in political reality. In Chapter 3, we received insight into President Xi’s tactful positioning of the State vis-à-vis traditional culture and how this both contrasted and informed the more theoretical understanding of the Context-based Approach. In this chapter, I will consider the use of the encounter to give similar insight into the Critical Approach and, in particular, develop the investigation of how we can find the narrative of this approach being used to support ideas of Political Obligation. I will in particular here consider encounters in which the critical Marxist and feminist narratives can be found deployed in an effort to support and foster a sense of Political Obligation to the Marxist State of the Soviet Union. To give an insight into this, I will take as primary material for analysis the speeches of Alexandra Kollontai, a leading member of the Bolshevik Government following the October Revolution. I will focus predominantly on a speech made during her role in the Zhenotdel (Women’s’ Department), of which she was a founder and leading figure in its early days, as it was in this role she addressed the relationship between the USSR and its female citizens most explicitly. I will in particular seek to interpret how Kollontai sought to use language reminiscent of Marxism and critical feminism to provide an argument aimed at fostering a sense of obligation towards the Soviet State. This will subsequently reveal how language illustrative of the Critical Approach was used to provide an argument for Political Obligation in these encounters Russian women would have had with the Soviet State. Support for this will further come by a consideration of some Soviet propaganda which further such narratives.

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In Kollontai’s criticism of capitalist society, she resembles and builds upon the classical Marxist critique of the ‘bourgeois family’. She sees women’s depravation being a product of capitalist society which excluded females from work and rendered them dependent on a ‘male breadwinner’. Locked in service to ‘him’, she has been excluded from the public sphere and forced to work as a ‘slave’ in the home (Kollontai 1977). Such arguments do follow Engel’s analysis in The Origins of the Family, Private Property, and the State. Here Engels argues that, just as the working class is oppressed by the bourgeois, so also are females by the ruling bourgeois men. He refers in particular to the ‘world historic defeat of the female sex’, the point in which women were degraded and reduced to ‘household servitude’; a ‘slave’ to man’s ‘lust’; and a ‘mere instrument for the production of children’ (Engels 2010: 87). This ‘world historic defeat’ is in particular linked to the creation of private property, as the single ‘male’ individual sought to secure his private property for himself and eldest male ‘successor’ through the isolation and seclusion of his female partner (Engels 2010: 106). Engels does suggest that this enslavement of women can be undone, albeit such suggestion is rather abstract and undetailed: the enslavement being based on monogamous marriage, which in turn is based on private property, so female emancipation will come with the changing of economic and social conditions brought on by the abolishment of private property (Engels 2010: 106). What makes the encounter with Kollontai fascinating is, in contrast to Engels’ philosophical ambiguity, Kollontai gives clear ideas about how this liberation can practically be realised. She recommends policies the USSR, a State in which she holds a position of power, can address these issues and create a better life for women. Thus, in encountering such addresses, Russian women do not just get further Marxist critical analysis of capitalism’s degrading of their sex, but an outline of how the Marxist State will seek to reverse this degradation. In encountering Kollontai, we thus get a message of what the USSR can do for women, and why they subsequently should follow and feel obliged towards this new political order. In ‘Communism and the Family’, a speech given to the first All-Russian Congress of Working Women in 1918, Kollontai most clearly outlines such policies through which the USSR can create a new and better world for Russian women. The first issue she addresses is the fact that the new Revolutionary Government has made divorce much easier than it was under the Tsarist regime. By greatly reducing the cost and speeding up the legal proceedings the government has ensured that divorce is not a ‘luxury’ but

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is an option open to all women. This has greatly enhanced the lives of working women, she claims, as they now have the right to separate from a man who ‘beats her and makes her life a misery with his drunkenness and uncouth behaviour’ (Kollontai 1977: 250). Beyond praising the benefits of reforming the law regarding divorce, Kollontai further outlines two major changes communist society can make to enhance the lives of women and increase their freedoms. The first change is to liberate women from the burden of housework: no longer, Kollontai claims, will working women be slaves to domestic household chores such as cooking and cleaning. Kollontai’s solution is to open public canteens and kitchens, where the staff are paid by the government and where all will subsequently be able to eat at public expense, henceforth emancipating all women from the necessity of cooking. She similarly advocates the creation of publicly funded laundries which will free working women from the burden of washing their family’s clothes (Kollontai 1977: 255). Kollontai further advocates reform in regard to childcare. She insists, in the new Marxist State, women will no longer have to give up public and working life to look after children as the State will provide childcare services. ‘The worker’s State’, Kollontai insists, will support all women, ‘married or unmarried’, through the establishment of State-run maternity homes, day nurseries, and ‘other such facilities’ ‘in every city and village’ (Kollontai 1977: 256). Kollontai thus takes the Marxist critique of bourgeois relations and transforms it into an argument for obligation towards the new State, largely by showing how this new authority will liberate women from the oppression they suffered in the old one. In essence therefore, women should feel a sense of obligation towards the Marxist political authority as it provides the services which will ensure their liberation and enhance their lives. Kollontai’s speech thus gives as an interesting insight into how Marxist theory can be encountered by citizens, not in a manner critical of political authority, but, on the contrary, in a manner that is aimed at fostering a sense of obligation to the current State. Kollontai’s vision of how the Marxist State can liberate and enhance the lives of women, and in turn why Russian women should subsequently feel a sense of obligation to the Marxist State, is echoed in Soviet propaganda of the period. A poster by Soviet Artist Grigorii Mikhailovich Shegal entitled ‘Down with kitchen slavery! Hurrah for the new everyday life’, published in 1931, gives prime example of this. In the foreground of the picture are women completing household chores in a dark and dingy atmosphere (the background is an inky black which is only punctured by laundry and household equipment as well as a rather large spiderweb). However,

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in the midst of the inky darkness a new doorway opens, and beyond this doorway an alternative life which is bright and cheerful. In this alternative world beyond the door, public canteens, reminiscent of those described in Kollontai’s speech, are clearly visible, as are women playing volleyball and generally relaxing in the new leisure time which this innovation has provided them. Opening the doorway between this dark slavery of housework and the brighter world of leisure is a woman dressed entirely in red, a clear personification of the Soviet Union. The message is clear; it is the policies of the Marxist State of the USSR which provides Russian women with the opportunity to pass from the dark and horrible conditions of a life dominated by housework into this new emancipated existence. It is the Soviet State which makes possible this better mode of existence, and thus Russian women should in turn feel obliged towards this State for the new, improved, and emancipated life it can provide for them.7 Such language was also used to encourage loyalty to the Soviet State in Central Asia, where the particular focus on women was believed to be the best strategy in fostering a sense of obligation towards the Soviet State. It was in particular thought that women, believed to be the most oppressed under the Islamic patriarchal traditions of Central Asia, were likely to be most susceptible to the Marxist/feminist message about obligation. We can see an example of this from a poster dated from 1918 to 1921 in which a young female can be seen to be turning her back on both the Mosque and the elder members of her Muslim community as two young men invite her forward to join a Youth Organisation. In the process, she has discarded her traditional Islamic clothing to reveal a red dress, symbolic of Marxism and the Soviet Union, and has unfurled a red banner reading ‘Now I too am Free’. Again, the message this poster seeks to communicate to women who encounter it is clear: Marxism and the Soviet State offer women emancipation from patriarchal religions and traditions, in this case Islam especially, and offers them a place in a new world where they can be free and equal with men. Thus again, the Feminist and Marxist critique of tradition and religion is used to produce an argument for Political Obligation to the Soviet State: young women should feel a sense of obligation and loyalty to the State as it offers them emancipation from traditional forms of patriarchal oppression.8 When one encounters these two images, one is confronted with a message using the language and ideas of the Critical Approach but in a way that does not seek to criticise the State but rather foster a sense of obligation towards it.

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I stated that one lesson we can learn from the Critical Approach is to have a critical mind when interpreting messages about Political Obligation produced by the State. This is perhaps particularly important when considering messages produced by the Soviet Union. We might for instance observe that Kollontai was regarded with suspicion by many of her Marxist colleagues and was indeed removed from the Zhenotdel as early as 1923. Thus, although her speeches may be an intriguing example of how language reminiscent of the Critical Approach can be used to foster a sense of obligation towards the State, it is questionable if her views can actually be regarded as Soviet State policy. Indeed, after Kollontai was removed from the political heart of Moscow, her views became regarded by the Soviet Union as ‘heresy’ (Holt 1977). In the late 1920s and early 1930s, the Soviet Union can further be seen to take a ‘reversal’ in its policies aimed at the emancipation of women; not only was Kollontai’s vision never put into practice, but in 1928 the State abolished all women’s organisation within Trade Unions, thus halting efforts to protect and train women workers, and then in 1930 abolished the Zhenotdel itself, effectively ending representation on behalf of women in Party circles (Engel 2008). This is of importance as we may note that the Shegal poster, offering a new emancipated life for women suggested by Kollontai type communal canteens, was published in 1931, a year after the closing of the Zhenotdel. This would suggest a disingenuousness about this message as it promises a new emancipated existence for women that the Soviet State, it would seem, has no intention of providing. Such possible forms of deception are precisely what philosophers of Critical Approach warn us against when interpreting messages of obligation produced by the State and is an example of why one must be critical and vigilant when interpreting and assessing encounters with the State. Nonetheless, possible disingenuousness aside, this brief consideration of encounters in which messages of Political Obligation are conveyed in the early years of the Soviet Union has been intriguing as it has revealed how language reminiscent of the Critical Approach can be utilised in existing political communities as means of generating a sense of Political Obligation towards the State. It is thus utilised towards a purpose almost exactly the opposite of how it is found in the philosophical discourse. This is precisely the intriguing cases the hermeneutic approach through the encounter can reveal.

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Notes 1. In the English intellectual tradition, there is a long radical vein which argued the State was illegitimate as its power stemmed from the subjugation of the country during the Norman conquest. The State functions to support the subjugation of the Anglo-Saxon majority by the ancestors of a tiny aristocratic Norman warrior elite. Any narrative of obligation was subsequently viewed as a means of deceiving the English into servitude to their Norman oppressors (see ‘A Remonstrance of Many Thousand Citizens’ 2007; Paine 1985: 42). We might further observe examples of such an approach in classical Rome. The First Century BC Epicurean Poet Lucretius, for example, deconstructed the Roman Religion which underpinned the legitimacy of the State, in effect attacking what was considered the foundation of Political Obligation for writers such as Cicero and Livy (Lucretius 2009). 2. Author’s own emphasis. 3. It is also in the light of his religious critique that Marx’s insistence that the human being is understood as ‘embedded’ within the world reveals its crucial significance. It is only when we consider human beings as embedded with a historical matrix that we can begin to think of the factors which oppress her and make her life so terrible. An abstract individual is conveniently removed from such oppression, and thus can act freely and rationally once the illusion of religion is dispelled. Indeed, Marx believed this ‘rational individual’ was perhaps not so fanciful as one would at first believe, and, in his individualism and utilitarian rationality, represented the European Middle Class. This belief that humanity would be liberated when religion was abolished only reflected the triumph of the bourgeois values of liberal individualism and capitalism over the older social system of religion and superstition. Such an assertion of freedom only represented the freedom of bourgeois thought, and subsequently distracted from the lack of material freedom of the majority of the populace. The ‘Young Hegelians’ were thus not truly radicals, but merely the mouthpieces of the bourgeoise: ‘wolves’ amongst the ‘bleating sheep’ (Marx and Engels 2007: 37). 4. An insightful overview of the differing feminist positions vis-à-vis the State is provided by Johanna Kantola in Feminists Theorise the State (2006). 5. The brain was finally returned to Meinhof’s children in 2002, the State’s theory still not haven been proven (Gentry and Sjoberg 2015). 6. The schism between these critical paradigms and Kantola’s experiences leads her to adopt a ‘Nordic feminist analysist’, an approach which conceptualizes the State as an institution with the potential to support political and social empowerment and govern over a ‘women friendly’ society (Kantola 2006: 10).

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7. This striking poster can be viewed at ‘The International Museum of Women’. See http://exhibitions.globalfundforwomen.org/community/viewImage? id=3233. 8. This poster is Public Domain in the British Library online collection. It is available at: https://www.bl.uk/collection-items/muslim-women-and-therevolution.

References Anonymous. (2007). A Remonstrance of Many Thousand Citizens. In G. Robertson (Ed.), The Levellers: The Putney Debates. London: Verso. Bauer, B. (1989). The Trumpet of the Last Judgement Against Hegel the Atheist and Antichrist: An Ultimatum (L. Stepelevich, Ed.). Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press. Beauvoir, S. (2011). The Second Sex (C. Borde & S. Malovany-Chevallier, Trans.). New York: Vintage Books. Deleuze, G. (1988). Foucault (S. Hand, Ed.). London: Continuum. Egoumenides, M. (2014). Philosophical Anarchism and Political Obligation. London: Bloomsbury. Engel, B. (2008). Women and the State. In R. G. Suny (Ed.), The Cambridge History of Russia, Volume Three: The Twentieth Century (pp. 468–494). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Engels, F. (2010). The Origins of Family, Private Property and the State (T. Hunt, Ed.). London: Penguin Classics. Fanon, F. (2005). The Wretched of the Earth (R. Philcox, Ed.). New York: Grove Press. Feuerbach, F. (1989). The Essence of Christianity (G. Elliot, Ed.). New York: Prometheus Books. Foucault, M. (1991). Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison (A. Sheridan, Ed.). London: Penguin. Foucault, M. (2004). Society Must Be Defended (D. Macey, Ed.). London: Penguin. Gentry, C., & Sjoberg, L. (2015). Beyond Mothers, Monsters, Whores: Thinking About Women’s Violence in Global Politics. London: Zed Books. Gramsci, A. (1971). Selections from the Prison Notebooks of Antonio Gramsci (Q. Hoare & G. N. Smith, Eds.). London: Lawrence and Wishart. Holbig, H. (2009). Ideological Reform and Political Legitimacy in China: Challenges in the Post-Jiang Era. In T. Heberer & G. Schubert (Eds.), Regime Legitimacy in Contemporary China: Institutional Change and Stability. Abingdon: Routledge. Holt, A. (1977). Introduction. In A. Holt (Ed.), Alexandra Kollontai: Selected Writings. New York: W. W. Norton. Kantola, F. (2006). Feminists Theorise the State. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.

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Kollontai, A. (1977). Communism and the Family. In A. Holt (Ed.), Alexandra Kollontai: Selected Writings. New York: W. W. Norton. Lenin, V. I. (1992). The State and Revolution (R. Service, Ed.). London: Penguin Classics. Lucretius. (2009). On the Nature of the Universe (R. Melville, Ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mao, T. (2004). On the People’s Democratic Dictatorship. In Maoist Documentation Project (Ed.), available at The Marxist Interner Archive. https://marxists. org/reference/archive/mao/selected-works/volume-4/mswv4_65.htm. Marcuse, H. (2002). One-Dimensional Man, Studies in the Ideology of Advanced Industrial Society (D. Kellner, Ed.). Abingdon: Routledge. Marx, K. (1992). A Contribution to the Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right. Introduction. In R. Livingstone & G. Benton (Eds.), Karl Marx: Early Writings. London: Penguin. Marx, K., & Engels F. (2002). The Communist Manifesto (G. S. Jones, Ed.). London: Penguin. Marx, K., & Engels, F. (2007). The German Ideology (Part One, C. J. Arthur, Ed.). London: Lawrence and Wishart Ltd. Paine, T. (1985). Rights of Man (H. Collins, Ed.). London: Penguin Classics. Pateman, C. (2018). The Sexual Contract. Cambridge: Polity Press. Simmons, A. J. (1996). Associative Political Obligations. Ethics, 106(2), 247–273. Tickner, A. (1992). Gender in International Relations: Feminist Perspectives on Achieving Global Security. New York: Columbia University Press. Tickner, A. (2001). Gendering World Politics: Issues and Approaches in the Post-Cold War Era. New York: Columbia University Press. Weatherley, R. (2006). Politics in China Since 1949: Legitimizing Authoritarian Rule. Abingdon: Routledge. Wollstonecraft, M. (2014). A Vindication of the Rights of Women. London: Vintage Books.

CHAPTER 5

The View from Inside: Introducing the Hermeneutical Concept of Encounter

Grand theories and paradigms of thought are always an enticing prospect to we human beings who awake in this strange world. They offer us a sense of great reassurance in their promise to explain and make clear the strange and complex situations that life throws us into, presenting us with a ‘master explanation’ of the difficulties and absurdities of existence. It can be both a calming and enlightening experience to find, when browsing a University library or relaxing in a street-side café, a philosophical perspective that seems to make sense of the world around us and what we are experiencing in it; a blueprint of the stitching which holds together the rich fabric of life. However, such reassurances are often fleeting. Once we leave the solitude of our study, when our coffee is finished and we must return to the flux of the world beyond the café window, such theories rarely seem as sensible as they did in our reflective isolation. Grand philosophies, with their great paradigmatic structures of analysis, make perfect logical sense in isolated abstract reflection, but they often begin to fall down when confronted with the reality of life. This feeling of a moral and epistemic gap between grand abstract theories and the experience of life is a sentiment at the heart of the philosophy of Existentialism. Beauvoir captured such a sentiment acutely when describing the comfort she felt reading Hegel’s grand philosophical system in the academic sanctuary of France’s National Library, only for this to quickly evaporate when she returned to the Parisian streets: upon

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returning to the streets ‘into my life, out of the system, beneath the real sky, the system was no longer of any use to me’ (Beauvoir 1976: 158). I mention these sentiments at the heart of an Existential Philosophy as I believe they are empathetic to my own analysis of Political Obligation outlined in the previous chapters. Each of the three approaches discussed sought to explain the nature of Political Obligation through favoured paradigmatic approaches, often in the form of trying to explain why one ought (or ought not) to have a sense of obligation to the State. Such paradigms in a sense became the lens through which Political Obligation, it was argued, could, and should, make sense. If it did not, if perspectives and relations did not conform to such paradigmatic thinking, they were dismissed and regarded as false.1 My intentions in this book are thus reflective of the Existential sentiment for recapturing the experience of human beings within the situation of Political Obligation, something which I have argued is overlooked by the dominant paradigmatic approaches to the subject. I intend to outline a means by which arguments, ideas, and narratives of Political Obligations are understood as they are produced inside political communities through interaction between citizens and States, thus gaining an interpretation of these discourses, not as abstract theoretical arguments, but in how they are communicated and experienced by real citizens within a given polity. Key to this means of inquiry is the concept of encounter. In the second half of this book, I will seek to outline this concept and how it may be used to investigate notions of Political Obligation in particular political communities. In order to understand how the encounter can be used as a means to investigate Political Obligation, two things will have to be established. The first is an understanding of how this concept fits within a hermeneutic interpretation of experience and consciousness. The second is how notions of obligation can be understood to be produced through the encounter. The first issue will be addressed in this chapter and the second in Chapter 6, with Chapter 7 then giving consideration of the limitations and potential criticisms of such an approach to the study of Political Obligation. In the introduction, I first discussed the encounter as a key component of hermeneutical understanding. I understood it as the key moment of the hermeneutic circle: the moment in which knowledge is gained increases one’s overall understanding of the worldly situation one finds oneself in, which, in turn, heightens one’s perception of those particular ‘others’ encountered. The circular movement thus functions from particular encountered ‘other’, to the appreciation of one’s world, to the heightened

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significance of that which is encountered. It was also emphasised that the understanding gained could never be objective but was rather always a subjective interpretation of the world one found oneself in: the hermeneutic circle is a means by which one gains an understanding of the world from situations inside of it, and the possibility of one escaping the situation to gain an external vantage point, a position from which it could be viewed objectively, was denied. In this section, I will explore the encounter and elaborate on these arguments. I will first consider the significance of this denial of external objectivity and consequent understanding of the world from ‘inside’. This established, I will then turn to consider the nature of the encounter in relation to the hermeneutic process of learning, in particular constructing a theoretical outline of how one may, in a process stemming from one’s existential encounters, develop a sense of world and self. Thus, by the end of this chapter, I will have a working theory of the place of the encounter in the hermeneutic process of human self-understanding and consciousness of the world one is situated in.

5.1

The Encounter

In this section, I wish to explore the encounter as an epistemological concept. I in particular wish to clarify how the concept puts emphasis on interpreting the world as it appears existentially ‘within situations’, as opposed to seeking to establish external epistemic and moral frameworks which perceptions and experiences of the world must be legitimised against. The epistemology of the encounter thus seeks to shift investigation away from consideration of external paradigms and towards an appreciation of how discourses of Political Obligation actually manifest and are communicated at the existential level within a situation. Key in inspiring what I might call this ‘existential epistemology’ is Danish philosopher and theologian Søren Kierkegaard, who in particular introduces the notion of ‘encounter’ in critique of Plato’s epistemology of ‘Recollection’. In the light of this, Kierkegaard’s critique of Plato’s epistemology appears a wise starting point for my exploration of the concept. In the dialogue Meno, Plato describes how Socrates answered Meno’s controversial claim that it is impossible for one to search for either ‘what one does not know’ nor equally ‘what one knows’. One cannot search for ‘what one does not know’ as, not knowing what one is searching for, one could never be certain if one had found it or not. One equally, however, cannot search for ‘what one knows’, as one already knows it, and thus

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search is unnecessary (Plato 2009a: 80e). This riddle has serious implications for epistemology as it denies us the possibility of learning the ‘truth’ of an issue. How could we possibly recognise the ‘truth’ if we don’t know what this ‘truth’ is? Equally, if we already know the ‘truth’, why would we search for it? Learning is thus either an impossible task or an unnecessary one. Socrates’ answer to this riddle was to argue that we do in fact contain the knowledge of the ‘truth’ within us; however, through being born into an imperfect world, we have forgotten these eternal ‘truths’. Thus, searching for ‘truth’ is not a pointless exercise as our memory will allow us to remember and subsequently recognise the ‘truth’ again when we come across it. Nor however is it an unnecessary task, as it is only by searching for the ‘truth’ that we can hope to recall it. This argument would form the foundation of the key Platonic epistemology that all learning is recollection. Plato deploys an elaborate metaphysical system to support his central epistemological argument.2 In short, Plato maintains that the soul is immortal and continues its existence through a process of reincarnation. Before this process of reincarnation, Plato further contends that the soul existed in a world in which the ‘true forms’ of worldly phenomena were revealed to it. Thus, our souls contain within them knowledge of the ‘truth’ of existence gained from their time in the ‘world beyond’. However, when we die and are reborn, our souls forget this ‘truth’. Subsequently, our search for knowledge in each life can be understood as an effort to recall these innate truths we forgot at birth and will ultimately forget again in death. What is important to recognise about this metaphysical theory is that it posits the existence of a ‘perfect world’ which contains ‘truth’ above and beyond the world we currently find ourselves in. In that this ‘world beyond’ contains the truth of our ‘lesser world’, it serves as framework to our worldly experiences and the means by which we can understand and assess them. The world we currently inhabit takes second order to the perfect ‘world beyond’ and what we perceive and experience in this world is only valid to the extent it corresponds with this external ‘world beyond’. Plato’s theory here is highly imaginative and, admittedly, relies as heavily on creative myth as it does on logical argument (especially in Phaedo and Phaedrus ). What is however crucial to recognise is that the implication of Plato’s epistemology and metaphysic is the positing of an external framework beyond worldly experience which becomes the criterion of legitimisation for human perception and relations. I will return to this metaphysical idea and its implications later. In the meantime, let us return to the epistemology of Platonic Recollection and

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its implications for learning. We might in particular consider that, if all learning is ‘recollection’, what exactly is the role of a teacher? If all the student is doing is recalling information he is not learning anything new, and thus the teacher is not in fact ‘teaching’ him anything. Socrates strongly rejected the label of a ‘teacher’; indeed, when Meno asks him to ‘teach’ something about recollection, Socrates takes great offence and perceives it as a trick (Plato 2009a: 82a). Instead of adopting the mantle of a teacher, Socrates rather describes himself as a ‘midwife’: he does not ‘teach’ knowledge but supervises the ‘labour of minds’. Socrates’ questioning prompts one to recall the forgotten information and thus help ‘deliver’ ideas from the recesses of the mind out into the open (Plato 2004). It is this image of the ‘Socratic midwife’ that Kierkegaard finds problematic. In ‘Philosophical Crumbs’, Kierkegaard argues that if a teacher was only a midwife who ‘delivered’ ideas then he would lose all significance, reduced to nothing more than a memory prompt. It would thus not matter if it was Socrates or Prodicus, or indeed if it was ‘the parlour-maid’, who prompted this recollection so long as the pupil remembered what he had forgotten. Similarly, just as the teacher becomes irrelevant, so does his teachings: it would not matter what the teacher was communicating to the student so long as it was cause for him to remember the innate ‘truth’ (Kierkegaard 2009: 90–91). This culminated in what Kierkegaard called the ‘vanishing’ of the ‘temporal point’: the moment in which we encountered our teacher has only significance in so far as it caused us to remember innate truths, it can be discarded or forgotten about as soon as the information is recalled; our significant life moments and events are stripped of meaning and ‘vanish’ as time goes on (Kierkegaard 2009: 89). Kierkegaard’s intention behind his introduction of the concept of the ‘encounter’ can subsequently be understood to recapture the importance of external worldly events: to give them a significance so that they would not ‘vanish’ once supposed ‘innate truths’ had been recovered. In order for this to be possible, the phenomenon that was encountered had to be perceived to bestow upon the subject knowledge of the world he previously lacked (Kierkegaard 2009). We thus have a notion, similar to that we saw in Gadamer’s thought in Chapter 1, that the moment of the encounter bestows new knowledge upon the subject from the external world which remains with her after the event, and subsequently, the experience in which this knowledge was conveyed also remains significantly with her. This switch in epistemological focus, from a recovery of internal truths to a reception of knowledge from the external world, in turn affects how we conceive of the

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human being and her existence. When one considers that ‘truth’ is innate, something that must be recalled from our time in the ‘world beyond’, one is automatically hypothesising the existence of such a ‘perfect world’ which transcends our own. This world, by virtue of being perfect and containing ‘truth’, is superior to our imperfect earthy existence. Consequently, to know the ‘truth’ of existence, we need not explore the world we find ourselves in, but rather attempt to delve backwards into the ‘perfect world’. When this ‘truth’ is recovered, one can thus subsequently reorder our current imperfect existence as closely to the otherworldly ‘truth’ as can feasibly be achieved. This is, of course, the central lesson of Plato’s ‘Simile of the Cave’: the world we inhabit is but illusions and shadows, the philosopher’s task is to penetrate beyond it to the world of ‘truth’, and then, returning to the world, reorder the darkness (Plato 2007: 514a–517a). The encounter, by contrast, turns our focus away from this external ‘world beyond’, away from external criterions of ‘truth’ beyond our experiences, and instead considers what we can learn from the world we actually inhabit. Such a critique of external criterion is in clear sympathy with the issue I have previously raised with the predominant approaches to Political Obligation.3 The principle behind Plato’s ‘Simile of the Cave’ is that the truth of our existence can only be verified in accordance with this metaphysical external criterion: the phenomena of the ‘worldly cave’ must be judged against the standard of the sun outside. This is very similar to my interpretation of the three paradigmatic approaches to Political Obligation: each had its paradigm—its framework of assessment—through which it sought to examine and make intelligible the situation of Political Obligation. The problem with such approaches is that they, as Kierkegaard identifies, tend to overlook the perspective and experiences of people who actually inhabit these situations. Plato’s search to uncover ‘timeless truths’ caused him to relegate the external experiences which might cause these to be recalled; such experiences were discarded once ‘truth’ had been recovered and promptly ‘vanished’ from significance. Similarly, in the approaches to Political Obligation, experience of the situation was only regarded significant when it corresponds to the external paradigmatic lens favoured by the respective approach and was ignored or disregarded if it was in contradiction. In the light of this, the encounter, which seeks to understand a situation through experience within it, and not through appeal to an external interpretative framework, thus proves a tantalising concept for gaining a better appreciation of the situations I wish to study.4

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Nonetheless, before proceeding further, I must identify a potential problem with my articulation of the encounter as it has been presented, a problem, critics may argue, that could undermine the encounter project before it begins. This problem particularly relates to my introduction of the concept through discussion of the philosophy of Kierkegaard, deriving from the theological nature and intentions behind Kierkegaard’s philosophy. Kierkegaard designed the concept of the encounter to address the problem Platonic Recollection posed to Christian Theology. It will be recalled that all learning was considered recollection and subsequently all external knowledge and experience were regarded as stimuli which could be disregarded once ‘truth’ was recalled. The problem for Christianity is that such a philosophy logically reduced the experience with Christ, the Revelation which lies at the heart of Christian Theology, to a mere memory prompt which could be forgotten once the eternal truth of God had been recalled. Equally, Christ’s teachings become unimportant as, again, all they do is serve as mere triggers to help recall truths one already knew. It would not matter if Christ taught his disciples ‘the love of God’, or if he preached hatred and debauchery, so long as his words prompted them to recall what they had forgotten about the Deity. The theory of Recollection thus threatens the significance of both the Incarnation and Christian teachings (Kierkegaard 2009). Importantly, for my intentions regarding the encounter, it means that, although Kierkegaard’s encounter sought to return emphasis on human experiences within the world, it was not an emphasis on everyday worldly experience but on a religious encounter with a figure from beyond space and time, namely God incarnate; it was not an encounter with the phenomena which constitutes the cave, but with a being whom had entered it from beyond. This has incredible significance for what I have discussed in terms of external criterion as, what is bestowed upon the subject in Kierkegaard’s articulation of the encounter, is nothing less than the ‘truth of God’. Thus, Kierkegaard, like Plato (indeed like the paradigmatic approaches I have critiqued at length), has at the heart of his philosophy an external criterion of truth which exists separate from the world one inhabits. The difference between Plato and Kierkegaard is that for the former the subject had to struggle herself to escape the cave and behold the ‘truth’, for the latter escape was impossible and the ‘truth’ had to be brought into the cave by Christ. Nonetheless, in both there is an independent criterion which is external and superior to the world the subject is thrown into. Kierkegaard’s ‘Christian truth’ furthermore is regarded as the standard by which individ-

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uals, when made aware of it, are expected to follow. This is again very similar to how the ‘truth of the sun’ ought to dispel the darkness of the cave, and indeed, the paradigm of rationality ought to order political relations. One may indeed further highlight how one who does not follow the Rational Approach was regarded as an ‘irrational’ ‘barbarian’, with how, for Kierkegaard, one who did not live a ‘Christian existence’ by virtue lived in a mode of ‘sin’ (Kierkegaard 2004). Scholars have subsequently drawn attention to the clear similarities between Kierkegaard’s philosophy and the teleological dialectic of Hegel. It is argued that Kierkegaard’s theory of existence can be interpreted to share the same dialectical skeleton as Hegel’s system, the differences being that it is motivated by faith, rather than reason; advances through choices made from religious faith, rather than rationality; and culminates in the Christian individual, rather than the rational citizen. Despite such differences, the fact that Kierkegaard’s system is based on an external framework of epistemic and moral truth (Christianity) and that this truth imposes a teleology which the individual is expected to fulfil (the Christian mode of existence) makes Kierkegaard’s philosophy remarkably similar to Hegel’s system, and thus shares many of its central flaws when it comes to understanding human existence which falls out with its chosen paradigm of understanding (see especially Crites 1972; Taylor 1975). The problems this creates for my approach are twofold. Firstly, the idea of the encounter was designed by Kierkegaard to consider how the subject could receive religious ‘truth’ from experiences in the world. It is thus designed as an epistemology through which the subject receives ‘truth’ and becomes aware of her telos in life. It could be argued that such a theological concept, the focus of which is on uncovering religious ‘truths’, cannot be modified into a concept for understanding worldly phenomena. Secondly, the spirit and intention of Kierkegaard’s efforts now seem contrary to my own. I have stressed that the encounter places an emphasis on understanding and giving value to human experiences and perceptions within worldly situations, as opposed to focusing on external frameworks and criterion—‘master paradigms’—used to verify and legitimise such perceptions and experiences, and which subsequently took precedence over them. However, I have just revealed that Kierkegaard did in fact have an overarching external framework by which human existence is to be understood against and assessed. It would thus seem Kierkegaard’s overall philosophical understanding is in contrast to the ethos I have outlined for the encounter approach.

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In reply to the first problem, I would initially stress that the approach advocated in this book is through the hermeneutic encounter, not the Kierkegaardian hermeneutic encounter. I am thus not trying to simply utilise the thought of Kierkegaard and apply it to politics but attempting to draw from a variety of sources in constructing my own approach. Kierkegaard has been discussed here to give best illustration of the approach’s spirit and intentions; Kierkegaard’s thought is inspiration, philosophical nourishment, not blueprint I wish to mechanically adopt. Having taken Kierkegaard’s thought as initial inspiration, in the following section I will begin to develop my concept of the encounter along a different path to make it a more suitable means of interpreting political phenomena from inside the situation. In support of this effort, I might note that other existentialist and phenomenological philosophers have similarly developed this notion of encounter, the idea of the experience ‘in the world’ which reveals its nature and transfers to the subject knowledge about it, with a more social and political focus and without Kierkegaard’s overarching theological framework and telos (see especially Heidegger 2008; Gadamer 2012). I have already, in the introduction, drawn from Gadamer’s hermeneutics in illustrating the encounter, and such thought will again be drawn from in the following sections. I might add to this that Kierkegaard does actually discuss encounters which are not exclusively religious in character. In Either/or, Kierkegaard discusses encounters which reveal, not a Christian existence, but an aesthetic and an ethical one.5 The issue is not that Kierkegaard dismissed the possibility of non-religious encounters, it is that he prioritised his perceived modes of life in a strict hierarchical order: ‘aesthetic’ as the lowest, then ‘ethical’, and then ‘Christian’ as the highest. As he was most concerned with how one could encounter Christ and become aware of the ‘Christian existence’, it was this encounter which he prioritised in his thinking. It is worth also highlighting that an ‘encounter with God through Christ’ is also the most intellectually challenging to conceptualise. One can think of many almost routine instances in which one may have encounters associated with an aesthetic hedonistic life; it is a much rarer and more unique instance when one might encounter God incarnate. Given the uniqueness and conceptual difficulty of this particular encounter, coupled with its importance to Kierkegaard, it is perhaps unsurprising that so much thought should be given to intelligibly conceptualising it. In regard to the second problem, I would maintain that I share with Kierkegaard an intention to understand worldly existence from within the situations the world presents to us. We thus share a desire to interpret the

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world as it appears existentially to those who experience it and not from an objective removed vantage point. Our interpretation of the encounter as a means of interpreting existential experiences—our understanding of the concept as an existential epistemology—is shared ground. Our differences thus do not come from our focus of inquiry, but rather our normative intentions. In his The Point of View of my Work as an Author, Kierkegaard makes clear the intention of the writings was always to direct people towards the Christian way of life. He sought to do so by prompting reflection on one’s own encounters and life experiences rather than through instructive lectures (the belief being dictatorial lectures on how to be a ‘proper Christian’ would offend his audience rather than convert them) (Kierkegaard 1998: 43–44). Thus, Kierkegaard’s inquiry into existential experiences has behind them a normative effort to provide argument for the Christian way of life. My approach differs in that I have no normative intention behind my inquiry, I seek to uncover arguments of Political Obligation as they operate within polities, not advocate one particular form of obligation as superior. What I draw from Kierkegaard’s encounter is the desire to form means of interpretation of the world from existential experiences within it. I differ from Kierkegaard in that I do not have a ‘best’ or ‘true’ standard of political life which I wish to subtly provide normative argument for through my inquiry. Before proceeding to develop the encounter further, it is worth first clarifying what has been established about the concept in this section. Epistemologically, I understand the encounter to be a concept which focuses on how knowledge is revealed to one ‘inside the situation’ one inhabits. It thus immediately rejects the possibility of an objective Archimedean perspective of the situation and prioritises understanding as is revealed in existential experiences; it seeks to appreciate how the world appears to subjects inside a situation and does not seek to immediately legitimise experience and perception against external a priori established frameworks. The central motivation for this is that the hypothesising of external frameworks against which perception must be legitimised gives precedent to the truth of these frameworks, human experience and perception is thus only valued in so much as it corresponds to such frameworks. In terms of Political Obligation, such a concept will move us away from consideration of external paradigms used to justify Political Obligation, towards a consideration of how discourses of obligation are actually experienced and perceived by citizens inside of the situation.

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Horizon

This section will elaborate on the encounter’s pivotal position in hermeneutic understanding. In the previous section, I discussed the similarities between my premise and that of Kierkegaard, a similarity which helped elaborate the epistemological assumptions behind the encounter. In this section, by contrast, I will find it favourable to discuss the differences between my concept of encounter and Kierkegaard’s theologically orientated concept in order to elaborate the process by which encounters build a perception and consciousness of the worldly situation one finds oneself in. The first difference between my concept of the encounter and Kierkegaard’s can be understood to lie in number. Kierkegaard focused on one special encounter with Christ which revealed the ‘truth’. It was importantly a ‘one time’ event in which the ‘true’ nature of existence is fully revealed (Kierkegaard 2009). Whilst such a notion of ‘revelation’ may work for a Christian Theology, it is completely unsuitable for an approach to understanding the social and political situation one finds oneself in; there is no one person or object, no ‘singular other’, an encounter with which would reveal to us the whole nature of the social world we are born into. We must consequently not think of the encounter as a singular ‘all revealing’ experience, but one of a vast multitude of experiences through which we learn about our world. The encounter can subsequently be understood to reveal to us, not The Truth, but rather only a fragment of knowledge about the world we inhabit. Being only fragments of knowledge, what is revealed to us can further not by itself make the world intelligible but only in relation to other fragments of knowledge received through other encounters. We thus move from the notion of ‘one encounter’ to ‘multiple encounters’. This further adds to the dismissal of any notion of a complete and final ‘truth’ concerning our world ever being attained. Knowledge gained from encounters can never be understood as ‘complete’ as the more fragments of knowledge we accumulate the more our perception of the world will evolve. Such encounters will further never cease so long as we exist as we will always continue to have new experiences and encounter new things. There is also the possibility that new fragments of knowledge contradict old pieces, and indeed that we forget past fragments. Thus, rather than building to a final complete perception of the world, what we rather gain is an everevolving perception which both grows as we have new experiences and also can contract as past fragments cease to have relevance or are forgotten.

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This change from one to multiple encounters also changes how I perceive the human subject. In Kierkegaard’s religious account, the subject was completely dependent on his encounter with God for his understanding of the ‘truth’ (Kierkegaard 2009: 96–97). In receiving knowledge, Kierkegaard’s subject is thus completely passive: truth is bestowed by God through one encounter and the subject simply receives this information in its entirety. Again, whilst perhaps suitable for theology, such an understanding is unsuitable for an approach to the social and political world. As has been argued, the subject cannot receive a complete ‘truth’ about the polity she inhabits in one encounter but rather receives a perception of this gradually through multiple encounters across time. What she is receiving is not a complete ready-made understanding of the world but rather only fragments of knowledge. My subject must necessarily take upon herself the additional responsibility of assembling these fragments into a more holistic understanding if she is to gain an intelligible perception of the world she finds herself in. This need to assemble fragments of knowledge results in a shift in my understanding of the subject: no longer a passive recipient, my subject must take on the additional task of sorting and assembling the knowledge she receives. The positing of ‘multiple encounters’ thus transforms the human subject from a passive receiver of ‘truth’ to an active agent who constructs her own perception of the world she finds herself in. This intelligible conception of the world I will call her ‘Horizon’. In labelling this concept a Horizon, I am here drawing explicitly from a term which has currency in Western philosophy, and I do so to draw out two functions commonly attributed to it. The first is that a horizon marks the limitations of one’s understanding of existence. The second is that a horizon helps orientate one’s position in the world and informs one’s sense of self. I will consider both in turn to further illustrate this perception of one’s existence—this Horizon—as is constructed from encounters.6 The use of horizon to mark the limitations of one’s own understanding is most clearly articulated by Gadamer in Truth and Method. Gadamer defines a ‘horizon’ as ‘the range of vision’ that includes everything that can be seen from a ‘particular vantage point’. Furthermore, this ‘vantage point’ is always understood to be ‘within a situation’ and can never be ‘outside of it’ (Gadamer 2012). This is revisiting an argument which was first presented in Chapter 1 and has been referred to throughout this book. In short, we can never gain an objective viewpoint from which to consider our existence—the Archimedean point from which we might scientifically observe the human world is forever out of reach—and thus our under-

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standing is always an imperfect one as is revealed through our experiences inside of it. This corresponds with the above articulation of the Horizon never being an objective or complete perception of the truth, but rather an ever-evolving perception of the world we find ourselves in constructed from fragments of knowledge gathered from multiple encounters throughout our life, a perception that further will evolve and adapt as we continue through existence and have different encounters. The Horizon is fundamentally a body of subjective knowledge; it is the subject’s own perspective of his existence gained from inside of it (Gadamer 2012: 301–302). The second function of ‘horizons’, its ability to orientate oneself in the world and inform one’s ‘sense of self’, is most clearly illustrated in Taylor’s Ethics of Authenticity, a work which is more focused on the development of the human self than Gadamer’s Truth and Method, which is primarily concerned with methods in historical and textual analysis. We may recall from Chapter 3 that, for Taylor, human existence is perceived as fundamentally ‘dialogical’ in character: the subject cannot define herself alone in isolation but can only come to understand who she is through interaction with others, in particular ‘significant others’, such as parents (Taylor 2003: 33–35). Thus, Taylor insists we must understand human self-development as constructed in a dialogical nature between the subject and an ‘other’. Taylor insists these ‘others’ are not just restricted to persons, but also includes the cultural framework the subject inhabits. Taylor argues that such cultural contexts indeed provide a ‘background’ which the subject relates to and defines her identity against. Such cultural backgrounds are what Taylor denotes as ‘horizons of significance’ (Taylor 2003: 35–36). We may therefore understand that horizons form a ‘reference point’ for the subject’s development of both her understanding of self and relation to the world around her. A crucial difference between ‘Horizon’ and Taylor’s ‘horizons of significance’ needs to, however, be made clear before I progress further with this idea. In The Ethics of Authenticity, Taylor is very adamant that ‘horizons of significance’ are ‘given’: they exist separate from and are independent of the subject (Taylor 2003). My concept of Horizon, however, is clearly neither ‘independent of the subject’ nor ‘given’ as it is constructed by the subject from the encounters he has within the situation of existence. In many ways, this difference marks the variance of my approach through the encounter and the Context-based Approach, which, as discussed in Chapter 3, I believe Taylor’s thought proves illustration. In describing the horizon as ‘given’, Taylor is referring to the worldly situation the subject

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finds herself in and relates to. He is describing the historical and cultural institutions and practices which shape and colour one’s life, in short, the historical, cultural, and social context one is born into. Thus, Taylor is arguing that an individual understands herself in regard to the contextual situation she finds herself in and that contextual factors will primarily inform her decision-making. Such thinking is, the reader will recognise, a central characteristic of the Context-based Approach. However, in regarding the Horizon as a perception generated by the subject from knowledge gained in her encounters, I am not speaking of the world per se, but rather the subjective perception of this context gained through encounters with its existential manifestation. It is this desire, not just to understand the context the citizen is situated in, but rather interpret the ideas, arguments, and narratives as they existentially present themselves to the citizen which differentiate the approach through the encounter from the Context-based Approach. Taylor would of course likely accuse my approach of opening the door to a ‘soft-relativism’ in that, by removing the fixity of horizons and making them subject-dependent, I am surrendering their ability to serve as a significant and independent criterion upon which to base our decisions. In turn, I would reply that we must always consider that, situated in the world, the context which we relate to is always a subjective perception. To try and perceive it independent and external to our own vantage point inside situations would be to gain the impossible Archimedean point beyond worldly existence. Thus, yes, the phenomena which constitute the context we inhabit may exist independently beyond us, but our perception of it is always our own subjective one. Nonetheless, I would not concentrate overly on these differences beyond the manner in which they distinguish the approach through the encounter from the Context-based Approach. As I have already argued in Chapter 3, I believe the approach through the encounter need not be antagonistic to the Context-based Approach, but rather complement it through further uncovering the ontological ground of the contextually embedded subject by considering how historical and cultural phenomena may be existentially encountered and interpreted by the subject immersed within, thus aiding this approach in potentially understanding exactly how such understanding is utilised in forming and presenting discourses within particular situations, such as the arguments for Political Obligation.7 To return to the second function of horizons, we may interpret that this perception of the world not only denotes the limited subjective appreciation of one’s existence, but also the ability to serve as a framework which one

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may relate to in order to comprehend both one’s self and one’s relation to the world one finds oneself in. I will endeavour to elaborate this function of Horizon further through a thought experiment called the simile of the ‘dark room’. We may imagine our subject finds himself in a dark room. The only light in the room is coming from a small portable lamp. The light emanating from the lamp is, however, insufficient to illuminate the room entirely. In order to discover his surroundings and orientate himself, the subject must, therefore, take the lamp and investigate the room. As the subject traverses the room, the lamp is able to illuminate small parts of it. He may, for instance, cast light on one part of the room and find a door. As he moves away from the door to discover more, darkness will again fall on the door and obscure it from his vision. He continues like this for some time revealing the size and shape of the room as well as its features: a television at its centre; a closed window; and at the opposite end a bolted door. Each of these features is revealed to the subject when he casts the lamp’s light upon them. However, when he moves on, darkness once more descends on these features obscuring them from view. Nonetheless, although he can no longer see them, the subject knows the features of the room exist around him as he has consigned the knowledge of them gained through his encounters to his memory. From these visual fragments, our subject is able to gain an understanding of what the room looks like. He does this by taking from his memory the fragmented visions and constructing them into a visual representation of the room in his mind. Consequently, our subject is able to orientate himself within the room; he has a vague understanding of what the room consists of and, by relating himself to this understanding, is able to gain an appreciation of where he is located in regard to its features. We will notice however that, when orientating himself, he is not relating himself to the room as it immediately exists before him; this is impossible as it is shrouded in darkness. The subject on the contrary is relating himself to the mental perception of the room he has constructed. Thus, we may say, when orientating himself, the subject does not relate to the room itself as it physically exists before him, but rather to the mental perception of the room he has constructed from memory. We may understand this mental perception he relates to as his Horizon. This Horizon has, however, not only revealed to the subject the nature of this room, but also the possibilities contained for him within it. The existence of the television informs the subject of the possibility of watching television. The existence of a window informs of the possibility of escape. Again, we might observe that it is his Horizon that informs the subject

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about his options. He cannot relate directly to the objects like the television and the window as, standing in the darkness, he can no longer see them. It is rather the knowledge that they are there, gained from his encounters and integrated into his Horizon, that he relates to when considering his options. Similarly, the fragmented knowledge of such phenomena as the window alone cannot inform him of the possibility of escape. It is rather only when this knowledge is embedded in the Horizon, and thus complemented with the knowledge that he is trapped in a dark room, that the possibility of escape becomes intelligible to him. Thus, again, I contend it is the Horizon which he consults in order to comprehend his situation and the possibilities contained within it. In the same way, I understand Horizon to denote one’s mental perception of the world one inhabits. Like the dimly lit room, we cannot see the entirety of the world we exist in all at the one time. However, what we can do is build a mental perception of this world from the knowledge yielded from encounters inside it. Similarly, just as the door is locked and the subject cannot escape the room, neither can we escape our world to look at it objectively from the outside. Our perception of existence is always a limited subjective one which expands and contracts as we have continual encounters. It is thus this limited mental perception I call the Horizon which we must refer to when considering the world and our existence in it. It is also worth stressing the particularly hermeneutic nature of this discovery of world and construction of Horizon. Firstly, the approach clearly shares the hermeneutic principle that the world is not perceived from outside the situation but from encounters within it, and indeed, it denies the possibility of objective appreciation. More than this however, we can interpret the way in which the subject builds up his perception of the world as akin to that of the hermeneutic circle. The subject has an encounter which yields a particular piece of knowledge; this knowledge increases his understanding of the situation he is in; this increased perception of the world furthers his appreciation of the particular phenomenon encountered. The encounter with particular items in the room reveals the existence of particular phenomenon. This fragmented knowledge, brought together, builds a perception of the room and the situation of being trapped in it. This perception of the room, and the situation of being trapped in it, in turn increases the perception and significance of the items first encountered (a window is no longer just a window but a possible means of escape). The process of discovery forms a circular hermeneutic movement between encounter and horizon.

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I would further stress such a hermeneutic appreciation is highly appropriate for understanding the relations between citizen and State in the situation of Political Obligation. I argued in Chapter 1 that the State, as a disembodied legal and administrative order (more of an ‘idea’ than a concrete being), cannot be encountered in its entirety and cannot be thought to ever provide one complete argument to its citizens as to why they should feel obliged to it. Thus, just as we cannot receive a complete ‘truth’ about our existence, we cannot ever receive one complete argument from the State regarding our expected obligations. Despite the thought experiments of multiple Political Philosophers which seek to personify the State, in reality it does not communicate with its citizen in such a singular, direct, and transparent manner. Instead, an understanding of the State is defused across the multiple encounters citizens have with its existential manifestations. Encounters such as our education at school; national flags; national monuments; experiences with the police; experience with social work; the fire brigade putting out fires in neighbourhoods and rescuing people from overturned cars; passport controls in the airport (indeed the very passport itself, containing, as most do, a declaration from the Head of State); the sign commanding me not to smoke in public buildings; legislation preventing me from purchasing alcohol after ten o’clock; letters from her Majesty’s Revenues and Customs; council employees gritting the road before an icy winter’s night, all reveal fragments of knowledge regarding the State and reasons why we should feel a sense of obligation to it. It is from these fragments of knowledge that one builds a perception of the State and our relations with it, and this construction can be understood to form a hermeneutic circle. Particular encounters with State power reveal to us a particular fragment of knowledge regarding what the State does and the demands it puts upon us; such knowledge contributes to our overall appreciation of the State and our relations with it; this in turn will heighten our perception of the subsequent encounters we have. The process by which we learn about the State is inherently hermeneutical, and at the core of this process is the encounter with its existential manifestations. Interpreting how arguments, ideas, and narratives of Political Obligation function inside concrete political communities thus relies on an appreciation of these existential encounters.

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5.3

Narrative

In the simile of the ‘dark room’, our subject found herself in the situation of being trapped in a shadowy chamber with only a small lamp for light. If this was the premises of a story, we might understand this situation to be the ‘setting’ of our tale. The encounter can thus be considered the means by which our protagonist discovers her setting, the Horizon the subsequent mental perception of this. However, ‘setting’ is not enough for a story, we also need to consider a ‘narrative’. It is the narrative which moves a story along, and it is further through the narrative that the protagonist will reveal her character to the audience. It is through her actions—how she will choose to interact with this setting she has been cast into—that our protagonist will disclose ‘who’ she is.8 Is she an impetuous person who will immediately begin banging on the door demanding release? Or is she a patient person who will turn on the television and await events to unfold? What is fundamental in defining ‘who’ a person is not just the situation she finds herself in, but the choices she makes regarding the situation. We might subsequently understand a person’s defining of ‘who’ they are to be constructed from a process of discovering the world through encounters and making choices based on such discoveries, a process which can then be interpreted into a ‘narrative story’ of her existence. In order to fully appreciate the place of the encounter in my hermeneutical interpretation of human consciousness, this notion of narrative must be properly considered. The key components of a narrative I have articulated as encounters and choices. I have already discussed the notion of encounter in a great deal in this chapter. In contrast, much less has been said about the concept of choice. Before we proceed further, it will thus be necessary to consider the latter concept in more detail. Consideration of choice unavoidably brings us to the question of human capacity for freedom; any discussion of choice inescapably raises the question ‘to what extent do we freely make our choices?’ This is important for our articulation for narrative as, if we hold that we are free to make choices, then we can understand our narratives to have been (at least partially) constructed by ourselves. However, if we are not free to make choices, then our ‘life stories’ become but a chain of physical causation no different from a chemical reaction. One of the most convincing arguments supporting a deterministic view of human action is provided by Arthur Schopenhauer in his essay ‘Freedom of the Will’. Schopenhauer argues that human behaviour when considered from an objective perspective, as we would consider any other natural phe-

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nomena, is subject to the laws of cause and effect. The idea of ‘free choice’, the idea that humans are able to undertake actions which are not determined by external causes, is subsequently nonsensical as it poses the possibility of a spontaneous action without prior determining cause; belief in free choice over human action is akin to the belief of miracles occurring in the natural world (Schopenhauer 2010: 71). To avoid such an absurdity, we must recognise all actions must have prior cause which brought them into being, and it is subsequently this cause which must also be recognised as having determined them. We may therefore understand that our decisions are not a product of free choice, but the result of the strongest cause—what Schopenhauer terms ‘motive’—which acted upon us. Just as the movement of the billiard ball is determined by the strike of the cue and cannot begin before this has occurred, so our decisions are determined by external motives and we cannot act before these motives have compelled us to do so (Schopenhauer 2010: 70). Nonetheless, difficulty arises from the fact that human motives are complex and difficult to identify. For instance, the motive that compels me to buy a sandwich, and in particular why to buy a certain type of sandwich, or indeed a sandwich and not a burger, and further why I choose to eat now and not wait to eat at home, is far less tangible than the cause of the billiard ball moving across the table. This difficulty in identifying motives makes it appear as if there are none, thus creating the illusion that the action was the product of a spontaneous free decision. Nonetheless, Schopenhauer insists that, despite the complexity of the cause or the multiplicity of its possible results, the decision was still a result of causation and thus is no less determined than was the movement of the billiard ball (Schopenhauer 2010: 65). We may further clarify this argument by considering it in comparison with the phenomena of the natural world. We may for instance consider the eruption of a volcano. To the people of antiquity, who did not have the scientific knowledge to identify the cause of the erupting, this phenomenon appeared spontaneous. Consequently, they would often claim it erupted due to the will of an angry god, and thus to a degree attribute to nature a freedom of will. However, this is of course not the case: volcanic eruptions are caused by the building of pressure often due to the movements of tectonic plates. This is similar to our understanding of freedom: our actions and choices are caused by powerful motives that act upon us and compel us to make certain decisions. However, as these causes are often unclear to us, we instead explain them as the result of a free choice, just as the ancients did with the volcano.

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The biggest contributor to the ‘illusion of freedom’ is nonetheless not the intangibility of causes but our custom of rarely considering the issue of freedom from an objective position. Instead, we often look at the problem of freedom from ‘the perspective of self-consciousness’, or, what we might call, a ‘subjective perspective’. From this ‘subjective perspective’, we do not consider why an external object acts in the way it does, as for instance with the erupting volcano. Rather, in this perspective we consider ourselves and our capacity to make choices. One, for instance, is not concerned with an external object and its movements but rather one’s own ability to move; one does not ask ‘why that object moved left’ but rather ‘do I have to go left?’, or ‘do I have the capacity to decide to go right instead?’ The answer to this, from a subjective perspective, will of course be ‘yes’; ‘if I don’t want to go left, I can indeed choose to go right instead’. In this thought process, attention is given almost exclusively to the self and external factors are excluded; thought revolves around whether I can choose to go right, and what factors may cause me to go right rather than left are not given proper consideration. This is very different to how we contemplate natural phenomena. We do not for instance consider whether the volcano can choose to erupt or not erupt, but rather look to the external causes that necessitated the eruption. The ‘subjective perspective’ thus overlooks external influences and focuses primarily on the self. This makes it appear as if one is free to decide one’s own actions and gives the illusion of free choice (Schopenhauer 2010: 48–49). Such illusion is further confounded by what Schopenhauer describes here as a confusion between ‘wishing’ and willing’. ‘Wishing’, Schopenhauer claims, denotes the desire to do something. ‘Willing’, by contrast, is the actual carrying out of the action. Now, although I may ‘wish’ to go left or right, I cannot physically do both, I cannot therefore ‘will’ both. What will cause me to choose one direction over the other will ultimately be which direction has the stronger motivation, and until this motivation has acted upon me I will remain ‘wishing both’ but ‘willing neither’. Thus, Schopenhauer would insist we cannot act or make a decision until a strong enough motive has compelled us to do so, and consequently, choice is necessitated by the cause strong enough to compel us to action (Schopenhauer 2010: 68–69). Schopenhauer’s argument is a compelling and challenging one. It is almost impossible to prove for certain, as the causes of human activity are so unclear and intangible they cannot be identified. Equally however, it is almost impossible to disprove, for, in any situation one has acted an observer may hypothesise external influences which likely caused one to

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undertake such action. In order to overcome this impasse, I may highlight one crucial point at the centre of Schopenhauer’s argument: to understand the deterministic nature of human action, one has to take an ‘objective perspective’. By contrast, from a ‘subjective perspective’, from the vantage point of one within the situation, it will always appear as if human actions are the product of free choices, on account of the fact that external causes are impossible to identify from such a position. Thus, it can be attested that, from a vantage point within worldly situations, it always appears that human beings have the capacity for free choice. If we try and understand it as determined by external forces, it would require that we step outside of the situation and view it objectively, a move which would betray this book’s intentions to comprehend human experience from within situations. Therefore, quite simply, one must consider the subject to have freedom of choice if one is to appreciate relations from within worldly situations, regardless if it can be argued that this is an illusion from a removed vantage point. This last point I believe is particularly well illustrated by Friedrich Nietzsche’s idea of the ‘waterfall’, a simile he uses to account for our perception of free choice in Human, All Too Human. It is worth quoting at length: When we see a waterfall, we think we see freedom of will and choice in the innumerable turnings, windings, breaking of the waves; but everything is necessary; each movement can be calculated mathematically. Thus it is with human actions; if one were omniscient, one would be able to calculate each individual action in advance… To be sure the acting man is caught up in his illusion of volition; if the wheel of the world were to stand still for a moment and an omniscient, calculating mind were to take advantage of this interruption, he would be able to tell the farthest future of each being and describe every rut the wheel will roll upon. (Nietzsche 2004: 74)

We may of course observe that Nietzsche is arguing for determinism, unsurprisingly perhaps given Schopenhauer’s influence on his thought. Nonetheless, I want to focus on his use of the term ‘omniscient’. It is only a calculating ‘omniscient being’, Nietzsche claimed, who could identify the necessary causes of human behaviour. He further observes that even such an omniscient being could only identify these causes if the world stopped turning. However, we are not omniscient, and the world will continue turning. We can therefore only take the vantage point of the ‘acting man’, the person who is ‘caught up in this illusion’. Nonetheless, it is the intention of the

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book to move away from the vantage point of the ‘omniscient being’, I have indeed stressed the need to move away from precisely such a vantage point that gives an abstracted and removed perspective of human affairs. Prescribing human affairs from the vantage point of the ‘superman’ gives an understanding of human life fitting only for a ‘superman’, and which is subsequently alien to all existing human beings. It is thus precisely the ‘acting man’ whose perception I wish to capture. If his freedom appears real to this ‘acting man’, regardless if it is an illusion to the omniscient superman, then it must be considered as fundamental to our perception of human existence. Having granted our subject free choice, we must consider next the extent of this freedom. We must ask, in what ways is our ability to choose restricted and conditioned by the world around us? In order to consider this question, I turn to the articulation of freedom given by Jean-Paul Sartre in his treatise Existentialism and Humanism. In this treatise, Sartre established his ‘first principle’ of Existentialism: ‘Man is nothing else but that which he makes of himself’ (Sartre 2013: 30). The key ontological assumption underpinning this principle is one my approach shares, that of ‘thrownness’. Like my approach, and fundamentally unlike Schopenhauer, Sartre considers human freedom not from an external objective perspective but rather from the perspective of one who finds oneself already within worldly situations. Drawing from Heidegger, Sartre characterises this situation as one of ‘abandonment’. One is considered ‘abandoned’ in the world in the sense there is no God who designed it or left us a purpose to fulfil within it; there is no ‘telos’ to which human life ought to aim. Human existence—being devoid of essential meaning—is thus left for the subject to define for himself. Hence another of Sartre’s maxims of Existentialist Philosophy: ‘existence comes before essence’ (Sartre 2013: 27). We are not tasked in this world with fulfilling an a priori telos, but on the contrary define our purpose through our worldly actions. Abandoned in existence without meaning or purpose, human beings are completely free to define their existence through the choices they make. ‘[I]n life’, Sartre argues, ‘man commits himself, draws his own portrait and there is nothing but that portrait’ (Sartre 2013: 48).9 There is considerable ground here in which the assumptions behind my approach share ground with Sartre’s. Not only do I begin from a similar position of ‘thrownness’, but I also share with Sartre his rejection of external criteria and overarching telos as a means to regulate and define our worldly experience; to ‘legitimise’ our existence. Nonetheless, I would argue that

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Sartre here overstates human capacity for freedom. I would in particular note his argument that we are completely free to define our own existence overlooks our relation—our dependency on—the world itself as both a limitation and facilitator of this capacity for free choice. Let me give a hypothetical example to illustrate this point. Let us imagine an individual who wishes to be an astronaut. Although he may be considered free to make choices to further this ambition, his success will not be guaranteed as there are a number of barriers and restrictions he will have to overcome. Firstly, his ability to realise his desire is limited by the situation he finds himself in. The most immediate limitation here is that the individual must be born into a world in which astronauts exist. If he is born in 55BC Rome, long before space exploration was possible, then the possibility to become an astronaut would never have presented itself to him. Equally, even if he is born into the world of the twenty-first century in which space exploration is a possibility, but is nonetheless born into a closed Amazonian tribe who have little to no contact with the wider world, then, again, this possibility is unlikely to present itself to our individual. In turn, those who have the best chances at being astronauts will have little chance of becoming Amazonian tribesmen and no chance to fight alongside Julius Caesar in the Gallic Campaign. We simply cannot choose to become whatever we desire but are only free to become what presents itself as a feasible option in the world we have been unwillingly cast. Nonetheless, even if our individual is born into a world in which astronauts exist, his freedom to become one is still limited. The individual cannot do whatever he pleases and authentically be an astronaut: one cannot fry chicken for Nando’s and, in good faith, claim to operate NASA spacecraft. An astronaut is a particular profession which entails a particular set of skills and abilities required to fulfil a certain function. One must endeavour to achieve the requirements and perform the function of the occupation if one is truly to become an astronaut. The skills required to be an astronaut are furthermore academically and physically challenging, and our individual may not have been born with the intelligence or physical skills to meet these challenges. Equally, the training required to develop these skills will cost money; whether it comes from personal funds or scholarships, the individual will need to acquire such finances. The individual’s ability to realise his desire is thus further restricted by his own economic situation as well as his mental and physical limitations. These are just some examples of innumerable limitations in which the individual’s situation limits his freedom to shape his existence. The point is nonetheless to illustrate that we do not

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find ourselves in a world of limitless possibilities, but rather our choices are firmly curtailed by the reality of the historical and personal situation we find ourselves in. It is important however to recognise that this particular situation we find ourselves in is not purely restrictive—an iron cage that inhibits future flourishing. On the contrary, it must always be remembered that it is the very world we inhabit which provides us with choices in the first place. It is for instance the very existence of the space exploration in the world which makes possible the life of an astronaut. If there was no world, there would be no possibility of choice: a vacuum contains no freedom. The world we find ourselves places restrictions on the feasible choices we can make, but nonetheless it is also the very foundation of our freedom without which choice would be impossible. Such thinking forces us to conclude on what might be described as a more ‘limited’ or ‘restricted’ interpretation of human freedom of choice: one does not simply surge upon the world and define oneself as one pleases, but rather one defines one’s existence in relation to the external world which both presents us with choices and restricts our ability to realise our ambitions. Such a ‘restricted’ interpretation of freedom brings our attention to the relationship between ‘choice’ and ‘encounter’. I have understood freedom of choice as dependent on the possibilities the world presents us, and subsequently, as I have understood the world is revealed to us through encounters, I would interpret that it is our encounters which reveal to us the possibilities inherent in our world. Our encounters thus facilitate our ability to make choices: our capacity to freely act is dependent on our encounters with the world we are situated in. This understanding of the relationship between encounter and freedom interestingly brings us back to the thought of Kierkegaard, who in fact shares a similarly ‘restricted’ interpretation of human freedom. This balance between choice and freedom is particularly well illustrated in a seeming contradiction in his writings concerning the subject’s ability to ascertain the ‘truth’. In ‘Philosophical Crumbs’, Kierkegaard remarks that the ‘truth’ of God can only be received through an encounter with God, and thus one is entirely dependent on this encounter with the divine ‘other’ to receive the ‘truth’ (Kierkegaard 2009: 96–97). Nonetheless, also in ‘Crumbs’, Kierkegaard maintains that, in order to attain ‘truth’, one must ‘will it’ (Kierkegaard 2009: 94). There seems to be a tension here between seemingly contradictory claims that one is dependent on receiving ‘truth’ from an ‘other’ and that one must actively ‘will’ the truth for oneself. The contradiction is however cleared when we consider what

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type of ‘truth’ Kierkegaard is largely concerned with. As he makes clear in the Postscript, by ‘truth’ Kierkegaard does not mean an objectively ‘true’ fact, but rather what is the ‘true’ life for the individual, which is of course, recalling Kierkegaard’s normative teleology, the Christian life (Kierkegaard 2012). Thus, the ‘truth’ which Christ brings is knowledge of the ‘model of life’ which allows one to live in proper relation to God.10 We may thus divide Kierkegaard’s process of acquiring the ‘truth’ into two parts: the encounter with Christ which is necessary to reveal the ‘true’ Christian way of life and the subsequent choice which must be made to accept and follow this ‘true life’.11 Thus, one can both be dependent on the encounter to ‘reveal truth’ and be required to ‘will the truth’ for oneself in the sense we must adopt and follow the way of life revealed. Encounter and choice can thus be understood to exist in a symbiotic relationship: freedom of choice is dependent on the encounter to reveal the possibilities from which one may choose; however, the encounter is also dependent on the choice if the options revealed are to be realised and not just remain possibilities. Such choices inevitably affect the individual’s identity and self-understanding. Kierkegaard frequently refers to the accepting of Christ’s ‘truth’ as causing a transition in a person as profound as the transition ‘from not being into being’. Accepting the Christian ‘truth’ is a ‘rebirth’ in which the individual sees the world as completely different, as if he had come into a new world in the same manner as he was first physically birthed (Kierkegaard 2009: 96). The encounter can be interpreted as to reveal a new way of ‘being’, and it is by making a free choice that we transit into this new way. The above illustration is couched in an overtly theological language, an inescapable effect of drawing inspiration from the thought of Kierkegaard. Nonetheless, I would maintain such a symbiotic relationship between encounter and choice can also be understood in a secular context (although the results may be ultimately less dramatic). To illustrate, let us consider an individual who wishes to become a farmer. Such an individual cannot become, or indeed even dream to become, a farmer before she has any knowledge in regard to what a ‘farming existence’ entails. Consequently, she must have encounters with farmers and farming in order to yield the knowledge of farming necessary in order to imagine herself as a farmer. Nonetheless, although thanks to this knowledge she can imagine herself as a farmer, such knowledge does not yet make her a farmer. She can only become a farmer by acting upon this knowledge and choosing to realise the possibility of becoming a farmer for herself. Again, we may acknowledge the two-step process and symbiotic relationship between encounter and

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choice: our budding farmer is dependent on encounters with the external world to give her this knowledge upon which she may base her aspiration and choices. It is however then up to her to make these decisions and fulfil the possible modes of existence which were revealed. Whilst such decisions may not equate to be being ‘born again’ in the Christian sense, we cannot however deny they mark significant moments in this individual’s life. In the moment our individual chooses to be a farmer, her existence is changed from ‘non-farmer’ to ‘farmer’. In this way, the moment of decision has qualitative value within the individual’s life as it marks the significant point in which she chose to make this transition. Furthermore, as the encounters with farming are what this process is predicated upon, such external encounters gain central significance and cannot ‘vanish’. Our individual can never forget her encounters on the farm as it was these experiences which enabled her to make the choices which later defined her life. It is an understanding of these encounters as significant points in the subject’s life which allow us to construct from them a narrative understanding of her journey through existence. I may therefore now finally turn to articulate the interpretation of narrative which was promised at the beginning of this section. Given the importance of encounter in this interpretation, let me also return to Kierkegaard for aid in illustrating this interpretation. In particular, I wish to refer to Kierkegaard’s conception of time. Kierkegaard believed that the understanding of time presented throughout the tradition of Western philosophy was inadequate for comprehending human existence. The theory of time Kierkegaard was criticising here may be understood as ‘spatialized time’ (Taylor 1975: 82). We may turn to Aristotle’s Physics to better comprehend this notion. Aristotle understood time as a certain number which is a measurement of ‘motion’ (Aristotle 2000). We can interpret that central to this understanding of time is the perception of an object which travels through space. By this standard, the ‘past’ is understood as what is behind the object, the future that which is in front, and the present where the object currently is. We can subsequently imagine time as a visualised graph divided into successive points, each of which represents successive ‘presents’. Time is measured by how many of these points the object has passed as it traverses the graph (Taylor 1975: 83). This theory ultimately gives a primarily quantitative understanding of time (perhaps unsurprising as Aristotle does define time as a certain ‘number’) (Aristotle 2000). Kierkegaard criticises this notion of time claiming that it can only be understood if the moment is ‘spatialized’: if we ‘stop’ time and make a visual representation of the procession of the object (Kierkegaard

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1980: 85). Such a ‘stopping’ of time would require removing ourselves from the time continuum in order to gain a vantage point where it would be possible to view both the present position of the object and the successive points of past and future. We are further ‘pausing’ time as we need the object to remain in the ‘present’ as we count the points behind in order to calculate ‘time past’. This, for Kierkegaard is an abstract conception which does not correspond to reality and raises the familiar problem—or rather impossibility—of stepping outside the situation to view it objectively. Nonetheless, for Kierkegaard, what makes ‘spatialized time’ most unsuitable for measuring the development of the human self is its quantitative nature. Examining time as a successive series of equal points to be calculated strips each of these moments of any qualitative value. This is not a concern when measuring the progress of an inanimate object traversing a graph, but it is problematic when considering the life progression of a human being for the moments which influenced one’s life decisions will clearly have more qualitative worth than those which did not. Kierkegaard illustrates this argument with an illusion to an ancient claim concerning a line of Hindu Kings stretching back seven thousand years. Although initially quantitatively impressive, Kierkegaard remarks that, as we know very little about these kings, it actually tells us next to nothing about the Hindu kingdom. Such an initially impressive quantitative figure thus vanishes into insignificance as there is very little qualitative understanding (Kierkegaard 1980: 86).12 To interpret this regarding the human subject, we may say that the quantitative measurement of time since one’s birth may tell us one’s age—a numerical figure of how long we have existed on the planet—but it tells us nothing about who one is or our personal development. Instead of a purely quantitative measurement of a person’s existence, we must rather interpret human life according to significant qualitative moments; the significant encounters one experience and the choices resulting from these. We must understand one’s progression through existence, not as if swept relentless forward in the flowing continuum of numerical time, but as significant steps of encounter and choice which qualitatively shape who we are. Subsequently, when casting one’s eye back across one’s existence, each moment in this world will not stand out with equal clarity and equal qualitative worth. On the contrary, what will stand out are the significant choices one has made in one’s life and the encounters which prompted, informed, and ultimately made such choices possible. Looking back over our existence will thus reveal to us, appearing brightly from the vast indistinguishable

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sea of insignificant moments long forgotten, a linear chain of qualitatively important moments which lead to our present situation. This linear pattern will further not terminate at the present but will also be projected into the future as one will be able to consider, based on the decisions one has previously made and the encounters one has experienced, the choices and direction one will likely take in the future. Thus, from the vantage point of the present, one will be able to interpret a linear course of one’s life emerging from the horizon of the past and projecting over the horizon of the future. This linear course will read like a story of one’s life, explaining to us ‘who we are’, ‘how we came to be’, and ‘who we wish to be in the future’. It is this perceived course through existence which I term ‘narrative’ and understand it to be the constructed story through which one’s life gains meaning and intelligibility. This understanding of our existence taking a linear narrative form has, for many philosophers, been regarded as a hallmark of human life. Hannah Arendt puts particular emphasis on the quality of human life to be considered as ‘linear narrative’, arguing that is the unique quality which distinguishes human existence from the ceaseless cycle of growth and decay which characterises biological life, a view more recently reiterated in by Richard Kearney in his philosophical treatise On Stories (Arendt 1998: 97; Kearney 2001). MacIntyre similarly attests that it is the ability to understand one’s life as a ‘narrative story’ which identifies a uniquely human existence, remarking that the human is ‘essentially a story-telling animal’ (MacIntyre 2007: 216). Out of the many philosophical articulations of narrative, it is MacIntyre who comes closest to my Kierkegaard inspired interpretation of narrative and is thus the most helpful in fully illustrating this understanding. Similar to my understanding presented, MacIntyre believes we can identify a narrative running through our past, which is further projected through the present, and onwards to how we perceive our life unfolding in the future. It is this story linking past, present, and future which he further argues informs our identity and gives ‘unity’ to human existence. In particular, he describes this unity as the ‘unity of narrative quest’ (MacIntyre 2007: 219). One regards one’s life as a ‘quest’ to fulfil the possibilities we wish to realise. My budding astronaut sees it as his quest to realise his dream of working for NASA, just as my want-to-be farmer regarded her life as a ‘quest’ to open her farm. Subsequently, how these individuals make future choices will reflect how they envision moving their quest forward. Equally, how they process future encounters, and make the choices such encounters prompt, will depend on how the ‘other’ encountered is interpreted to

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affect one’s ‘quest’ through life. One’s encounters and choices will thus be related against this narrative quest that one interprets running through one’s existence and making sense of it. Notably, how one understands one’s narrative journey will clearly reflect how one responds to encounters with the State as, an institution with such incredible power over one’s existence, will clearly affect one’s ability to fulfil one’s narrative quest. What therefore is the significance of this narrative understanding for the situation of Political Obligation? I understood that from encounters with the State’s existential manifestations, the citizen is able to gain a perception of the State which governs the territory she is situated in. However, this State will not be considered as pure facticity but something the citizen has a degree of choice in regard to. If, for example, the citizen encounters a sign saying she cannot smoke indoors the citizen can be interpreted to have a choice if she obeys this command or not. Now of course, if she does not obey, the State will likely punish her but this consequence does not deny her existential freedom to obey the command or ignore it. This choice to obey or disobey will likely be based on ‘who’ she understands herself to be, as a product of her understood narrative. This does not contradict the fact we are ‘thrown into’ a relationship with the State, that, as Horton (2010) claims, our situation regarding the State is (at least in its original formation) non-voluntary. However, although we find ourselves in a situation not of our choosing, this does not dictate that we must accept it and cannot later reject or rebel against it. We may not have freely chosen our situation, but we do have the agency to either continue to accept this situation or strive to change it. It was one of the key, yet frequently overlooked insights of Hobbes that the irrevocable liberty of private conscious means that one is always able to judge matters and form one’s own opinions. The effect of this for political authority, as Gabriella Slomp stresses, is that the State remains perpetually on trial in the minds of its subjects; they constantly reflect upon and judge the commonwealth asking themselves ‘should I obey?’ (Slomp 2009: 42). It may thus be said that our ‘being’, our birth into a particular situation, is not free, however our ‘becoming’, what we do and who we become in this situation, is free. We did not choose to be born under the authority of a particular State, but we are continually free to accept or reject this authority as our life unfolds. Subsequently, our relationship with the State is not fixed but rather dynamic; the citizen will continually reflect upon this situation as it continually evolves as her life proceeds through a progression of encounters and choices.

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Notes 1. One might argue that the Context-based Approach does not fall into this paradigmatic ‘lens-type’ way of thought as it seeks to understand Political Obligation through the context the citizen is embedded in, and not according to an external assumption or criterion. Nonetheless, as I made clear in Chapter 3, one must consider whom the Context-based Approach seeks to make Political Obligation intelligible for. As I argued, it does not seek to appreciate how the citizen existentially experiences the State and the contextual milieu they are both embedded in, but rather tries to make this situation more intelligible to the external observer of the situation. In this way, ‘context’ becomes a paradigmatic lens through which the observer can better understand the situation of Political Obligation. Focus is moved away from the citizen perspective and experience towards a more objective appreciation of the context which forms the paradigmatic means of understanding. This can lead to normative arguments which shift away from understanding the experience of citizens towards making a case that contextual culture and tradition should form the basis of Political Obligations. Such a normative argument is particularly evident in conservative thought as well as in the Confucian Communitarian argument that traditional culture should take central role in underpinning citizen and State relations. Thus, despite being closer in spirit to my own intentions, the Context-based Approach still takes the form of paradigmatic lens. 2. This metaphysics is discussed in Meno (2009a: 81b–e), the dialogue in which Socrates debates Meno, but is elaborated on to a much greater extent in Phaedo (2009b: 72e–b) and Phaedrus (2010: 247b–e) 3. The sympathises between my approach and Kierkegaard’s can be considered much clearer when we acknowledge the argument of ‘Crumbs’ is as much a critique of nineteenth-century Idealism, in particular the thought of Hegel, as it is of Plato (Croxall 1956; Sprigge 2006; Westphal 2014). Hegel, like Plato, perceived a truth transcendent to individual human experience—the rational unfolding ‘Geist’—as the driving force that ordered the word. We have indeed seen in Chapter 2 how this typified Hegel’s Political Theory as a Rationalist Approach: individuals were expected to orientate their relations to the State according to this unfolding transcendent rational principle and were dismissed as irrational barbarians when their behaviour did not correspond to this standard. What was ultimately considered just and truthful, for Hegel, was that which could be considered rational (Hegel 2008: 14). We might thus regard Kierkegaard’s rejection of ‘Recollection’ and turn to the ‘encounter’ as a rejection of Hegel’s rational-based metaphysics as the directive of human existence. 4. One might here acknowledge that the Context-based Approach is arguably sympathetic to the conditions of the cave and does not attempt to use

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external criterion to asses and justify it. Communitarian approaches have in particular evoked the idea that one must study the cave as opposed to the ‘truth’ beyond it. Walzer remarking his philosophical perspective is ‘in the cave’ (Walzer 1983: xiv). I do concede that the Context-based approach does not create a lens based on abstract thinking ‘beyond the cave’, but I nonetheless maintain it does resemble a paradigmatic approach which focuses interpretation through a chosen lens, and thus concentrates more on the development of this paradigmatic lens than the existential experience of the human being within the situation. One might thus say, although it does not rely on an interpretative or normative framework above or a priori to the situation, in its attempt to garner a wider appreciation of the context the citizen is situated in rather than how phenomena are encountered existentially within this context, it does create a framework external to the citizen’s experience; a framework inside the cave but yet still above the existential level. Indeed, interpreting different parts of Either/0r, such as the ‘Seducers Diary’, as intended to reveal to the reader different forms of human existence, we might consider the text itself as designed to provide encounters of both aesthetic and ethical nature (Kierkegaard 1992). For the sake of clarity, I will denote my own concept of Horizon as capitalised and other articulations of horizon in lower case. This is of course not to minimalize the risk that increased focus on subjectivity may lead to relativism. I will consider the problem of subjectivity and the potential negation of objective criterions of normative assessment in Chapter 7. As Hannah Arendt famously framed it, it is through a person’s acts and speech that she discloses ‘who’ she is (Arendt 1998: 178–179). In other writings, Sartre is more appreciative of the conditioning factor of the world. In Being and Nothingness, Sartre discusses how exploited workers, if they are to imagine and campaign for better conditions, must be introduced to the possibility of better conditions. This would suggest a more nuanced appreciation of the relationship between one’s capacity for freedom and the possibilities discovered in the environment one has been thrown into (Sartre 2003). The relation between the capacity for freedom and the conditioning factors of the world is further reconsidered in later works dedicated to developing Existentialism in relation to Marxism. See especially Critique of Dialectical Reason (2004). The intention here was not however to give full engagement and interpretation of Sartre’s position, but to illustrate an argument concerning human freedom against which I could develop my own. Further analysis of this relation between ‘receiving’ and ‘willing’ ‘truth’ in Kierkegaard’s ‘Philosophical Crumbs’ can be found in Daise ‘The Will to Truth in Kierkegaard’s ‘Philosophical Fragments’ (1992).

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11. An English translation of Kierkegaard’s ‘Crumbs’ by D. F. Swanson endeavours to clarify this through the following system: when referring to the Incarnation—the transmission of ‘truth’—the term ‘Moment’ is used capitalised. When describing individual appropriation of the ‘truth’—the accepting and adopting of Christian life as revealed by Christ—‘moment’ is used in lower case. When discussing both the receiving and appropriation of ‘truth’, Moment is italicised. In the original Danish, it is slightly more confusing as the term Øjeblikket—literary translating as ‘in the blink of an eye’—is used (Harrison 1997: 458–459). 12. Kierkegaard does not truly at any point in his writing present a clear philosophy of time, but rather understanding this must be interpreted from a number fragmentary comments scattered across his work. In assembling the above interpretation, I am particularly indebted to the interpretation of Taylor (1975).It may be finally noted here that this idea of quest brings us closely back to the idea of telos I have previously been critical of. Indeed, MacIntyre’s work is centred on the recovery of telos, and he makes clear that this idea of human life fulfilling a quest is a teleological interpretation (MacIntyre 2007: 215–216). In my account, telos is unescapably central to understanding human existence: in understanding life as a ‘narrative quest’, I am signifying that existence is constructed around a telos the individual wishes to achieve; in my examples, ‘astronaut’ and ‘farmer’ are teloi my individuals strive towards. Nonetheless, what makes my approach different from Hegel’s and Kierkegaard’s is that it is not myself as philosopher who prescribes a ‘human telos’, but rather individuals form their own teleological quest as possibilities are revealed and selected. Thus, although teleological, my approach retains both the value of ‘free choice’ and the significance of the ‘external encounter’ which are eclipsed in Kierkegaard and Hegel’s philosophies as they strive for overarching ‘human telos’. ‘Free choice’ is retained as it is the individual who chooses her ‘telos’. The importance of ‘external encounter’ is retained as it is these encounters which reveal chosen telos, and thus are fundamental in understanding narrative journey.

References Arendt, H. (1998). The Human Condition (M. Canovan, Ed.). London: University of Chicago Press. Aristotle. (2000). The Physics. In T. Taylor (Ed.), The Physics or Physical Auscultation of Aristotle: Volume I of the Works of Aristotle. Frome: The Prometheus Trust. Beauvoir, S. (1976). The Ethics of Ambiguity (B. Frechtman, Trans.). New York: Kensington Publishing.

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Crites, S. (1972). In the Twilight of Christendom, Hegel vs. Kierkegaard on Faith and History. Missoula: American Academy of Religion. Croxall, T. H. (1956). Kierkegaard Commentary. London: Nisbet. Daise, B. (1992). The Will to Truth in Kierkegaard’s “Philosophical Fragments”. International Journal for the Philosophy of Religion, 31(1), 1–12. Gadamer, H. (2012). Truth and Method (J. Weinsheimerand & D. G. Marshall, Eds.). London: Continuum International Publishing Group. Harrison, V. (1997). “Philosophical Fragments”: A Clarification. Religious Studies, 33, 455–472. Hegel, G. W. F. (2008). Outlines of the Philosophy of Right (S. Houlgate, Ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Heidegger, M. (2008). Being and Time (T. Carman, Ed.). New York: Harper Perennial. Horton, J. (2010). Political Obligation. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Kearney, R. (2001). On Stories. London: Routledge. Kierkegaard, S. (1980). The Concept of Anxiety: A Simple Psychologically Orienting Deliberation of the Dogmatic Issue of Hereditary Sin (R. Thomte & A. Anderson, Eds.). Princeton: Princeton University Press. Kierkegaard, S. (1992). Either/or: A Fragment of Life (V. Eremita, Ed.). London: Penguin. Kierkegaard, S. (1998). The Point of View for My Work as an Author. In H. Hong & E. Hong (Eds.), Søren Kierkegaard: The Point of View. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Kierkegaard, S. (2004), The Sickness Unto Death; A Christian Psychological Exposition for Edification and Awakening (A. Hannay, Ed.). London: Penguin. Kierkegaard, S. (2009). Philosophical Crumbs or a Crumb of Philosophy. In M. G. Piety (Ed.), Søren Kierkegaard: Repetition and Philosophical Crumbs. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kierkegaard, S. (2012). Concluding Unscientific Postscript to Philosophical Crumbs (A. Hannay, Ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. MacIntyre, A. (2007). After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory. London: Duckworth. Nietzsche, F. (2004). Human, All too Human (M. Faber & S. Lehmann, Eds.). London: Penguin. Plato. (2004). Theaetetus (R. Waterfield, Ed.). London: Penguin. Plato. (2007). The Republic (D. Lee, Ed.). London: Penguin. Plato. (2009a). Meno. In R. Waterfield (Ed.), Meno and Other Dialogues: Charmides, Laches, Lysis, Meno. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Plato. (2009b). Phaedo (D. Gallop, Ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Plato. (2010). Phaedrus (R. Waterfield, Ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sartre, J. P. (2003). Being and Nothingness: An Essay on Phenomenological Ontology (H. Barnes, Trans.). Abingdon: Routledge.

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Sartre, J. P. (2004). Critique of Dialectical Reason: Volume 1 (S. Smith, Trans.). London: Verso. Sartre, J. P. (2013). Existentialism and Humanism (P. Mairet, Ed.). York: Methuen & Co. Ltd. Schopenhauer, A. (2010). The Two Fundamental Problems of Ethics (D. E. Cartwright & E. Erdmann, Eds.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Slomp, G. (2009). Carl Schmitt and the Politics of Hostility, Violence, and Terror. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Sprigge, T. L. S. (2006). The God of Metaphysics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Taylor, M. (1975). Kierkegaard’s Pseudonymous Authorship: A Study of Time and the Self. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Taylor, C. (2003). The Ethics of Authenticity. London: Harvard University Press. Walzer, M. (1983). Spheres of Justice: A Defence of Pluralism and Equality. New York: Basic Book. Westphal, M. (2014). Kierkegaard’s Concept of Faith. Cambridge: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company.

CHAPTER 6

The Encounter and Obligations

Kierkegaard described his existential appreciation of the human subject as a ‘subjective’ perspective (Kierkegaard 2012: Section II). Primarily concerned with the individual’s own perception of her existence in relation to God, Kierkegaard paid far less attention to the social context such an individual is situated in. This, it could be argued, is a suitable approach for one interested in theology; for, in Kierkegaard’s thinking at least, one relates to God as an individual directly unmediated. Nonetheless, as appropriate as this may be for theological understanding, it cannot be said to be so for politics. Relations with other members of the community, and with political institutions such as the State, are by their very nature more social. It is consequently not as a lone individual that one understands, reflects upon, and makes decisions in regard to political matters, but rather as a member of a community. Therefore, whereas theological issues may arguably be purely ‘subjective’ in that they involve just the individual and God, political issues are by their very nature ‘intersubjective’ in that they involve, not just the individual, but also the beings and institutions which make up the political community. So far in building the approach through the encounter, my thinking has veered towards the ‘subjective’; Chapter 5, in particular, being concerned with how self-understanding was built from encounters. In order to make this approach suitable for the study of politics, however, I will now have to steer my philosophical approach towards the ‘intersubjective’: I will have to

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move the philosophical inquiry away from self-understanding towards an appreciation of how one encounters and builds relations with the ‘others’ whom one shares this world with. This chapter will subsequently inquire into how relationships, in particular relations of obligation, between human subjects are built from encounters. I will do this by using analytic insight from the concept of ‘friendship’. I will, in particular, consider how we can understand human relations of ‘friendship’ to be built from encounters, and further how such relations can generate a sense of obligation. I will use this analysis to theorise how we can understand the citizen’s relationship with the State to be built from encounters, and how a sense of Political Obligation can be generated from this. It is necessary, however, before proceeding to discuss the relation between encounters and obligation, to clarify what is exactly meant by the term ‘obligation’. There has been some debate concerning this terminology, especially in its relation to the concept of ‘duty’. Horton, in his work on Political Obligation, maintains that no systematic distinction between ‘obligation’ and ‘duty’ need be made (Horton 2010: 12). Knowles is, however, more cautious, arguing a distinction could be made on the basis ‘obligation’ is more specific than duty and is more orientated towards an ‘other’. As a consequence, Knowles suggests that political obligations—obligations directed particularly towards the State—may be properly considered a subset of a wider understanding of citizen duties. Nonetheless, Knowles chooses not to force a distinction and instead settles on using both terms ‘duty’ and ‘obligation’ interchangeably as not to remove his discourse too far from common usage and get immersed in ‘circumlocutions’ of philosophical discussion (Knowles 2010: 6–7). In a recent work on ‘demand-rights’, Gilbert further discusses the particular nature of ‘obligation’. Drawing on the influential definitions of H. L. A. Hart, she similarly highlights the ‘directed’ nature of ‘obligation’. Obligation is defined to correspond to a right, and thus, one’s obligation is directed towards another particular person to who this right belongs; when I promise to fulfil an action to another person, they have a ‘right’ to expect me to fulfil this promise and subsequently I am ‘obliged’ to fulfil it (Gilbert 2018: 66–67). This is indeed Hobbes’ definition: when one transfers a right to another, one is obliged not to hinder this person when exercising the right granted (Hobbes 2008: 88). Nonetheless, Gilbert acknowledges that broader usage of ‘obligation’ in more contemporary discourses has led to both ‘obligation’ and ‘duty’ being used more simultaneously and without always this implication of directionality in the former. It is subsequently

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this broader contemporary way that Gilbert decides is most appropriate for her use (Gilbert 2018: 66–67). I will follow these scholars in understanding obligation in a broader less technical sense. This will be done firstly in order to similarly avoid getting over caught up in semantic difficulties and circumlocutions of philosophical discussion. Secondly, I believe the broader contemporary usage will be more relatable to the imbedded human relations I wish to discuss, with a more specific technical sense risking an abstract ‘contractual’ articulation which will bear little resemblance to actual human relations such as friendship. There is, however, one aspect of ‘obligation’ I wish to highlight. In his influential articulation, Hart defined obligations to arise not ‘from the character of the actions which are obligatory’ but out of the ‘relationship of the parties’ (Hart 1955: 288, n.7). Hart continues that when we incur obligations, ‘we alter the existing moral independence of the parties’ and ‘create a new moral relationship between them’ (Hart 1955: 183–184). Thus, we might understand obligations to result from a specific relationship one has with another party—a situation one is in regard to another—and this situation underpins and informs subsequent obligations. Whilst not drawing a strict distinction between ‘obligations’ and ‘duties’, I do wish to draw a distinction between particular obligations, which I will describe also as duties, and the ‘situation of obligation’ which serves as their foundation. Thus, one may speak interchangeably of one’s ‘duty’ or ‘obligation’ to care for, love, and share everything with one’s wife which stems from the ‘situation of obligation’ which is our loving relationship. When considering a citizen in a situation of Political Obligation, I am thus concerned with her being in a ‘situation of obligation’. To this, I want to add that when discussing the ‘situation of obligation’, I wish to discuss it as a ‘moral situation’. This is to distinguish it, in particular, from a ‘legal obligation’, which is a relationship I am bound to by law and am punished if I do not follow the correspondent particular obligations/duties. This was an important distinction in Green’s original thinking, for he argued that legal obligations maintained by positive law could only enforce us to do or abstain from certain acts through the threat of legal repercussions. They could not account for or inform the disposition which informed me that I ought to do or abstain from certain acts. This ‘disposition’—this feeling that I ought to do or not do something for another—was a ‘moral’ relationship (Green 1986a: 19). We might thus understand a ‘situation of obligation’, in the moral sense, to be a relationship I believe justly requires me to carry out certain obligations/duties.

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Thus, the situation is not one I enter or remain in purely because of fear of legal punishment, but rather because I perceive I ought to. These situations can of course overlap: I can both be legally obliged to my wife by law and morally obliged through my love for her. Nonetheless, it is this moral disposition I am mostly concerned with. I am particularly interested in encounters which seek to persuade that relationships are just, not seek to threaten or coerce people into accepting them. I subsequently will understand Political Obligation as a relationship in which the State convinces citizens of its legitimacy as to encourage a sentiment of obligation towards it and does not rely on force and coercion. Indeed, having to rely on force and coercion would be seen as a failure on behalf of the State to maintain a situation of Political Obligation.

6.1

Encounter, Friendship, and Obligations

In his lecture ‘Liberal Legislation and Freedom of Contract’, Green compares a healthy relationship between citizen and State as akin to a friendship (Green 1986b: 203). Yet, despite Green’s allusion to the concept, the notion of ‘friendship’ has not been commonly evoked in discourse surrounding Political Obligation—theorists instead frequently opting for the analogy of ‘family’ (Knowles 2010: 4; and especially Horton 2010: 148–151). This is perhaps unsurprising when we consider some of the debates and difficulties surrounding the idea of ‘political friendship’. Recently, in response to revival of the classical idea of friendship as a potential ‘glue’ to bind multicultural democracies together,1 Gabriella Slomp has highlighted some of the difficulties and controversies surrounding such usage. Most notably, she highlights the potential for friendship, if it becomes ‘political’, to encourage favouritism and factionalism, political vices which are likely to undermine the security of a polity (Slomp 2018: 7–10). More concerning, however, at least for the intentions of this book, is that one might wonder how it is practical to consider the possibility of a ‘friendship’ between citizen and the State. Whilst we might be able to perfectly imagine having a close bond and rapport with a fellow human being, can we really be friends with an abstract institutional and legal order? This is a question I will seek to indicate answer to in this section. I will begin by considering the ‘classical’ understanding of ‘friendship’ from which notions of ‘political friendship’ are often derived. The most famous and influential such account is found in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. Aristotle outlines three types of friendship: friendship based on utility; friendship based on the pleasure of each other’s company; and the

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friendship based on moral goodness. The last friendship is the only one which is considered ‘lasting’ and ‘perfect’. This is because it is based on a genuine admiration for a friend for who she truly is, rather than as a means to one’s own ulterior ends (Aristotle 2004: 1156a10–1156b35). This last ‘perfect’ form of friendship, in which one genuinely appreciates one’s friend and hopes for their good for their own sake, is achieved through the extension of our own feelings for ourselves to another. In this way, a true friend ‘is another self’ (Aristotle 2004: 1166a30). However, in order to extend such feelings to the other, Aristotle maintains there must be a great deal of similarity between ourselves and our friend: we are able to value the good for our friend as highly as the good for ourselves as we imagine these goods to be the same, or at least, highly similar. The basis of such a friendship is ‘equality’ and ‘sameness’—‘sameness’ especially, Aristotle emphasises, in each other’s sense of what is ‘good’ (Aristotle 2004). This notion of ‘perfect’ friendship based on a shared sense of ‘the good’ is further illustrated in the thought of Cicero. Cicero reinforces Aristotle’s emphasis on friendship based on ‘sameness’, indeed mirroring Aristotle’s description of a friend being a ‘second self’: he ‘who looks into the face of a friends’ beholds ‘a copy of himself’ (Cicero 1887: 19). Cicero, in particular, develops this notion of ‘perfect’ friendship through illustration of the relationship between Roman statesmen Laelius and Scipio. Cicero maintains that their ‘perfect friendship’ rested on a harmony of purpose, taste, and sentiment; Laelius and Scipio shared a unity of interest in both public and private affairs, a unity which was cultivated through a shared life in the service of Rome. Such a relationship thus has at its root a shared concept of ‘the good’, which was namely the ‘good life’ of a citizen of the Roman Republic (Cicero 1887: 13). We may observe a few important components to this idea of ‘friendship’. The first component is that of ‘recognition’: it requires we recognise the ‘other’, not only as a distinct and separate person, but also recognise ‘who’ they are, and further that this ‘who’ has compatible enough ideas and values to our own so that we can form a friendly relationship with mutual commitments (Hayden 2015: 748). Thus, in the case of Laelius and Scipio, it required Laelius to recognise Scipio for who he was and to further comprehend that Scipio shared similar enough values and goals to himself. ‘Friendship’ thus requires a cognitive movement that recognises the ‘other’ as someone distinct and different, yet very similar to ourselves. How does one recognise that this ‘other’ is similar to one’s self? The answer is in the encounter between them (Hayden 2015: 748). It is in this moment of

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experience that one will gain knowledge of the ‘other’, their likes and dislikes, their values and their goals, and it is upon this knowledge that one will reflect on the possibility of a friendly relationship of mutual responsibility. Developing from the schema constructed in Chapter 5, one might therefore say the encounter with an ‘other’ can open the possibility of entering into a friendship when this ‘other’ shares a similar, or at least compatible, world view (a similar Horizon), and shares a life plan which complements one’s own (a similar narrative). How may we understand such ‘friendship’ in relation to a ‘situation of obligation’? We may consider that, when entering into a relationship of friendship, we are also entering into a particular role, one of a ‘friend’, and that such a role implies certain responsibilities. Aristotle indeed alludes to this when he differentiates ‘friendship’ from ‘affection’ on the account that the latter is a feeling whilst the other is more a ‘state of being’. In this state, one wishes the good for the friend as one would wish it for oneself. One would in turn therefore expect our friend to think of our own good in a likewise manner. In this way, entering the ‘state’ of friendship incurs an obligation to seek the good of a friend where possible and with as much vigour as one would seek the good for oneself (Aristotle 2004: 1157b30–35). Aristotle thus sees the acceptance of such obligation as central to being ‘a friend’ and looks very dull at one who would call himself a ‘friend’ but is unwilling to genuinely fulfil the associated obligations. In such a situation, where deception has been used, the obligations associated with friendship can be deemed to be unfounded and the relationship dissolved (Aristotle 2004: 1165b5–35). Thus, we may understand entering into a friendship to be entering into a specific role through which one incurs obligations. The failure to discharge such obligations when required would cause the relationship to dissolve. Indeed, given the understanding of friendship as a ‘state’ which incurs obligations to the other, it is unsurprising that the classical literature on the subject focuses great attention to what can and cannot be expected between friends, and thus at what point such a relationship ‘dissolves’. The boundary is frequently drawn along the line of ‘goodness’: a friend cannot oblige you to do anything contrary to virtue. This is particularly evident in Cicero’s de Amicitia, which spends considerable space outlining what a friend cannot oblige you to do. Again, the limits of friendship obligations lie on the boundary of morality: a friend cannot expect to ask you to undertake an action which is morally wrong (Cicero 1887: 32). This is framed in particular relationship to the survival of the Roman State. One should not for a friend: do anything that would

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endanger Rome; betray Rome; wage war on Rome; or feel so obliged as to think one cannot renounce a friend if he is guilty of crimes against Rome (Cicero 1887: 34). Cicero’s thinking here is rooted in the experience of the ancient Roman Republic. Nonetheless, such thinking is perhaps not so removed from our own experiences that we cannot empathise. Consider the following example: upon entering University, I soon encounter a fellow student who is also studying the same subject. After several shared experiences, I realise she has a similar understanding of the world, and she, in particular, values higher education and shares life goals comparable to my own, say, to succeed at University and gain graduate employment. We thus become good friends and enter what Aristotle would term a ‘state of friendship’. I will likely now feel an obligation to help this friend. If we imagine that I am particularly good at one module, and she less so, I may feel obliged to help her with her research or essay writing. I might expect, if she is stronger in another area, for her to likewise assist me. We feel obliged to help one another through our University journey as a consequence of our relational bond of friendship. This is of course not a compulsory bond, I am not compelled or forced to help my friend. It is equally not a contractual obligation; my relationship with my friend when I was an undergraduate is unlike my current relationship with students as their lecturer, where it is my job to help and advise them and I am contractually obliged to do so. Neither do I need to explicitly declare my friendship to feel this sense of obligation, I rather feel that I ought to as a consequence of our relationship. Nonetheless, despite its seemingly informal and even ambiguous nature, a bond of obligation we can nonetheless recognise this to be, for, imagining I refused to help my friend without good reason when it was in my power to do so, it is likely that my friend would re-evaluate her relationship with me, and, if she was to refuse me likewise, I would likely not think of her as the ‘good of a friend’ I had previously thought her to be. Such example we have entered into would thus reflect the moral ‘situation of obligation’ I articulated above. Just like Cicero, we can also recognise limitations in our mutual obligations as friends. If my friend, for example, asked me to help her cheat in an exam, I would quite rightly believe that such a request is beyond my obligations to her. My refusal to help could be because of a moral repugnance I have for cheating generally. However, in addition to this, such a request is also counter to the intrinsic values our relationship was built upon. To cheat in an exam would bring into question the integrity of the University. We became friends on the basis that we both shared a value

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for higher education. To call into question the integrity of the University is thus to undermine the values upon which our friendship is built. When requests undermine such values, we can thus understand our friendship to be dissolved; in her request, my friend has revealed she does not in fact have the same values as me, and thus, the basic assumption our friendship was grounded upon is false. We can thus understand a limitation of friendship to be actions, or requested actions, which run counter to the shared values a particular friendship is built upon. Such limitations are particularly revealing as they bring into consideration a third element in our friendship: the environment in which it is situated. In Cicero’s example, this third element is Rome—in my own, it is the University. This third element is important as when one party acts in a way that endangers it, the obligations of the other party find their limit and the relationship is threatened with dissolution. Thus, in understanding ‘friendship’, the importance of this third element is extremely important. This is a vital insight to which I will return. It is worth here pausing to summarise some general points about this idea of friendship thus developed. Firstly, the possibility of friendship is opened up when we encounter another, whom shares our perception of the world (Horizon) and intends on a journey which will complement our own (narrative). Secondly, when entering into a ‘friendship’, we incur a sense of obligation towards this other with whom we are now friends. Thus, we might understand a ‘friendship’ as a relational ‘situation of obligation’, from which a sense of particular obligations/duties towards this other will follow. Thirdly, such obligations cannot include anything that would run counter to or diminish the situation which made our friendship possible. Thus, we may conceptualise friendship between human beings. What, however, about the relationship between the citizen and the State? Can we have such friendly relationships with a political institution? Aristotle was adamant that friendship between inanimate objects was ridiculous; friendship is based on similar values and desires, and we simply cannot have the same understanding and desires as an object such as ‘good wine’ (Aristotle 2004: 1156b30). It would surely be similarly ridiculous to suppose we could have a close friendship based on shared understanding and aspirations, as we would with a human being, with a disembodied legal and administrative order. It would seem we need to expand our thinking about ‘friendship’ in order to overcome this limitation. In order to expand our thinking to make it more accommodating for discussing the citizen–State relationship, I will now return to that vital ‘third element’. Recent work on the idea of ‘political friendship’ has made

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particularly interesting innovations when it comes to this ‘third element’. Of particular note is the thought of Patrick Hayden, who brings attention to the fact that much of the discussion about ‘political friendship’ has been conceptualised along the lines of a binary relationship of self and other. Such a binary approach, Hayden argues, is limited due to the fact that it excludes the ‘third element’ of the situation in which the friendship was formed, and which subsequently constitutes the foundation of the relationship (Hayden 2015: 751). Such a ‘third element’ was nonetheless vital for classical articulations of friendship, as we have seen with the foundational position of Rome in Cicero’s thinking (Cicero 1887: 30). It was also similarly important for Aristotle. As Hayden (2015) is keen to point out, we might observe two facets to Aristotle’s ‘political friendship’. The first, between fellow citizens of the polis, focused on the benefits of civic association and cooperation (the facet which often gets the most attention). The second facet is not solely focused on the two citizens, but rather on their relationship to the political community itself, emphasis placed in particular on maintaining and enhancing of the public space which facilitates their relationship (Aristotle 2004: 1159b–1160b). Hayden insists, in order to properly comprehend ‘political friendship’, we need to restore this ‘third element’ in which friendship is grounded. He, in particular, insists we must shift conceptual apparatus from dyadic model of self and other to a triadic model of self-world-other. The ‘world’ here is clearly used to designate the ‘third element’ of the situation in which the friendship is formed. The ‘world’ Hayden understands to be the best term indicative of the ‘something’ that exists between the two friends which they hold in common and which their relationship is founded upon (Hayden 2015: 752). The concept of ‘world’ becomes a fundamental component of Hayden’s triadic theory of friendship, and it is one he draws from the philosophy of Arendt. The ‘world’, or the ‘man made world’, Arendt understands to be a human-produced environment, exists between the subjective experience of individuals and the ‘sublime’ ‘overwhelming’ force of nature (Arendt 1998: 137). The concept takes a central place in Arendt’s philosophy as it forms the space which allows human beings to come together and be mutually recognised for who they are. In conveying this idea, Arendt famously invokes the idea of table: a table separates the people who sit around it, but it is also the object that brings them together in that they ‘sit around it’; it is the artefact which sits in-between a group of humans, simultaneously separating and relating them. We thus may understand the ‘world’ to be the environment in-between human beings which bring them together. The

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classical example of this for Arendt was the ‘world’ of the Greek polis. Less a particular city, Arendt argued the polis was any space in which Greek citizens were able to come together to discuss, act, and be recognised for who they were: ‘its true space lies between people living together… no matter where they happen to be’ (Arendt 1998: 198). We might thus understand the ‘world’ to be the shared space in-between subjects which brings them together and allows them to understand and relate to one another. Arendt sees the classical Greek polis to be an archetypical example of this, whilst for Cicero it was the Roman Republic. To make this clearer, however, I may refer back to the example of University friends. It was the University which brought myself and my friend together, and it was consequently the University which is the reference point for our bond. It is subsequently the ‘world’ of the University which lies in-between us and which we relate to each other through. If the University did not exist, we would not have known each other and would have never been brought together. If we had not gone to the University, we may have passed each other in the street oblivious as to who each other was. The University ‘world’ is thus the fundamental nexus in our relationship. It is worth highlighting here that this ‘world’ is also therefore central for the ‘encounter’. As Gadamer (2012) stated, and as has been stressed, for encounters to be intelligible their need to be a common sense of understanding between self and other. One could thus say that encounters need to take place within a ‘world’ if they are to be intelligible. The reason why, if I had not gone to the University, I may have passed by my would-have-been friend in the street is because there is a lack of a ‘common world’ between us in this situation; she is just another person passing me on the street. However, when encountered in the ‘world’ of the University, the experience takes on an extra significance as I regard her in relation to the common situation we find ourselves in as students of this institution. Thus, the encounter, and the relationship which develops from it, derives its significance precisely because I relate it to the ‘world’ which lies in-between us and which we share in common; a fundamental cognitive part of the forming of friendship is the ‘consideration of the circumstances of their encounter’ (Hayden 2015: 748). Without this, our encounter would lose significance and our relationship would never have developed. Given the vital importance of the ‘world’ to our friendship, Hayden insists it must be recognised to have value in its own right. He thus advocates a ‘befriending of the world’, which involves giving it the same interest, goodwill, respect, and care we would to any friend. To ‘befriend the world’

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is to give back to it: to cultivate its growth and development (Hayden 2015: 758–760). Hayden’s triadic conception of ‘befriending the world’ thus constructs an idea of friendship based upon not just mutual recognition, but a joint concern for protecting and enhancing the common world between friends. One is not just concerned about one’s friends good and well-being, but, above and beyond this, both friends are jointly committed to the well-being of their shared world. Laelius and Scipio are not just concerned with each other’s welfare, but also on promoting the well-being of Rome; my friend and I do not only help each other but also work together to promote and enhance the University we share. Interestingly, Hayden argues that this triadic ‘world-centred’ friendship can be used to bolster cooperation, not just between ‘perfect friends’ in the classical sense, but also between ‘less-than-perfect friends’, and even ‘less-than-friends’. This is because people who are not particularly friendly can have a cooperative and productive relationship when working together to maintain and enhance the world they share in common (Hayden 2015: 759). I may, for example, encounter another whom I do not like (perhaps she is a bitter rival for scholarships, or maybe just talks too much in seminars) but nonetheless shares with me an appreciation for higher education and an affection for the University we are both situated in. Although we may never be friends, we can nonetheless coexist in a cooperative manner in maintaining and enhancing the University environment we share and benefit from. In this way, the ‘world’ becomes a nexus which encourages cooperation between all those who share it and it lies in-between. Similarly, a community of neighbours, whom may not know each other particularly well or even may have personal differences, can nonetheless come together to protect and improve the parks and woodlands which constitute the neighbourhood they share in common. This is indeed the type of examples which Hayden appears to have in mind as projects which constitute ‘befriending the world’: activities which he mentions as orientated towards building up and maintaining a tangible shared world he includes establishing museums, schools, parks, sporting venues, musical performances, and public works of art (Hayden 2015: 760). The important shift to observe here is away from an understanding of the ‘friend’ who resembles oneself in their understanding and journey through the world, towards an understanding of ‘friend’ who has a shared interest and concern in maintaining and enhancing the common ‘world’ we both share. Thus, judging whether one can possibly be a ‘friend’ becomes less about judging their similarity to oneself, as judging their intentions and

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commitments towards our shared ‘world’. This is a vital step for my development of ‘friendship’ as an analogy for thinking about Political Obligation. Whereas it seemed rather absurd to regard the State as a being similar to oneself, it is far more comprehensible to consider the State as one who has an interest and has the means to enhance or diminish our ‘world’. Indeed, given the State’s monopoly of legal power and force, it seems better positioned than most to actively influence and shape our ‘world’. When we consider the examples of activities involved in creating and enhancing a common world: the building of schools, parks, museums; the organising of sporting or artistic events, all of these activities will be greatly aided by the involvement of the State, if they do not indeed require its direct involvement or consent. Our ability to build, protect and enhance our ‘common world’ is thus heavily dependent on the activity, or inactivity, of the State. We may thus understand, on a triadic friendship model, someone we are more likely to feel friendly towards, and feel an obligation towards helping, is one who shares a concern about our ‘world’ and attempts to protect and enhance it. In the same way, one might imagine feeling affection for a political authority which likewise shows concern towards our ‘world’, actively seeks to protect and improve it, and gives a vision for how it can be enhanced. Such a State, which protects and enhances our ‘world’, is thus one we will likely feel obliged to. A State which shows indifference to our ‘world’, who through its lack of concern and inaction lets it decay or falter, is one we will not feel much affection towards. We are subsequently unlikely to feel strongly obliged to it and may indeed be open to seeking alternative authorities who will better care for our ‘world’. A power which explicitly seeks to destroy our ‘world’ we are unlikely to feel any sense of affection and obligation towards and may indeed seek to outright oppose it. It is according to this ‘world-centred’ triadic understanding of friendship we can begin to consider how relations between State and citizen develop and are informed, and upon which we will be able to conceptualise a hermeneutic approach to understanding the relationship of Political Obligation. Before proceeding on, however, it is worth pausing to consider a little more the nature of this ‘world’ which is emerging as the central reference point between citizen and State. In particular, it is worth highlighting that in introducing this concept a cognitive shift has been made between that which was largely a ‘subjective’ appreciation of existence discussed in Chapter 5 and that which would more properly be understood as ‘intersubjective’ in this chapter. The discussion in Chapter 5 was understood

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as subjective in that it was concerned primarily with how the individual subject appreciated her existence and her journey—her ‘quest’—through the world. This was in line with Kierkegaard’s understanding of a ‘subjective thinker’ as one who ‘understands himself in existence’ (Kierkegaard 2012: 294). However, when discussing the ‘world’, I am no longer referring to a purely subjective appreciation of existence, but rather a shared one which is produced and held in common between two or more people. Such a perception is created when these individuals encounter one another and share their own subjective experiences, thus producing a joint conception of the world they inhabit that begins to transcend their own immediate perception. We are thus no longer talking about the solitary self-reflective perception of the situation one has been abandoned into but rather a multi-authored understanding that transcends individual perspective, uniting those who share in this situation and forming the intelligible framework of their relationship. This thinking of ‘world’ also further enhances our understanding of the encounter. Up unto this point, we have understood the encounter to be primarily an epistemological category: it is the means by which one discovers the world one has been thrown into. What has not been considered is how one, through the encounter, can contribute to as well as receive meaning. With this discussion of an intersubjective ‘world’, the encounter can be understood to not just be a ‘world discovering’ but a ‘world producing’ experience. When we encounter another, we do not just receive knowledge from them, but also disclose knowledge about ourselves, our perception of existence, and our projected journey through it. This exchange of knowledge allows our perception to transcend our own subjectivity and creates an intersubjective perception—our ‘world’—between those encountered. Through human interaction, we thus receive knowledge, but also share knowledge and perceptions, and in the process erect a ‘world’ of meaning which connects us with others and forms an intelligible framework for human intercourse. To return to the example of the University, encounters in this situation reveal to me the nature of the institution I find myself in, but furthermore they disclose to others my own interpretation of this University and my aspirations for life within it. Through such sharing of knowledge, an understanding of this ‘world’ we inhabit is subsequently generated. This ‘world’ is not purely ‘subjective’, as it is a shared understanding which is common to all members of the situation and which transcends our own individual experiences and perception. Nor, however, is it objective, in that it is not an external judgement of the University but

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rather the perception of those who inhabit and experience it from within. It is subsequently properly an intersubjective understanding common to those inside the situation. The ‘world’ is a common intersubjective perception that is produced through interaction between subjects located within the situation which comes to form a framework of understanding which brings them together, unites them, and functions as a referential framework to their relations.

6.2

The Encounter with ‘The Enemy’

In Aristotle and Cicero’s thought, ‘perfect friendship’, the close bond that produces a mutual sense of obligation, is only really possible between two very close and similar friends. In the light of this, one clear strength of Hayden’s triadic model is that it can generate a sense of obligatory responsibility amongst a much wider community, grounded, as it is, not on mutual similarity but a concern for the ‘world’ held in common. Nonetheless, despite the enhanced possibility for friendly cooperation, it would be naïve to think there was not the possibility that interaction could produce enmity: the possibility that encounters could reveal (or produce) not a friend, but an enemy. Indeed, in discussing the possibility of encountering an ‘other’ who shares one’s view of the world, it also raises the possibility of encountering an ‘other’ who fundamentally disagrees with these views. Equally, as there is a possibility of an ‘other’ who may share or wish to aid one’s journey through existence, so there is the possibility of an ‘other’ who may wish to impede, bar, or even threaten to ‘end’ this journey. The possibility of encountering a ‘friend’ raises the possibility of encountering an ‘enemy’. No discussion of enmity can be seriously conducted without due attention given to the thought of Carl Schmitt, who, in The Concept of the Political, defined political activity as that which is characterised by a distinction between ‘friend’ and ‘enemy’ (Schmitt 2007). Given Schmitt’s involvement with the Hitler regime, indeed at times ‘speaking for Hitler’ (Slomp 2007: 212), discussion and use of his thought have always been, and likely will always be, controversial, and it is worth briefly highlighting such controversy at the outset. European literature has been more open in establishing the validity of Schmitt’s analysis, the French and the Italian ‘left’ in particular utilising his insight to advance their own arguments and agenda (Slomp 2007: 199–200). However, in Anglo-American discourse, scholars have been more cautious in their approach, with writers who wish to engage with Schmitt without addressing his relationship with the Nazi

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regime being challenged by those who insist that one cannot consider his work in isolation from the ‘shadow of the Holocaust and Nazism’ (Huysmans 1999: 324).2 I raise these points as, in engaging with, and potentially drawing from Schmitt’s ideas about enmity, I may incorporate some ethically unpalatable perspectives on political relations. In response, I would argue that it would be a misstep to discuss friendship without discussing its opposite in enmity, and it would be naïve not to consider the possibility of enmity and conflict in an account of political relations. Furthermore, as controversial as Schmitt may be, given his position as arguably the most influential theorist on the issue enmity, it would be a mistake to discuss this subject without proper consideration of his work. Schmitt describes the ‘enemy’, whilst not necessarily ‘morally evil’ or ‘aesthetically ugly’, as nonetheless an ‘other’, a ‘stranger’—someone whose nature is intensely ‘different and alien’ to the degree that, in extreme situations, conflicts with him are possible (Schmitt 2007: 27). In describing him as something ‘existentially different’, but not necessarily ugly or immoral, Schmitt is here highlighting enmity as the unique quality of the political sphere, as opposed to ‘beauty’ and ‘goodness’ being the quality of the aesthetic and moral spheres respectively. In Schmitt’s thought, the unique nature of the political sphere is to declare the other as an enemy who must be combatted, and, when something reaches the point of conflict, it becomes a political issue. Hence, when two religious denominations go to war, this becomes a political rather than religious conflict, as likewise is ‘class war’ when it transforms economic competition into violent struggle (Schmitt 2007: 37). Such an account of the ‘enemy’, especially considered under the ‘shadow of the Holocaust and Nazism’, does seem, at the very least, problematic. Given the treatment of ethnic and religious minorities by the Nazi regime, the articulation of ‘strangers’, the ‘existentially different’ and ‘aliens’, as ‘enemies’ is highly disquieting. Nonetheless, let us proceed to consider Schmitt’s concept of ‘enemy’ at closer detail. Through her close reading of Schmitt’s work, Slomp has highlighted a few key facets of Schmitt’s notion of enmity that one ought to consider. First is that there is potential to have conflict with this ‘other’, and not that one is necessarily at war with her. Thus, ‘difference’ does not necessarily mean conflict. Second, the enemy is not ‘fixed’. An enemy can later cease to be an enemy, and even later become an ally, and an ally can later become an enemy. Schmitt rejected universalising a ‘fixed’ enemy, which, he argued, would degrade and dehumanise the opponent and create a conflict which could end only in the complete destruction of one of the groups. This is why Schmitt

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opposed the universalising of class conflict by Leninism, and why, Slomp argues, Schmitt’s thinking has great distance from Hitler’s doctrine of ‘recasting the world’ according to the idea of racial superiority and conflict: both create a ‘fixed’ enemy conflict with which can only end with the complete annihilation of the ‘other’. Finally, the ‘enemy’ is not just an ‘other’, but rather an ‘other’ who represents a ‘negation of the self’. The enemy is one who threatens our very being: not just one who is ‘different’ but rather one that poses an existential threat to our way of life (Slomp 2007).3 The last observation is of particular interest to the understanding of ‘world’ developed in the last section. In particular, it suggests the ‘enemy’ is not one who is simply different from me, but rather poses a threat to the ‘world’ I inhabit. It is worth quoting some passages from Schmitt in order to make this idea clearer: There exists no rational purpose, no norm no matter how true, no program no matter how exemplary, no social idea no matter how beautiful, no legitimacy nor legality which could justify men in killing each other for this reason. If such physical destruction of human life is not motivated by an existential threat to one’s own way of life, then it cannot be justified… If there really are enemies in the existential sense meant here, then it is justified, but only politically, to repel and fight them physically. (Schmitt 2007: 49)

Once again Schmitt identifies the combatting of the enemy as solely a political matter which should not be complicated by morality or social idealism. This, however, leads to a second crucial point: the ‘enemy’ is one who poses an existential threat to one’s own way of life. Thus, this ‘other’ is not just one who is ‘different’, rather she is one who directly poses a threat to one’s existence, to one’s ‘world’. It is only when the enemy manifests in this existential sense that it becomes justified to repel them. Such a notion of existential threat is again evident when Schmitt describes the recognition of the enemy: Each participant is in a position to judge whether the adversary intends to negate his opponent’s way of life and therefore must be repulsed or fought in order to preserve one’s own form of existence. (Schmitt 2007: 27)

What is again vital to observe here is that the decision to repel the enemy is based on the judgement of whether struggle is necessary to preserve one’s own form of existence. Thus, the enemy is again not someone who is just ‘different’, but is one who is judged as intending to destruct the basis of

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one’s own way of life. In formulating the discussion such as this, there seems to be an important third element we need to consider: the ‘world’. In this description of the ‘enemy’, the one who decides to resist him does so out of desire to defend something, namely one’s way of life. We might understand this in the sense of the ‘world’, as has been outlined in this chapter, as it is this intersubjective understanding of existence that facilitates and shapes the life we have chosen to live. It is this ‘world’ which further forms the basis of our friendly relationships with others we encounter. Subsequently, when someone threatens our ‘way of life’, we may be understanding them to threaten the destruction of our ‘world’, and it is as a means of defending our ‘world’ that we attempt to repel the enemy. In the light of this, we may indeed consider enmity, not as a dyadic relationship of friend-enemy, but rather, just as we did with friendship, as a triadic relationship of friendworld-enemy. It is thus again the other’s attitude to the ‘world’ we share that becomes the criteria of our relationship. In the case of ‘friend’, a cooperative relationship developed due to the other’s desire to sustain and enhance the ‘world’. In the case of ‘enemy’, a relationship of conflict is developed due to the other’s desire to destroy the ‘world’. Indeed, this is something Hayden desires to draw attention to in his original innovative discussion of triadic relations. He states that even the idea of enmity presupposes a degree of ‘worldliness’ that renders the distinction intelligible; plural persons are not thrown back on each other ‘simpliciter’ but upon the context of the ‘world’ they inhabit (Hayden 2015: 759). We might thus understand the possibility of enmity arises when one ‘encounters’ another who is deemed to have the intent to negate one’s own way of life. This ‘other’ is deemed to pose a threat to the ‘world’ one inhabits, and thus threatens to destroy the framework of meaning which makes one’s existence intelligible. Such an ‘other’ also threatens to terminate one’s projected narrative—one’s chosen quest—as, with the potential destruction of the ‘world’, so the opportunities and possibilities by which one can attain one’s goals are also threatened with destruction. Indeed, given that the ‘world’ sustains one’s existence and the existence of one’s friends, one may feel obliged to repel such an enemy. Whilst perhaps necessary and ‘realistic’ to discuss the possibility of enmity in politics (indeed, in human life), some of the implications of this understanding drawn from Schmitt will likely be uncomfortable. The idea of determining one as an ‘existential threat’ to one’s ‘way of life’ is for instance at the root of some of particularly ugly political discourses. We indeed do not need to return to Nazi Germany, where political groups from

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socialists to the entire Jewish population were cast as an ‘existential threat’ to the State (and the horrendous consequences of such depiction), as our contemporary society has witnessed numerous attempts to utilise such conceptual imagery particularly by the populist right.4 We must also consider the argument that his focus on enmity is itself intrinsically flawed. Richard Wolin has argued that Schmitt’s conceptualising of the predominance of the political sphere, a sphere he characterises as the ‘friends’ combatting ‘enemies’, creates an intensification of politics that leads to a glorification of war. He similarly describes Schmitt’s separation of ‘morality’ from ‘politics’ as a reflection of a Social Darwinist ethos of existential survival, the consequence of which delivers politics to the forces of war and struggle. Wolin subsequently argues The Concept of the Political crucially anticipates Schmitt’s later collaboration with the Nazi regime (Wolin 1992: 438). There are thus both implicatory and intrinsic problems with drawing from Schmitt’s work which one must be highly conscious of. Again, in my defence, as unpalatable as it may be, the existence of enmity in human affairs cannot be ignored, and its articulation and manifestation must be considered—including engagement with its most significant theorist. Secondly, I am not arguing for ‘enmity’. I am not arguing that conflict between enemies ought to be the highest category, or even a defining category, of political life (as Schmitt does). Enmity is not a telos I am advocating. Rather, I understand that enmity is always a possibility in human life and thus is a relationship which will possibly define human relations. In order to give proper interpretation of situations involving human relations, one must thus consider and evaluate the possibility of enmity, its creation, and conceptualisation. Schmitt’s theory is likely unpalatable as it is almost always aimed at certain ‘people’ being cast as enemies of the State, often militating towards division and conflict based on such labelling. Being concerned with Political Obligation, and thus the citizen–State relation, I am subsequently more concerned with how the State may come to be perceived by citizens as an antagonist, enemy even. To illustrate this, let me return to my hypothetical scenario of the University. I have stated that one who likely shares an appreciation of the value for the University ‘world’ will possibly be a ‘friend’ to myself, or at least we will be likely to engage in a cooperative effort for the sake of the ‘good’ of the University. Now, we might imagine the State to exist in such a triadic concept of friendship, for the State, with its legal and financial power, is an ‘other’ who has the potential to help protect and enhance this ‘world’. If the State does use its powers in this way, I will likely feel obliged to it for helping me in my ‘quest’ for higher education.

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However, if the State acts in a way that seems to damage or diminish the University, I may no longer see it as a ‘friend’ but rather an ‘antagonist’. If the State, for example, cuts funding, with the result there are fewer University staff, fewer options for me to study, and less financial support to help me study, I may become hostile towards the State for diminishing my ‘world’ and impeding my journey through it. Such a State I may subsequently no longer feel obliged towards, and indeed, I may feel obliged to resist it through actions such as protests, strikes, or even civil disobedience. To conceptualise this, one might understand that one has encountered the State policy of reducing funding, knowledge of this is cast back against the ‘world’ I am currently immersed in (the University), and as a consequence of the perceived negative effects of State policy on my ‘world’ I regard it, not as friend, but as antagonist—enemy even—who I feel obliged to resist. The University ‘world’ is of course hypothetical here, and in reality, this ‘world’ would only be one of many overlapping situations which constitute our existence. The important issue, however, is to recognise that State policy and action may threaten parts of this ‘world’, conflicting with different roles and communities we understand ourselves as members, forcing us to make a choice as to whether we endorse and feel obliged to follow its actions or whether we think they should be resisted. This is interestingly where the idea of ‘endorsement’, advocated by Renzo (2012) in Chapter 3, is of serious consideration. When the State carries out an action, we have a choice whether to accept and endorse it or to reject and act against it. Let us imagine a slightly more ideologically driven example than a cut in funding. Imagine the State carries out a policy of censorship which sees freedom of speech in the University curtailed and books prohibited. If I understand the ‘world’ of the University as one of free speech and learning and imagine my journey through it as a quest for enlightenment, I may regard the State as an antagonist and feel obliged to take action against its policies. By contrast, if I understand myself first and foremost to be a good and patriotic citizen and feel the State’s action is justified to prevent certain beliefs and acts which may polarise society, I may agree and endorse such a position and subsequently feel strongly obliged to a State which would act in such a decisive way to maintain the harmony of my ‘world’. As Renzo argued, we may not have a choice under what State we are born but we do have a choice of whether to endorse this State or not, and thus enter into a situation where we feel morally obliged to it (Renzo 2012: 120). Whether I endorse and feel obliged to the State or reject and rebel against

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it—whether I see it as ‘friend’ or ‘enemy’—will result from how I regard its actions against my understanding of the ‘world’ and my journey through it.

6.3

The Encounter and Political Obligation

In formulating friendship in triadic terms, I have endeavoured to overcome the central limitation in understanding Political Obligation through friendship, namely the problem of how we can conceive of the administrative and legal institution of ‘State’ as a friend. I have sought to overcome this by conceptualising friend not as another similar to ourselves, but as another whom can be a great assistance (or hindrance) to the maintaining and enhancing of the ‘world’ we both share. The more the State presents itself as a protector and enhancer of our ‘world’, the more likely we are to feel a sentiment of obligation towards it. The more disinterested it is towards the ‘world’, the less strong our affection will be and the less likely a sense of obligation regarding it will develop. Thus, the central understanding of the situation of Political Obligation that develops from this is the more positive the State appears vis-à-vis the ‘world’ it shares with its citizens, the stronger the sense of obligation that will exist in the community. In this section, I will further elaborate on this idea both through relating it to the original articulation of Political Obligation found in Green and through further consideration of the three examples of political communities given in Chapters 2–4. Nonetheless, before doing so, I would highlight one last concern that may arise from my use of friendship as an analytic analogy for Political Obligation. This concern comes from the difference that we are not ‘born into’ friendships; we do not begin our life already in a situation of friendship with certain others but rather form these relationships as our life progresses. On the contrary, we are ‘born into’ situations of Political Obligation; we begin our life already in a relationship with the particular State whose territory we are born. Subsequently, as we do not begin already inside situations of friendship but form them during the progression of our life, the entry into friendships can be regarded as a free choice. However, as we begin already inside a relational situation with a State, the entry into this situation is not of our choice. We might phrase this acutely by stating that the ‘being’ of friendship is ‘free’ but the ‘being’ of Political Obligation is not. This is likely why ‘family’ is frequently chosen as analogy for Political Obligation for, unlike our friends, we do not choose our family but are ‘born into it’ (Horton 2008: 148–151). Neither the ‘being’ of ‘family’ nor Political

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Obligation can thus be considered ‘free’. Crucially, however, whilst our ‘being’ of Political Obligation is not free, we do not choose the State we are born under, our ‘becoming’ can be considered free: we do not have to continue to accept the authority of the State. It is always our choice whether we endorse and recognise the claims of the State in regard to our obligations towards it, or alternatively to reject and rebel against these claims. We might thus not have ‘chosen’ to be born into a situation of obligation with a particular State, but we can choose to reject and try to leave this situation. Citizen obligation to the State is not an irrevocable fact, it is not an unchanging condition of existence like gravity, it is rather a relationship which can be changed. As Slomp phrased so acutely in her interpretation of Hobbes, the State remains perpetually on trial in the minds of its citizens; they constantly reflect upon and judge the State asking themselves ‘should I obey?’ (Slomp 2009: 42). Subsequently, just as in the triadic understanding of friendship the continued relational ‘situation of obligation’ is dependent on the other’s disposition to the ‘world’, so is citizens’ remaining in a disposition of obligation towards the State is correlated to the State’s attitude and policy towards this ‘world’. Thus, ‘being’ in regard to the situation of ‘friendship’ and Political Obligation may differ, but our freedom of choice over the ‘becoming’ of this relationship is in flux and subject to the future interaction and choices of the citizen. On this basis of shared freedom over ‘becoming’, I believe friendship to be an incredibly appropriate analytical framework for understanding Political Obligation. We may, in the light of this, return to Green’s analogy of ‘friendship’ to describe Political Obligation in ‘Liberal Legislation’. I will recite the passage in detail: The man who, of his own right feeling, would provide for the healthy housing of his family, saves his wife from overwork, and sends his children to school, suffers no moral degradation from a law which, if he did not do this for himself, would seek to make him do it. Such a man does not feel the law as constraint at all. To him it is simply a powerful friend 5 . It gives him security for that being done efficiently which… he might have much trouble in getting done efficiently if left to himself. No doubt it relieves him of some of the responsibilities which would otherwise fall to him… as he is relieved of responsibilities in one direction he will assume them in another. (Green 1986b: 203).

The reason for why such an individual would feel obliged to such a State, and see it as a ‘friend’ rather than an interference, is very clear from this

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passage. The State aids him and his wife, allowing them to enjoy a healthy and comfortable life in addition to providing for his child’s future through the provision of education. He further feels especially grateful towards the State as, in issues such as health care and education, it can provide these far more efficiently than if the individual was left to source them himself. Further, relieved of this burden, the individual is freed to pursue other pursuits and responsibilities, and improve his family’s lives in other ways. The State, in short, is looked favourably upon because it sustains and enhances the lives of this family. Nevertheless, I would argue it would be a mistake to say that the citizen in question feels this way towards the State because he is of a particular heightened rationality, or that his thoughts are in tune with a ‘general will’. On the contrary, it would be much more appropriate to understand the citizen in question feels this way because the State offers to protect and enhance his ‘world’ and aid his narrative journey through it. The individual perceives a ‘world’ in which his family should be cared and provided for. The State promises to help sustain and build such a ‘world’. He projects a future in which his child is educated. The State offers to aid in this. It is thus not any abstract criteria by which the individual understands his relationship to the State, but rather he judges the State’s intentions against his understanding of ‘world’ and the journey he hopes to take through it. In this way, and to put it very simply, in my proposed understanding the intersubjective ‘world’ takes the place that the objective ‘general will’ does in Green’s schemata. Accepting this change, however, alters the way in which we approach the issue of Political Obligation. Shifting from external criteria to an intersubjective perspective, one must move away from trying to answer the question of Political Obligation, of trying to ‘solve a problem’, and instead work on interpreting the intersubjective ‘worlds’ citizens inhabit. In order to better understand the ‘situation’ of Political Obligation, we need to interpret the message of obligation produced by the State in encounters with its citizens and read this back against the ‘world’ both the State and citizens inhabit. We must, in particular, identify in the encounter how the State appears ‘in-theworld’; what knowledge and message it conveys in this worldly encounter; how it attempts to communicate this message; and finally, how does the idea and narrative of obligation communicated through these encounters relate to an understanding of ‘world’: what sense of ‘world’ does the State appeal to? Does the State propose to protect or enhance this ‘world’? Does it offer an alternative better ‘world’ than that which the citizens currently inhabits? From these observations, one can begin to draw up a framework

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for hermeneutical analysis of Political Obligation through the encounter, the central aim of this book. I will present this clearly in the closing section of the chapter. In the meantime, however, I wish to highlight two key points such an articulation of Political Obligation raises. The first point is an ontological one. When encountering the State, the citizen is both learning more about this institution and assessing it against how she understands her own existence. Thus, as she builds her perception of the State from these encounters, she is not constructing this as a something of neutral worth or as something with no immediate bearing on her life; she does not regard this institution she is learning about as something ‘objective’, as say a scientist would treat the discovery of a new bacteria or the construction of a new form of plastic. She is rather constructing this understanding always as it relates to her own existence and considering how this institution affects her. I consequently would propose that her relationship to the State is formulated through the construction of this perception; the relationship grows out of and is a product of the citizens’ encounters with the State’s existential manifestations. The State is furthermore not something that is considered as separate to the citizen’s existence but is rather always considered in relation to it. I might therefore say that the encounters with the State are part of her self-development; her everevolving perception of the State is intertwined with her own ‘becoming’. Thus, the State is both judged against an understanding of the ‘world’ and also crucially a part of this ‘world’ itself. Ontologically speaking, the ‘self’ and the ‘State’ are not distinct entities but are all bound together inside the intersubjective appreciation of ‘world’. It may be convenient when considering normative arguments for Political Obligation to consider the citizen and State as ontologically separate distinct entities, ‘persons’ even (Knowles 2010: 49–50). However, in order to conduct a hermeneutic inquiry into the situation of Political Obligation, we must assume a more ‘relational ontology’. Therefore, we cannot separate the State as distinct from ‘world’, nor an understanding of State separate from an understanding of the citizen and her circumstance. The citizen is not an ‘autonomous rational individual’ distinct from political authority but is rather a being who understands herself always in relation to this authority and cannot be considered separate or outside it. Citizen and State are united together ‘in the world’ and come to understand one another through continual interaction and reflection; their relationship is one of continual ‘becoming’ as they progress through the ‘world’ together.

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The second point is epistemological. Despite other areas of considerable disagreement, I may agree with Knowles on his simple formulation of Political Obligation as ‘the State proposes, the citizen disposes’ (Knowles 2010: 50). I agree because, in the encounter with its citizens, the State can be understood to communicate an argument as to why its citizens should feel a sense of obligation towards it, an argument which the citizen can either accept or reject. However, it is a mistake to imagine this interaction taking place between two distinct beings as if in a vacuum. On the contrary, such interactions are part of a continual engagement which takes place ‘in the world’. Subsequently, such encounters appear to the citizen through the ‘milieus’ of the ‘world’, that intersubjective ‘in-between’ which unites and separates those who exist within it. Subsequently, knowledge and understanding of the State are always communicated through the ‘world’, and reflection on it will always be cast back on an understanding of the ‘world’. The ‘world’ is the epistemological foundation of the encounter in that it is milieus through which the State ‘appears’, through which its nature and arguments are ‘revealed’ to the citizen, and is the framework that such arguments will be cast back upon as the citizen reflects and decides upon what has been revealed. In providing hermeneutic analysis of such encounters, one must therefore always be sensitive to an understanding of the ‘world’ in which the State manifests, and how what is being conveyed in this encounter relates vis-à-vis this ‘world’. Understanding such messages is thus dependent on reading them back against the ‘world’ from which they emerge. In order to illustrate the importance of ‘world’ to the political encounter and Political Obligation, I will conclude this section by returning to the three example polities I discussed in Chapters 2–4: the legal system of Scotland; the presentation of State legitimacy vis-à-vis traditional culture in contemporary China; and the State’s appeal to the obligations of female citizens in the early Soviet Union. The clearest example of this communication coming vis-à-vis an understanding of ‘world’ is the example of contemporary China in Chapter 3. We discussed how President Xi attempted to present the legitimacy of the Marxist State led by the CPC in regard to an understanding of traditional Chinese culture. President Xi put forth the argument that traditional Chinese culture could only be maintained and enhanced by the Marxist State. Crucially, the State did not embody and present itself as a manifestation of this tradition, as Confucian Communitarians had advocated, but rather presented itself as an independent protector of this traditional culture. It subsequently centred its narrative

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of obligation, not on it being a representative of China’s history and culture, but by positioning itself as the most appropriate power to preserve and nourish this culture, which is presented as a third element. In this way, the example of China perhaps represents best the triadic understanding of Political Obligation that has been discussed: it presents itself in the triadic form of citizen-traditional Chinese culture—State. The State here can be understood as attempting to relate to a sense of ‘world’ both it and its citizens are immersed in, and further outlined how it would care and enhance this ‘world’. Indeed, the State insisted it was the sole entity capable of protecting this ‘world’ and even, in claiming to be responsible for the rejuvenation of Chinese culture, claimed it is because of the actions of the State that such a ‘world’ exists today. The argument thus very much rests on a triadic understanding of citizen-world-State where the State claims obligation is due to it as the single entity capable of maintaining and enhancing the common ‘world’ it shares with its citizens. Such narrative is heavily grounded in emphasis on ‘traditional’ aspects of the ‘Chinese world’. Such a narrative of obligation would subsequently be expected to work if citizens believe the State when it claims it is best positioned to protect this traditional ‘world’, and, perhaps more importantly, if citizens share this vision of ‘world’ and believe it is worth protecting. What, however, happens if citizens do not share this traditionalist presentation of the ‘world’? Citizens who do not share this perspective will not be so convinced as the aspect of ‘world’ the State promises to protect and enhance is not particularly shared or valued. Indeed, when States argue for a society to embody a particular idea of culture, they incur the danger that such an idea will be rejected by an increasingly multicultural citizenry. This is something Kim has, in particular, identified in regard to Confucianism in South Korea, where he argues that, in an increasingly multicultural modern democracy, Confucian values may lose their appeal (Kim 2014). South Korea is, despite Kim’s concerns, still largely monocultural. This problem is greater in China where the State governs over not just the large Han majority, but also considerable minority groups such as Mongolians, Tibetans, and Uighurs. Why would such ethnic groups feel obliged to a polity that bases its argument for obligation on a culture which is not their own? This is where we must observe the positioning of the State as protector, yet a distinct entity from particular cultures, as particularly ingenious. In doing so, the Chinese State does not overassociate itself with one particular cultural tradition, such as Confucianism, but rather presents itself as protector of all traditions and cultures within the ‘Chinese world’. Indeed, it is highly sig-

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nificant that Xi, when commemorating Confucius’ birth, made an explicit comment about how Confucianism is just a part of Chinese traditional culture, thus allowing for the presentation of the State as a sperate and distinct entity which protects a greater multitude of traditional cultures (Xi 2014). The traditional China which the State protects is thus much wider than any particular culture, allowing for the State to claim to protect a much wider and more diverse ‘world’. As a consequence, this narrative which the Chinese State propagates across its territory is presented not only in the Han heartlands but also in outlying regions such as Xinjiang, where disputes between the Chinese State and the Uighur ethnic group have rendered the region ‘sensitive’. In Xinjiang, the State presents its legitimacy to citizens based on the narratives of ‘stability’, ‘development’ and ‘ethnic unity’ made possible by the Beijing State under CPC leadership. As State-sponsored images, such as posters adorning main commercial roads, make evidently clear to all who encounter them: ‘No CCP, No New China’ (Zhang et al. 2018: 785). Again, the appeal to an idea of ‘world’ is evident: the common situation that citizens and State share can only be kept safe under the leadership of the Marxist State. Obligation is due to the State for protecting and enhancing this ‘world’. This construction of ‘world’ is also important for the example of the Scottish Law Courts. In contrast to the Chinese case, however, this is not so much a world of ‘collective inheritance’, passed down from the past. On the contrary, the ‘world’ that is presented is one in which a ‘rational person’ may carry out her life free from harm. This is a world where no ‘rational person’ will be afraid of harm or abuse, and no person, as long as they behave ‘reasonably’, needs to fear authorities. It is a communication aimed at a much more individualistic understanding of society in that it presents a ‘world’ in which reasonable individuals will be allowed to carry out their lives reasonably in peace and prosperity. Nonetheless, it still rests on the presentation of a particular ‘world’ it believes will be attractive to its citizens. Thus, we may understand the State in Scotland, in the example of the law courts, to use the language and ideas of rational individualism. Yet this should be recognised not as dyadic engagement between State and individual, but rather as a triadic engagement concerning the ‘world’ between them which they both share. The State proposes to the individual that if it wishes to live a life in which a reasonable person would live happily and securely, then it is uniquely placed to offer such a life. The message conveyed when reading Scottish Legislation, such as the Criminal Justice and Licensing Act (Scotland) 2010, is that the State provides a ‘world’ for

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its citizens in which you will live in peace and security so long as you don’t engage in irrational criminal acts such as stalking or threatening behaviour, and the State will in turn protect you from others who may engage in such irrational behaviour at potentially your expense. If this is a ‘world’ which is attractive to you, then you will feel obliged towards this State and respect its laws. The message of obligation which is thus projected is that the citizen should obey and feel obliged to this State if she wishes to live in a ‘world’ in which a reasonable person can carry out her daily life without being disturbed by those who would seek to cause her harm or abuse. The problem, however, occurs when a citizen does not believe that the State does provide such protection for its citizens as it claims. This was the case with the example of Maclean, who did not believe the State did provide this ‘world’ of universal protection for its citizens that it claims it does. In this case, the State’s claims do not resonate with the ‘world’ Maclean believes they both inhabit. From Maclean, the Lord Advocate’s instance that the State protects the safety of its citizens fails to resonate they are contradicted by his perception and experience of the ‘world’; the State’s proposal of a world in which citizens are protected and allowed to best pursue their own private interests rings hollow against Maclean’s perception of the same State exploiting its citizens for its own ends. This is not to say her that Maclean is correct in his assessment. It is rather to demonstrate how the message of obligation projected by the State is assessed against a perception of the ‘world’ in which it is situated. In such a case, the State has claimed obligation is due to it for securing its citizens’ common ‘world’ where they may peacefully carry out their lives; where they will be unhampered in attempts to fulfil their ‘life quest’ (so long as such a quest is rational). Such argument fails to resonate as, from Maclean’s perspective, the State does not protect this ‘world’ but rather is a menace to it, regularly impeding and inflicting suffering on its citizen’s lives for the sake of its own imperialist agenda. The State’s message of obligation fails to resonate as its portrayal of ‘world’ clashes with that perceived by Maclean. The example of Soviet Russia proves final interesting example. Here, there is not so much a presentation of maintaining and enhancing a current ‘world’, but rather the offering of a new one that will enhance the lives of citizens, female citizens in particular in the utilised illustration. It is shown that the new State is already enhancing the lives of women in making divorce easier for them. It is also further promising that, if they remain loyal to this political authority, their lives will continue to be enhanced through State-supported services such as public kitchens and laundrettes.

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This is explicitly laid out in the speeches of Kollontai but is further indicated in Soviet propaganda depicting the Marxist State opening up new opportunities for women. The State projects an image in these encounters, not of the current ‘world’ that it hopes to maintain, but rather of a future ‘world’ that it hopes to bring into existence that will greatly benefit the lives of its citizens. Political Obligation is thus expected to this State as far as it promises to bring into existence this better ‘world’. In a sense, the citizen is here confronted with not one but two ‘worlds’. The first is the past ‘world’ in which the citizens’ life was full of suffering. The second ‘world’ is a future ‘world’ the State constructs through the encounter and promises to deliver. It is thus communicated that obligation is due to the State as it is through its efforts that citizens will be able to move forward from the ‘world’ of suffering into the new ‘world’ in which their lives will be greatly enhanced; one should obey the laws and serve the State loyally as it’s the only means by which they can pass through to this better ‘world’ where their standard of existence will be greatly improved. This is nowhere more striking than in Shegal’s ‘Down with kitchen slavery!’: the Marxist State stands between the old dark ‘world’ of household slavery and the new ‘world’ of leisure, it is only by following its direction can the women pictured (and by extension the citizen encountering the poster) leave the misery of the ‘old world’ and enter the new. Of course, limitations to this message of obligation could arise if the citizens who encounter this message do not desire the ‘new world’ the State promises, or indeed do not share the State’s negative portrayal of the current ‘world’. Female citizens who, for example, do not regard being a housewife as a miserable existence may be offended by such a message, and the poster will subsequently be unlikely to foster a sense of obligation amongst such citizens. Equally, such a message depends on if the State is trusted to fulfil such promises. We have discussed already that Shegal’s poster is dated after the Zhenotdel had been closed, and thus is sponsored by a State which is unlikely to actually realise the promises it makes in this encounter. As was said in Chapter 4, the potential untrustworthiness of States means we should always take a critical eye when considering its communications with citizens in regard to their Political Obligations. Such untrustworthiness may also, however, effect how successful such encounters are in fostering a sense of Political Obligation. If citizens, as a result of past encounters with States, do not greatly trust them to deliver their promises, then they are unlikely to be won over by the promises of a ‘new world’. Again, it is important to recognise that this judgement of the citi-

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zen in regard to obligation is thrown back against an understanding of the ‘world’ both they and the State inhabit; in this hypothetical example, if citizens perceive a ‘world’ where governments and politicians are not trusted to fulfil their promises, they are unlikely to be inspired into obligation by the State’s latest promise of a ‘New World’ it will likely never deliver. In understanding how narratives of Political Obligation are generated and presented in real political situations, we must thus not just examine the message as is conveyed through the encounter in abstraction, we must rather relate it against the ‘world’ it emerges from if we are to fully appreciate how it is produced and how it is likely to be perceived.

6.4

The Encounter as a Hermeneutic Tool for Uncovering and Interpreting Ideas and Narratives of Political Obligations

I will conclude this chapter by making clear how the ‘encounter’ may be used as a hermeneutic tool for understanding narratives and ideas propagated and contested in existing polities. The first point to recognise is that when a citizen encounters the State, they receive a piece of knowledge about this political institution which claims authority over their lives. Contained within this knowledge is an argument as to why the citizen should owe obligations to this authority. The first task in using the encounter is to identify this message of obligation which is communicated in the encounter. The second point is to identify the language the message is communicated in. It could be couched in an objective rational language, as is the case with the Scottish law courts. Conversely, it could appeal to a notion of culture or tradition which it is expected citizens will share. It also may be couched in the language of improvement or emancipation, as was the case with Kollontai’s speeches aimed at Soviet women. Identifying this language in which the message of the encounter is couched in will thus be crucial in identifying the framework of understanding which the State seeks to utilise in its attempts to communicate a sense of obligation to its citizens. This is where liaison with the dominant theories of Political Obligation will become important. As stated, the approach outlined in this book did not seek to replace these theories with an entirely new theory of Political Obligation; it did not want to replace all their lenses of analysis with a new ‘master lens’. On the contrary, I wanted to highlight a limitation which I believed all these approaches shared, and which I hoped my hermeneutic

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approach through the encounter can address. However, I maintain that these theories of Political Obligation can still work alongside the approach through the encounter, and, in turn, I believe the approach through the encounter can enhance these dominant theories of obligation. The theories can be used to help give hermeneutic interpretation of the message and the language uncovered in the encounter. The Rational Approach, for example, gives invaluable insight which can help one interpret the State’s message and language when it seeks to communicate such a notion of obligation with its citizens. Similarly, if the State is speaking towards an emancipatory reason for citizens obligations, the insight of the Critical Approach will be invaluable in rendering intelligible the framework of understanding the State is appealing through. Such use is also, I would argue, beneficial to these dominant approaches as, in linking them to concrete examples of use, it can show how these ideas operate within political realities, and thus allows us not just to understand such approaches as theoretical arguments but as narratives and ideas which function within real political communities. Hence, it allows the Rational Approach to Political Obligation, not just to be understood in an abstract sense as it is presented in certain Social Contract or deontological theories, but in how such thinking manifests within concrete political realities. Thus, I believe my hermeneutic approach of the encounter and these dominant theories of obligation need not be in conflict, but can rather live in a cooperative symbiotic relationship. These approaches, and the theories which resemble them, aid the encounter in its ability to hermeneutically interpret the messages and language frameworks utilised by the State in its encounters with citizens. The encounter enriches these approaches as it provides instances in which we can actually see these more abstract theories utilised in real historical and political examples, thus aiding our understanding of their operation in real-world situations. Examining these encounters in such a manner, we can build up an understanding of the central messages of obligation which particular States project to its citizens. Examining multiple encounters over time, we thus come to understand the central idea and framework of political understanding by which the State seeks to convince its citizens that they owe their obligation to it. Identifying this narrative and argument, we will thus be able to identify the central premises which the authority of any political community rests its legitimacy upon. We must, however, recognise that this interaction will take place within an intersubjective ‘world’, and it will be through the milieu of this ‘world’ that the citizen will encounter this message. Thus, one must consider how

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the State relates its message vis-à-vis this sense of ‘world’. Does it claim to protect or enhance this ‘world’? Does it claim, as the Chinese State does, it is the only body that can protect this ‘world’? What kind of ‘world’ does it present? Does it focus on the traditional culture of this ‘world’? Or does it present a ‘world’ where individuals can progress through their lives free from hindrance? Is it always positive about the ‘world’? Does it instead offer criticism of the current state of the ‘world’ as basis for an argument that obligation is due to State power in order to ensure improvements to this ‘world’? Does it indeed, in the case of the USSR posters targeted at women, promise transition into a ‘new’ and ‘fairer’ ‘world’? It must be remembered that citizens and State always exist within the ‘world’ together and consequently it is through the milieu of the ‘world’ that citizens will encounter the State. It is subsequently this ‘world’ citizens will cast any knowledge they receive against, and the State will thus seek to position itself vis-à-vis this ‘world’ in some regard. Situating the encounter within this ‘world’ and identifying its attempt to relate to it will be critical in successful interpretation of the encounter. I have outlined the way in which the encounter can be used to hermeneutically uncover and interpret the ideas and narratives of obligation which operate within existing States. The next step would be to actually use this approach to properly enquire into the ideas and understanding which exist within particular political communities, rather than just giving historical snapshots. In the conclusion of this book, I will indeed advocate particular cases which I believe are ripe for fruitful hermeneutic enquiry. Nonetheless, before doing so, it will be observed that there will be major reservations and criticisms of such an approach to studying Political Obligation. This approach will also have, admittedly, limitations. I thus must turn in the next chapter to consider the criticisms and limitations of the advocated hermeneutic approach through the encounter.

Notes 1. For a particularly insightful review of such uses for the concept of friendship, see Heather Devere and Graham Smith ‘Friendship and Politics’ (2010). 2. Jef Huysmans (1999) and Richard Wolin (1990) have in particular warned against ‘de-historicizing’ and rehabilitating Schmitt by ‘de-coupling’ his political theory from his political choices of Nazism. Huysmans writes in particular response to an article by Hans-Karl Pichler (1998). Huysmans issue is that Pichler, focusing on Schmitt’s thought through the spectrum

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of ‘epistemological puzzle’, limits the ability to incorporate the ‘shadow’ of Nazism and the Holocaust in this interpretation (Huysmans 1999: 323). A helpful review of the controversies of Schmitt scholarship is provided by Peter Caldwell (2005). A detailed historical analysis of Schmitt’s relation to both the late Weimar Republic and the Nazi regime is further provided by Joseph Bendersky (1978, 1979). 3. Further breakdown and analysis of Schmitt’s understanding and typology of enmity are provided by Slomp in Carl Schmitt and the Politics of Hostility, Violence, and Terror (2009). 4. Recent examples include Donald Trump’s continual depiction of journalists as ‘enemies of the people’; the same phrase used by the right-wing newspaper the Daily Mail to attack judges who decided a parliamentary vote was legally required on the government’s European Union withdrawal; and the horrific United Kingdom Independence Party’s (UKIP) poster depicting a que of supposed immigrants of seemingly Middle Eastern heritage under the caption ‘Breaking Point’, insinuating the possibility of the movement of these people into the UK would induce some form of existential crisis. 5. My emphasis.

References Arendt, H. (1998). The Human Condition (M. Canovan, Ed.). London: University of Chicago Press. Aristotle. (2004). The Nicomachean Ethics (H. Tredennick, Ed.). London: Penguin. Bendersky, J. (1978). Carl Schmitt in the Summer of 1932: A Reexamination. Revue européenne des Sciences Sociales, 16(44), 39–53. ‘Mioir de Carl Schmitt’. Bendersky, J. (1979). The Expendable Kronjurist: Carl Schmitt and National Socialism, 1922–36. Journal of Contemporary History, 14(2), 309–328. Caldwell, P. (2005). Controversies Over Carl Schmitt: A Review of Recent Literature. The Journal of Modern History, 77 (2), 357–387. Cicero, M. T. (1887). De Amicitia (On Friendship) and Scipio’s Dream (A. Peabody, Trans.). Boston: Little, Brown. Devere, H., & Smith, G. (2010). Friendship and Politics. Political Studies Review, 8, 341–356. Gadamer, H. (2012). Truth and Method (J. Weinsheimer & D. G. Marshall, Eds.). London: Continuum International Publishing Group. Gilbert, M. (2018). Rights and Demands: A Foundational Inquiry. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Green, T. H. (1986a). Lectures on the Principles of Political Obligation. In P. Harris & J. Morrow (Eds.), T.H. Green: Lectures on the Principles of Political Obligation and Other Writings. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Green, T. H. (1986b). Lecture on ‘Liberal Legislation and Freedom of Contract’. In P. Harris & J. Morrow (Eds.), T.H. Green: Lectures on the Principles of Political Obligation and Other Writings. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hart, H. L. A. (1955). Are There Any Natural Rights. The Philosophical Review, 64, 175–191. Hayden, P. (2015). From Political Friendship to Befriending the World. The European Legacy, 20(7), 745–764. Hobbes, T. (2008). Leviathan (J. C. A. Gaskin, Ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Horton, J. (2010). Political Obligation. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Huysmans, J. (1999). Know Your Schmitt: A Godfather of Truth and the Spectre of Nazism. Review of International Studies, 25(2), 323–328. Kierkegaard, S. (2012). Concluding Unscientific Postscript to Philosophical Crumbs (A. Hannay, Ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kim, S. (2014). Confucian Democracy in East Asia: Theory and Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Knowles, D. (2010). Political Obligation: A Critical Introduction. Abingdon: Routledge. Pichler, H. (1998). The Godfathers of “Truth”: Max Weber and Carl Schmitt in Morgenthau’s Theory of Power Politics. Review of International Studies, 24(2), 185–200. Renzo, M. (2012). Associative Responsibilities and Political Obligation. The Philosophical Quarterly, 62(246), 106–127. Schmitt C. (2007). The Concept of the Political (G. Schwab, Trans.). London: University of Chicago Press. Scottish Government. ‘Criminal Justice and Licensing Act (Scotland) 2010’. Available at http://www.legislation.gov.uk/asp/2010/13/contents. Slomp, G. (2007). Carl Schmitt on Friendship: Polemics and Diagnostics. Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy, 10(2), 199–213. Slomp, G. (2009). Carl Schmitt and the Politics of Hostility, Violence, and Terror. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Slomp, G. (2018). As Thick as Thieves: Exploring Thomas Hobbes Critique of Ancient Friendship and Its Contemporary Relevance. Political Studies, 67 (1), 191–206. Wolin, R. (1990). Carl Schmitt, Political Existentialism, and the Total State. Theory and Society, 19(4), 389–416. Wolin, R. (1992). Carl Schmitt: The Conservative Revolutionary Habitus and the Aesthetics of Horror. Political Theory, 20(3), 424–447. Xi, J. (2014). The Governance of China (Vol. I). Beijing: Foreign Language Press. Zhang, X., Brown, S., & O’Brien, D. (2018). “No CCP, No New China”: Pastoral Power in Official Narratives in China. The China Quarterly, 235, 784–803.

CHAPTER 7

Political Obligation in a Post-truth Era: Limitations, Critique and a Defence of the Approach Through the Encounter

Having outlined the basis of my approach through the encounter in Chapter 6, this final chapter will be tasked with acknowledging the limitations of my advocated approach and defend it against potential criticisms which could emerge from such limitations. The central limitation I will consider is the lack of an external normative moral framework which could provide ethical or factual assessment for what is uncovered through hermeneutic interpretation.1 I will further consider what I believe to be the most potentially damaging criticism of this approach, which stems directly from this lack of normative framework: that, in the absence of such an external criterion, subjective perception becomes the criterion by which Political Obligation and the legitimacy of States comes to rest on. The consequence of this would be that it would not matter if an argument is moral or factually true, but only if citizens perceive it as moral or true. Such a consequence would be debilitatingly troublesome as it would allow for arguments of Political Obligation which are based on deception and falsehoods to be considered legitimate so long as they are perceived to be the truth by the citizen body and are successful in manipulating this perception into political obedience. This could make my approach a ‘Post-truth Theory’: a theory which is devoid of standards of truth or moral value and rather establishes subjective perception as the altar upon which arguments must rest.

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Whilst acknowledging limitations in normative assessment, I will argue against the critique that the approach through the encounter requires an external moral framework to provide means of normative assessment. I will argue this on the basis that, as my analysis of paradigmatic approaches to Political Obligation have stressed, such external frameworks established above and prior to situations under investigation ultimately impede one’s ability to properly understand and interpret the situation. In order to overcome this limitation, I will instead conclude this chapter by suggesting and sketching how means of normative assessment may be drawn from the logic of the situation of Political Obligation itself, and thus need not necessarily rely on appeal to external frameworks and criterion.

7.1

The Spectre of Post-truth

I have stated that central to the potential criticism of my approach would be the association with Post-truth. To help us better comprehend the potential limitations and criticisms of the approach through the encounter, it is thus worth first considering this notion of Post-truth and the problems it presents to our current political world. Post-truth came to prominence in 2016, its impact upon public consciousness in particular signified by the Oxford Dictionary’s recognition of it as ‘word of the year’ (Midley 2016). The Oxford Dictionary defines Post-truth as an adjective ‘relating to or denoting circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion or personal belief’ (Oxford Living Dictionary). It is particularly linked to the two controversial political events of 2016: the election of Donald Trump as the 45th President of the USA and the British referendum which narrowly supported the UK withdrawal from the European Union. In both cases, it was perceived that the side whose argument was grounded in fact and rational argument was defeated by an opposing narrative who, despite dubious claims, found success in appealing to emotion and prejudice. Nonetheless, despite 2016 marking the point Post-truth resonated in public consciousness, scholars have argued such events were not the origins of Post-truth but rather the political manifestation of a phenomenon which had been brewing for some time; it is important we regard ‘Trump as consequence rather than cause’ (d’Ancona 2017: 5). It has been argued that the origins of Post-truth lie in an increasing distrust and distaste amongst the public for external objective criteria of assessment which claim to explain and legitimise their worldly existence, in particular, an increasing distaste for the supposed ‘objective

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facts of science’ (d’Ancona 2017; McIntyre 2018). Lee McIntyre has in particular insisted the increase in ‘science denial’ throughout the latter half of the Twentieth Century can be regarded as a ‘road map’ to our current crisis of Post-truth. The key driving force behind this ‘science denial’, McIntyre argues, is an increasing distrust amongst the public of academic and scientific expertise. Such growing distrust for ‘experts’ transfers into a growing distrust and disrespect for ‘scientific method’, and in particular a questioning of its ability to generate objective truths about our world. As a consequence, objective scientific fact loses its sense of legitimacy, is regarded as ‘just another view’, and can be challenged by the perspectives and opinions which are generated by ‘non-experts’ and which do not have the same vigorous testing or standards of truth; scientific results become openly challenged by ‘legions of nonexperts’ who ‘happen to disagree with them’ (McIntyre 2018: 17). In short, the scientific objective criterion used to understand the ‘truth’ of our world becomes regarded as just another subjective perspective. McIntyre attributes a great deal of responsibility for this increasing distrust and disrespect for scientific experts and their method to the influence of Postmodernism.2 Postmodernism, McIntyre maintains, has undermined the belief that there can be any neutral or objective perspective, rather insisting that all perspectives are just subjective narratives which reflect one’s own ideological background. This was not a major concern when originally targeted at literary studies, for if different people have different readings of Othello due to their different ideological preferences it is of no great concern and can, indeed, make for interesting and insightful conversation. It does however create a much more serious problem when Postmodernists turned their attention to natural science. If people, for example, believe that the scientific facts of climate change are not ‘objective’, but rather only the reflection of one ideologically shaped interpretation, then how can we properly assess this issue and have informed debate? The perception that certain ‘truth claims’ are only expressions of certain perspectives and interests negates the ability to give objective argument: one does not advocate a ‘smoking ban’ because of the fact that second-hand smoke causes cancer, but because one is a welfare liberal who wants to increase State control over citizen lives. Once such scientific findings or statistics no longer hold objective worth, argument centred on transparent facts becomes impossible and discourse descends into partisan and emotive argument (McIntyre 2018).

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McIntyre’s views on the link between Postmodernism and Post-truth, whilst admittedly common, are not without criticism. I do not however wish to enter into the debate regarding Postmodernism’s culpability in the creation of Post-truth here. Rather, I wish to outline two consequences of what has been discussed above. The first consequence is that, when objective criteria of assessment, such as ‘scientific fact’, are questioned, it risks the removal of shared ground from public discourse with the consequence that political debate becomes reduced to statements of partisan ideological preference. The second point is that this raises a warning for my own approach through the encounter, namely that removing external criteria to assess the situation of Political Obligation could similarly remove the ability to identify truthful and ethical arguments from the deceptive and immoral. This could have potentially damaging consequences for our ability to understand the situation of Political Obligation and is something I will have to give thought to in defence of my approach. In the meantime, let me return to the political consequences of this negation of an objective criterion in public discourse. It has been argued that the loss of this objective ground has resulted in discourse attempting, not to establish factually sound or truthful arguments, but rather to ‘tell a more convincing story’, in particular a ‘story’ which will appeal to certain partisan ideological sections of the community whose allegiance is required to win (or stay in) power. ‘Winning allegiance’ is thus regarded as more important than giving sound argument; the emotional appeal of a story becomes the priority, its ‘truthfulness’ a distant second. Such stories, heavy on emotion but light on truth, have been referred to by commentators as ‘bullshit’. ‘Bullshit’, perhaps immediately read as a dismissive expletive, has been developed into an analytical concept, most notably by the philosopher Harry Frankfurt’s study On Bullshit (2005). It is taken as a key term in the subtitles of both James Ball (2017) and Evan Davies’ (2017) works on Post-truth: ‘How Bullshit Conquered the World’ and ‘Peak Bullshit’ respectively. Importantly, ‘to bullshit’ is not the same as ‘to lie’. As Ball explains, a liar must still stand in some relation to a standard of truth, in so much that he rejects and rebels against this standard. A ‘bullshitter’, by contrast, does not care about truth or falsehood particularly, but is more concerned with generating a greater narrative. The validity of the particular facts is of very little value to the argument so long is as the narrative resonates with the particular section of the populace one wishes to win over (Ball 2017: 5–7). ‘Bullshit’ thus encapsulates the idea of Post-truth in that it is a discourse which is not aimed at ‘truth’, but rather ignores ‘truth’

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and appeals instead directly to emotion and prejudice. Subsequently, what is important to recognise in Post-truth rhetoric is the ‘signalling’ or ‘hidden messages’. Davies elaborates on this notion of ‘hidden messages’ with the example of Trump: when Trump makes false claims about the levels of unemployment in the USA, the truth or falsehood of such statistics is actually unimportant, indeed, to fixate on them is to miss his message. Trump is signalling to a portion of the American electorate who believe they are unfairly doing the bulk of the nation’s labour. Making ridiculously bold claims, Davies argues, is a highly effective means of gaining such people’s attention and showing he is ‘on their side’ (Davies 2017: 32, 118). Subsequently, Trump supporters are said to ‘take him seriously, but not literally’: they do not believe, or even concern themselves with, the truth of the claims he makes, but they do acknowledge that he is serious about the beliefs and values that they share (Davies 2017: 118). Post-truth poses a particular concern for our understanding of Political Obligation. It will be recalled, despite many differences with the understanding of obligation produced by Knowles, I agreed on the central idea that the State constructs a sense of why it should be a proper object of its citizens’ obligations: the State proposes, the citizen disposes. I have understood this argument to be diffused to citizens through a great variety of encounters, and it is upon reflection with these encounters that citizens come to understand their relationship with this authority and indeed their existence more generally. This is why the situation of Political Obligation is, I stress, one of the most important and foundational situations of politics, nay, of human existence: such ideas of obligations, as they are transfused through a society, come to form the core ideas and values which will underpin the polity and form the framework by which citizens will come to understand their relation to the institution of the State. They are thus in many ways the ideas and values which characterise the community and which other subsequent political ideas and issues will be framed by. Posttruth offers a serious challenge to this as it proposes that communications and arguments between citizens and political authority are not built on genuine arguments but on deceptions and lies; a ‘Post-truth Era’ would mean for Political Obligation that the ideas underpinning our political communities would be based on misinformation, deception, and ‘bullshit’. This would create a tremendous problem in both our understanding of political communities and indeed citizen self-understanding as the ideas which frame such consciousness would lack on truth or validity. In a ‘Post-truth era’, such understanding would indeed truly become ‘false consciousness’.

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Given that the problems Post-truth presents, it is unsurprising that many of the studies that have mushroomed around the topic since 2016 do not only offer analysis of what has led to the ‘Post-truth Era’ but also provide instruction as to how we can respond to—‘fight back against’—the Post-truth phenomenon. Most works on the subject are indeed heavily normative, polemical even, and it is interesting to observe such motifs as What We Can Do About It (Davies 2017) and How to Fight Back (d’Ancona 2017) feature prominently in literature subtitles. McIntyre’s work on the subject gives a particularly insightful example of this normative verging on polemic response to Post-truth, and further the problems such an approach can create. McIntyre opens his study by stating that, when discussing Posttruth, it is ‘impossible to achieve the kind of dispassionate neutrality that one might expect in an academic book’ (McIntyre 2018: xiii). He later continues that, as a philosopher, he finds the use of Post-truth by figures, such as Trump, in political debates ‘deplorable’ (McIntyre 2018: 9). We might here observe McIntyre is approaching his study of this situation of Post-truth with a priori moral and epistemic framework in place, a framework we might, for convenience sake at least, understand as a rational, scientific, and broadly politically liberal. Post-truth is thus immediately criticised as it falls out with his framework; indeed, it is a challenge to his framework. Hence ‘Post-truth’ is immediately considered wrong and ‘deplorable’ from the perspective of McIntyre’s a priori paradigmatic standard. Indeed, one might draw comparison that Post-truth stands as deplorable to McIntyre as to how apposing theories appear ‘irrational’ and ‘barbaric’ from the perspective of the Rational Approach. Coming from a position already defined by a paradigmatic view of existence, opposing theories will immediately appear, by virtue of this position, wrong. This is very problematic when one wishes to actually try and understand such opposing views. Prior to beginning his interpretation of Post-truth, McIntyre has already decided this phenomenon is deplorable and made clear his intention to analyse it in order to combat it. Such prior perspective inevitably inhibits one’s efforts of interpretation as one has already identified the situation as negative, and will subsequently approach interpretation of it with a view to criticise and refute, thus immediately colouring one’s perception and preventing understanding of those who may be taken in by such Posttruth arguments. As Michael Cox observes, stereotyping positions associated with Post-truth, such as ‘Brexiteers’ or ‘Trump supporters’, through derogatory terms such as ‘morally deplorable’ or ‘stupid’ prevents us from properly appreciating their position, and thus understanding what is occur-

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ring in our present political climate (Cox 2017: 12). We might here indeed compare the attempt to understand Post-truth from such an external a priori framework to Collingwood’s efforts to interpret German nationalism in The New Leviathan (2005): just as Collingwood’s ability to interpret the causes of German nationalism and authoritarianism was impeded by the fact he observed it from his rational perspective, from which it was regarded as a phenomenon contrary to reason and subsequently ‘barbaric’, so such approaches to Post-truth will be impeded by the adoption of similar external paradigms of assessment, which will view the phenomenon as contrary and a challenge to the established moral and epistemic paradigms of society; hence, ‘deplorable’. This becomes rather problematic when we consider perspectives which do not find Post-truth completely contemptible, but actually find themselves in sympathy to it. Steve Fuller, for example, whilst stating opposition to the ‘politics’ of both Trump and Brexit, has acknowledged himself a ‘kindred-spirit’ of the ‘anti-expertise’ approach of the ‘Brexiteers’ (Fuller 2018). Fuller’s contention is the way in which established philosophical and political views attempt to create moral and epistemic distance from their opponents as a means to discredit and divert their criticism. He indeed takes the Oxford Dictionary definition of Post-truth as a key instance of such a technique: what is commonly held by experts to be ‘truth’, to maintain its authority, seeks to create an epistemic gap between its established understanding of ‘truth’ and whatever arguments its ‘Post-truth opponents’ may use to discredit it; the Oxford definition achieves this by stressing the latter’s arguments are based not on ‘facts’ but on ‘emotion’ and ‘belief’. In this way, criticism to established belief is discredited before debate begins (Fuller 2018). If approaches such as McIntyre’s resembled the Rational Approach, Fuller, in his argument that knowledge claims are a means of establishing hegemonic power structures, resembles the Critical Approach. His argument subsequently becomes incredibly normative, established ideas of truth ought to be resisted, and Post-truth is a new tool which can be utilised in this struggle. Fuller is thus as normative as McIntyre, just with the opposite argument. Indeed, their debate resembles a great deal the impasse between such theories as the Rational Approach and the Critical Approach: the former has an established understanding of what is ‘true’ and ‘correct’ and is disparaging and dismissive of those who question or disagree with this standard, whereas the latter believes such standards are a means of manipulation and oppression and call for critical challenge to such narratives; McIntyre would likely see Fuller as an aider and contributor to the ques-

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tioning of ‘truth’ which has enabled deplorable trends in modern politics, Fuller would likely see McIntyre as a defender of a hegemonic understanding of ‘truth’ who uses disparaging language to discredit those who do not share his values. What I however believe this ultimately shows is the divide in understanding which is created when one begins one’s study of political phenomena with preconceived assumptions and moral frameworks; when we already assume our articulation is ‘true’ or something is a form of ‘oppression’, we inhibit our ability to properly appreciate, and thus properly interpret, perspectives we may encounter with alternative views to our own. The spectre of Post-truth is a very insightful means of framing my approach’s limitations and potential critiques, especially regarding debate around the need for external frameworks of normative assessment. It is insightful in that it first highlights the implications and significance of such a debate for political discourse and the particular concern regarding such implications for contemporary politics. More than this however, it highlights both the problems created by the lack of an external framework of moral and epistemic assessment and the problems created by having an external framework of moral and epistemic assessment. The former is problematic as, without such an objective criterion of judgement, political discourse loses the potential of common ground resulting in debates receding to expressions of subjective perspectives and partisan ideological beliefs; the latter is also problematic as, coming from a position with an objective standard in place, will impede one’s ability to properly interpret a political situation as perspectives and behaviours which lie out with such paradigmatic thinking will be beyond its ability to faithfully comprehend. The benefits and weaknesses of adopting such external standards of assessment will thus need to be considered carefully when arguing whether the hermeneutic approach through the encounter requires an attached normative framework or not.

7.2

The Hermeneutical Approach Through the Encounter: A Post-truth Theory?

At the outset of this chapter, I outlined one particular limitation of the proposed approach through the encounter and one critique which would result from this. This limitation was that, lacking an external framework of normative assessment, the approach lacks the ability to evaluate the arguments, ideas, and narratives it may uncover through hermeneutic inquiry. The critique which is related to this is that, lacking this external objective

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standard, the subjective perspective of those within the situation becomes the standard by which arguments of Political Obligation will be assessed. This would in effect make the approach through the encounter a ‘Posttruth theory’ in that it places the criterion of political assessment, not on an objective standard of judgement, but on a subjective perception. I will in section three consider the limitation regarding means of normative assessment. In this section, I would however like to first respond to, and refute, the potential critique that the approach through the encounter is a Posttruth theory. This critique is based on the assumption that the approach places the subjective perception of citizens as the criterion by which State legitimacy, and thus any sense of obligation towards the State, rests. There is certain evidence, especially from the discussion in Chapter 5, which may suggest this. I in particular argued that any argument for Political Obligation articulated by the State would likely find success in how this argument was understood vis-à-vis an understanding of ‘world’. ‘World’ I understood to be an intersubjective appreciation of the situation of existence constructed by those within the situation. Now, such a perception was regarded to be intersubjective in that it was produced from the sharing of multiple views and perspectives across the community. In this sense, this intersubjective perspective takes on an independent existence from individual subjective views and transcends them. Nonetheless, such a perspective can never be ‘objective’; it always remains a limited perspective generated from within a particular situation. This ‘intersubjective’ perception of ‘world’ is thus inherently closer to subjectivity than objectivity and shares the limited vantage point inside the situation. Subsequently, if the citizen perception of ‘world’ is argued to be the criterion upon which arguments for Political Obligation are to be evaluated and assessed, it can be said I am asserting the central criterion of political assessment is to be, not an objective criterion, but a criterion grounded on subject perception. The similarity between such an argument and the principles of Post-truth will be clear. Such an argument would lead to some rather problematic normative implications, two of which are worth highlighting. Firstly, such an argument would logically imply that States should seek to base their claims to legitimacy in accordance with their citizens’ views and opinions, regardless if such views are factually incorrect or morally repugnant. Thus, a State which justified itself as an object of citizen obligation because it ‘defended the purity of the race’ and ‘kept out foreigners’ because its citizens were particularly racist and xenophobic (and thus likely to support such views)

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would be regarded as completely morally legitimate as it corresponds with the intersubjective beliefs of its citizens. Trump’s appeals to win support for his administration and its policies by appealing to xenophobic prejudices about Mexicans would equally be justified by such an account as (assuming for argument’s sake such views were indeed shared by a large proportion of the American electorate) his argument for Political Obligation would correspond to this intersubjective perspective of the political community. The issue is equally troubling when we consider it in relation to factual truth. We might for instance hypothetically imagine a considerable portion of the political community believe the world is flat. It would be argued that the State should not hold the position that the world was round as this may cause offence. On the contrary, if the State was to win the obligation of its subjects, it ought to embrace this falsehood. This could lead to the absurd situation where State schools are instructed to teach students that the world was flat out of fear that, if they did not, such encounters would cause offence and weaken the sense of obligation amongst the polity. Such a suggestion may be absurd, but it illustrates the potential problem: if subjective citizen perspectives are taken as the criterion of obligation towards the State, the State may be forced into all kinds of absurd and immoral situations and arguments in order to pander to ridiculous prejudices citizens might hold. Secondly, such an argument implies that the State is justified in conveying whatever message it pleases so long as the narrative successfully cultivated a sense of obligation. It would in effect give the State the mandate to lie, as long as such lies won it the obligation of its citizens. This would return us to the position advocated by Machiavelli in The Prince: leaders do not need to be religious or moral, it is only necessary that they ‘appear so’ (Machiavelli 2009: 70–71). Machiavelli’s wisdom is that, as people judge more by appearances than reality, it is only important that the rulers of a State ‘appear’ to support or possess certain qualities or values. In effect therefore, it is justified for the State to lie or mislead citizens, so long as it maintains a sense of legitimacy and cultivates a sense obligation. Nowhere is such a policy better illustrated than in his example of Numa Pompillius who, realising that the Romans were unlikely to obey the laws if they believed them to be written by a human, instead created the impression they were bestowed upon the people by a God. It did not matter to Numa, nor by extension for Machiavelli, that this was a lie, what is important is that the people believed it and were subsequently obedient to Roman authority (Machiavelli 2008: 50–51). Some may of course have sympathy

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and understanding for Numa’s position, as it may be questionable how else but through superstition would he be able to make what was essentially a primitive robber band settle down into a law-abiding political community. However, to see such a ploy as legitimate today would be considered a dangerous precedent: it gives leaders a mandate to lie to subjects, to exploit their superstitions and suspicions, so long as this is successful in cultivating a sense of obligation towards the State. This directly relates to the concerns that Simmons (1996) raised about the moral implications of a hermeneutic approach to Political Obligation. To revisit his example of a concentration camp guard in Nazi Germany, the State would be justified in brainwashing the guard into obediently carrying out its commands so long as it assured a sense of obligation towards the Nazi State. It would be equally regarded as legitimate for the guard to carry out these orders out of a sense of the obligation he felt to the Nazi State as such obligation is grounded on what he perceives to be true. The positioning of intersubjective citizen perspective as the criterion of assessment for Political Obligation could subsequently give mandate for States to ground their legitimacy in morally repugnant premise and order their citizens to execute horrific actions on the basis that the underlying justifications were perceived as true and just. The undesirable and troublesome consequences of an argument that intersubjective perception ought to replace objective moral and epistemic frameworks as the criterion upon which Political Obligation ought to rest are evident. Given such dangers, it is likely that such an argument would be quickly rejected. Does this undermine my approach through the encounter? I do not believe so. This is because, whilst I have rallied against external paradigmatic frameworks of Political Obligation, I am not trying to put forward a normative argument that a subjective perception—indeed not even that an intersubjective perception—ought to become the criterion of assessment for Political Obligation; there is a difference between the potential consequences of one’s approach resulting in subjectivity becoming the criterion of assessment, and actively arguing that subjective perception ought to become the criterion of assessment. It is on this ground that I will defend against this ‘Post-truth critique’. I have suggested that citizens are more likely to accept arguments of Political Obligation if they correspond to intersubjective ideas of ‘world’. States are thus likely to appeal to such ideas of ‘world’. We can subsequently interpret arguments of obligation uncovered against this intersubjective ‘world’ in order to increase our understanding of them. Arguing that one can better understand arguments of Political Obligation against the ‘world’ they are embedded in does not

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equate to saying that correspondence to this intersubjective perception of ‘world’ legitimises them. The criticism of being a theory of Post-truth, as I have articulated it, is predicated on the assumption I am arguing that a subjectively grounded criterion of assessment ought to replace objective standards as the normative frameworks by which we judge arguments for Political Obligation. Let me be clear, this is not what I am arguing. To suggest so is to mistake my philosophical interpretation for normative argument; an interpretative is for normative ought. This becomes even clearer when we consider the intention behind my approach vis-à-vis the paradigmatic approaches I critiqued in Chapters 1–3. Each one of these approaches discussed, the ‘Rational’, Context-based’ and ‘Critical’, has its own particular paradigm upon which it argues theories of Political Obligation should be understood and assessed against. To understand my approach normatively, it would suggest that I am creating a new ‘fourth paradigm’ which I believed to be superior to others: the ‘world’ would become the intersubjective lens through which Political Obligation must be interpreted and assessed. If this was true, then again, my approach could be understood as a ‘Post-truth theory’ of Political Obligation. This is however not the case. I do not, and never have professed to be, in the business of creating a ‘fourth lens’. My intention was always to design a means to understand how arguments concerning Political obligation are produced and experienced within the situation of Political Obligation. The approach through the encounter is a fundamentally different kind of approach to the three paradigmatic lenses. Rather than a ‘lens’, the approach is more like a sharp instrument which can be used to excavate narratives of obligations from concrete political situations. It does this by identifying and interpreting encounters and hermeneutically uncovering and elucidating the narratives of obligation which are revealed from these. It is subsequently strictly a method of interpretation, not a means to create a paradigmatic lens which I propose is superior to other lenses. Indeed, its different nature to the other approaches, as excavatory tool as opposed to interpretative lens, is demonstrated by my repeated insistence that this tool can be used alongside the other approaches to Political Obligation as a means to aid their ability to interpret and understand. As an excavatory tool and not a lens, the approach therefore does not suggest that subjectivity ought to become the criteria upon which Political Obligation be understood and judged. Criticism of the approach in regard to it being a ‘Post-truth Theory’, which establishes subjective prejudice and emotion as the criterion of Political Obligations and State legitimacy, is a misreading of the nature and

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intentions of its design; any attempt to use the hermeneutic encounter to justify Post-truth discourse would be a misuse and against the intentions for which the approach was created. In short, I do not advocate a new paradigmatic ‘lens’ approach to Political Obligation. I certainly do not suggest either a subjective nor intersubjective perception should become the legitimising criteria for State arguments of obligation. On the contrary, I have argued that the predominate paradigmatic approaches to Political Obligation frequently overlook, discard, or devalue arguments, narratives, and ideas of Political Obligation as they are communicated inside political communities and are experienced and perceived existentially by the citizens that constitute such communities. The approach through the encounter is not a rival paradigmatic approach or theory of Political Obligation, but rather a hermeneutical tool designed to increase our understanding of these particular situations.

7.3

The ‘Encounter’ and Possible Future Normative Assessment

The above defence against the Post-truth critique rested upon my assertion that I do not advance normative argument that subjective or intersubjective perception ought to become the criterion by which we assess the legitimacy of Political Obligation. This however does not mean that, just because I do not provide this normative argument myself, I have not opened the possibility for this argument to be made; in rejecting external objective frameworks of normative analysis it could be suggested that this is the only logical conclusion. A clear limitation to my approach would thus be, left as purely an interpretative means of inquiry with no normative means of assessment, citizen perception will likely fill the normative void, whether I want to endorse this consequence or not. In order to overcome this limitation, I must therefore either accept the need for an external moral and epistemic framework or find an alternative means of normative assessment. This subsequently brings us to the question of whether an external objective framework of normative assessment must accompany the encounter in order to provide means of evaluating the ideas, arguments, and narratives pertaining to the Political Obligation that are uncovered in hermeneutic inquiry. Such a framework would be set above the situation under study, forming an external criterion to assess what is uncovered within it, and ultimately act as filter separating acceptable and unproblematic articulations of obligation from the morally troublesome or factually false. This question

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of external criteria of assessment, their strengths and weaknesses, has maintained a presence throughout this book. The arguments for and against the erection of such an external framework will thus be familiar to the reader and I will only recount them briefly here. It is argued that an objective moral framework needs to be established as to provide objective criterion upon which we can assess articulations of Political Obligation and thus prevent factually false and dangerous ideas and narratives from being given an air of legitimacy and presented as equal to morally sound and factually correct arguments. Without such a criterion, articulations of Political Obligation will become little more than subjective expressions, reflections of partisan ideological belief and prejudice, each of which is regarded as having equal valid worth; a liberal argument based on equal individual rights becomes a subjective opinion with the same moral weight as Fascism; a Post-truth narrative constructed around falsehoods is as valid as a carefully researched and factually correct argument. On the contrary, however, it is argued that the establishment of an external moral criterion prevents proper interpretation of the experiences and perceptions within a particular situation. Beginning from a priori position of what is correct and moral, and subsequently what is not, such an approach immediately prevents one from appreciating the arguments and perspectives one’s inquiry might uncover as one has already judged what is an acceptable articulation of Political Obligation and what is not. When one inevitably uncovers a perspective that does not fit with one’s paradigmatic framework, one has already, by the virtue of assuming such a priori standard of judgement, deemed this perspective wrong and cannot interpret it in good faith. The tendency then becomes to explain it away; it is ‘irrational’, ‘barbaric’, ‘savage’, ‘false consciousness’, or ‘deplorable’. One thus seems to be faced with a decision whether to sacrifice interpretative clarity for moral assessment, or moral assessment for interpretative clarity. In deciding whether to adopt an external normative framework, one must consider how one articulated Political Obligation and what one’s intentions are in regard to this issue. If one regards Political Obligation as a ‘problem’, a ‘question to be answered’, if one believes one’s philosophical task is to give convincing argument as to why one should (or should not) feel obliged to the State, then an external normative framework to justify one’s argument, and make it convincing, is arguably essential. However, I did not articulate Political Obligation as a ‘problem to be solved’ but a ‘situation to be investigated and understood’. The task of the encounter was thus, not to generate an argument for Political Obligation, but to uncover

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how Political Obligation was articulated and argued within this situation. The primary intention of this work was to understand and interpret the situation of Political Obligation. Given that interpretation is the primary intention of this approach, it is not acceptable to sacrifice interpretative clarity for normative assessment. To stay true to the intentions and spirit behind the approach through the encounter interpretative clarity must be prioritised, and thus the call for an external normative framework rejected. The situation must be understood and interpreted first; normative assessment must come after and not at the expense of thorough interpretation. Does this mean that the approach through the encounter is left with an undesirable limitation in regard to normative assessment? Does this prioritisation of clear interpretation leave the encounter with an Achille’s Heel concerning normative evaluation? I believe not. I would maintain normative evaluation need not be dependent on the erection of an external framework of values above the worldly situation under investigation. Rather, I suggest normative evaluation can take place through a consideration of the internal logic the situation of Political Obligation implies. This internal logic of the situation can provide us with rules which allow us to assess the articulations of obligation excavated through the encounter without appeal to external criteria. In what remains of this chapter, I therefore want to contemplate how consideration of the logic of the situation of Political Obligation may allow for normative assessment and give a brief suggestive sketch of potential rules which may result from this. The ability to derive normative assessment from the situation of Political Obligation assumes there is logic in the internal workings of the situation that, if an argument is in breach of, it becomes illegitimate. Therefore, in order to consider such an approach, it is necessary to revisit what I understand the situation of Political Obligation to be. I understand this situation to be the predicament in which the citizen finds herself in relation to a political authority, likely a State, which expects her to obey its laws and feel a sense of obligation towards it. Therefore, the ‘being’ of Political Obligation is not free: the citizen is thrown into a situation regarding a particular State which is not of her choosing. However, although ‘being’ is not free, the ‘becoming’ of this situation is: the rule and legitimacy of the State is not an irreversible fact like gravity, but rather can be endorsed or rejected by the citizen. The future of this relationship is thus partially down to the choices the citizen makes in reaction to the State’s claims. The relationship is thus open to change and flux as citizen and State continually encounter each other and the citizen reflects and makes choices based on these encounters.

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As the State’s legitimacy and position as an object of citizen obligation are dependent on citizen perspective and choices, it subsequently must provide argument and explanation for why its citizens should remain in a relational situation of obligation with it. The State remains perpetually on trial in the minds of its subjects; they constantly reflect upon and judge the commonwealth asking themselves ‘should I obey?’ (Slomp 2009: 42). This leads us to a situation not unlike the maxim of Knowles: the State proposes, and the citizen disposes. Only this is understood not as a dyadic conversation, but a continual process of encounters and choices as the citizen and State journey through the ‘world’ together. In addition, I have interpreted this persuasion not as a dyadic engagement but a triadic engagement; I have understood the State to present its argument vis-à-vis a sense of ‘world’. The citizen’s perspective of State and whether she will feel obliged to it or not thus depends on the State’s positioning itself vis-à-vis this ‘world’ they are both embedded in. Finally, I would highlight that I have understood the situation of Political Obligation to be the one in which the citizen feels, or is of a disposition in which she feels, obligation to the State is due. Thus, she obeys the State not out of fear or ulterior motive, but because she is positively disposed towards it and feels it is right. From this characterisation of the situation of Political Obligation, I would suggest three preliminary rules. The first is that arguments pertaining to Political Obligation must attempt to convince citizens through argument, not by threats and physical force. Secondly, arguments pertaining to Political Obligation must be honest attempts to convince citizens of their obligations and must therefore not rely on deception and lies. Thirdly, arguments pertaining to Political Obligation must be ‘world enhancing’ and not ‘world destroying’. Firstly, the rule that Political Obligation must be based on persuasion not force. If a State deploys a narrative of Political Obligation to its citizens, it can be assumed that it is trying to convince its citizens that they ought to view it as a legitimate authority and feel obliged to it. When a State has to use force to compel citizens to recognise its legitimacy, it has already failed to convince them of their obligation towards it: it has failed to successfully put across a convincing argument for Political Obligation. A reliance purely on force marks the point at which the State has failed to convince subjects of its legitimacy and of their obligations towards it. Such a policy can be seen as outside the intrinsic logic of the situation of Political Obligation. Thus, a State which maintains order purely through threat of force is not one that citizens should feel obliged to obey as it provides

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no persuasive argument as to its legitimacy. One might propose that the means by which the State seeks to ensure obedience to its laws could be the threat of violence, and this could be considered an attempt at ‘persuasion’. In response, such threats cannot be considered an argument as to why one should feel obliged to the State nor can be considered an ethos which can underpin a community. Rather again, the reliance on compulsion by force implies a failure to provide a convincing argument for obligation. This is furthered by the conceptualising of Political Obligation as moral obligation: a relationship motivated by a sentiment that obligations are due, not out of fear of punishment if they are not carried out. A pure threat of force would rely entirely on the latter and would be incapable of motivating the moral obligationary sentiment. Secondly, the rule that arguments of Political Obligation must not be based on deception and lies. It should again be noted that the very idea of an argument pertaining to Political Obligation which is based on lies and deception already implies a failure on the part of the State: it would imply that the State is unable to properly convince its citizens as to their obligations towards it, and thus has to resort instead into deceiving them into a condition of obedience. In this case, we may understand the State to lack the ability to effectively put forward an argument for why citizens should have an obligation towards it, and thus instead is forced into tricking its citizens into a sense of obligation. In this way, just as with the reliance on force, I would argue a reliance on deception marks the failure of the State to construct an argument for its legitimacy and obligation and thus falls outside the intrinsic logic of Political Obligation. Such a criterion, drawn from the internal logic of the situation, would allow one to approach and uncovered narratives of Political Obligation with a critical eye yet still be open to allow it to ‘tell us something’: we are here not being directly critical of the argument uncovered itself, but critical in the respect that we do not just accept its argument as given, but assess them against its authenticity. The example from Chapter 4 of narratives of obligation aimed at women in Soviet Russia provides a good illustration of this. In the example, we saw how arguments that women should feel obliged to the Marxist State as it would enhance and improve their lives was a message aimed at female citizens in order to win their allegiance. However, as we observed, certain forms of this argument that could be encountered were produced in 1931, when it was questionable if the Soviet State really intended on delivering these promises to its female citizens. In this case, we can judge the message of obligation against its

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authenticity and dismiss it as an invalid argument if the State does not genuinely intend to deliver such promises. The rejection of the argument of Political Obligation is crucially done, not through an appeal to external moral framework, but through the logic of the situation itself: it is regarded that an argument designed to deceive citizens into obligation cannot be a genuine argument as it is based on a false premise and implies the State has failed to articulate a genuine argument of obligation and thus has been forced to resort to deception. Subsequently, this narrative that the State will enhance the lives of female citizens despite having no intention to fulfil such promises is an illegitimate argument for Political Obligation as it seeks to deceive rather than provide genuine argument. The same can also be applied to arguments concerning Post-truth as it would assume the appeal to emotion and disregard for truth implies the inability to produce a genuine argument for Political Obligation, and thus a failure to give legitimate reason for obedience. In this way, the criteria of authenticity and truthfulness, and not deception, would guard against Post-truth narratives in particular being presented as legitimate. These two rules may be regarded as making headway in establishing criterion for the situation of Political Obligation. Nonetheless, it could be argued that such rules still do not go far enough to address some of the serious problems of a hermeneutic approach to Political Obligation could create. Let us revisit the example of the Nazi concentration camp guard provided by Simmons (1996). Such rules would state that the guard cannot be legitimately considered to be obliged to follow orders if he only does so out of fear of violent repercussion if he refuses. It also rules out this obligation as legitimate if he has, as Simmons’ suggests, been ‘brainwashed’ as this would fall foul of the deception rule. However, what if he has neither been forced nor brainwashed? What if he genuinely feels obliged to follow the commands of the Nazi State because he agrees with their antiSemitic and racists agenda? It could be argued that the interpretation of situation of Political Obligation so far does not exclude an argument of obligation which convinces citizens that they ought to feel obliged to the State for what we may consider morally repugnant reasons such as racism, sexism, or xenophobia. It would be here argued that an external criterion, such as political liberalism say, must be deployed in order to prevent such articulations of obligation being deemed as legitimate. Indeed, one might argue that even Kierkegaard’s Christian teleological framework would be better here than no external framework for at least it would provide a moral

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criterion by which we could condemn and exclude morally repugnant and dangerous articulations of politics from serious legitimate considerations. In order to avoid such appeal to external criterion, it is here I would bring in consideration of the ‘world’. To recall, the ‘world’ is an intersubjective milieu which exists between citizens, and between citizens and State, and is what the State will appeal to when making claims of legitimacy and obligation. It is this ‘world’ that sustains the citizen and State relationship and indeed what the very existence of their relationship depends on. It is also this ‘world’ which facilitates the citizen’s ability to make choices about their lives, it provides possibilities which they may in future wish to realise. Thus, I may argue, an argument of obligation which threatens to destroy the ‘world’ cannot be considered a legitimate argument for obligation. A State which seeks to win obligation by offering a destructive nihilism cannot be considered legitimate. I take for example Hitler’s ‘Nero Order’, which demanded the complete destruction of Germany rather than see it defeated, cannot be considered a legitimate command which citizens ought to obey. More controversially, I would suggest, as the ‘world’ is what provides citizens with ‘life choices’, an intrinsic value of it is to provide a multiplicity of life possibilities for those who inhabit it. Thus, a legitimate argument for obligation is one that offers to protect, nourish, or enhance these possibilities. An illegitimate argument for obligation would be one that promises in some way to diminish this ‘world’ by reducing the multiplicity of possibilities within it. I have argued that this criterion based on ‘world’ would delegitimise obligation to Hitler’s ‘Nero order’, but what about the troublesome example of the concentration camp guard? Imagining our guard has neither been forced nor brainwashed into his obligations to the Nazi State, it cannot however be denied that the Nazi agenda is ‘world diminishing’. In its totalitarian control and intolerance for difference, the Nazi State is closing down potential possibilities for its citizens, whilst closing off all possibilities for citizens of minority groups such as the Jewish population. In grounding the State legitimacy against a notion of ‘war to the death’ with States like the Soviet Union, the Nazi State is further unnecessarily risking the survival of the ‘world’. Of course, leaders like Hitler may say that this war is necessary, however we could, I believe, safely reject such a claim as a falsehood, an attempt at deception. Equally, I believe we could argue that claims Nazi policy was enhancing the ‘world’ to be a deception, or at least contrary to the logic of ‘world’ thus interpreted, as it is not opening up and enhancing but closing opportunities and possibilities for its citizens. Thus, I

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believe morally repugnant political claims and arguments can be excluded from legitimate notions of Political Obligation by the ‘world enhancing not world destroying’ criterion. As such a criterion is drawn from interpretation of the situation of Political Obligation itself, I further believe this demonstrates the ability of normative assessment without reliance on external paradigms. There will of course be problems with this idea. One might point out, whilst the example of Nazism is a troublesome example, it is also an easy target which masks how ambiguous my third criterion is. What are, for example, the exact perimeters which demark ‘world enhancing’ from ‘world destroying’? Let us consider the example of Britain’s decision to leave the European Union. Leaving behind the common argument that people have been manipulated into supporting this decision on falsehoods (which would be in clear breach of criterion two), it could be argued that, even if people willingly and in full knowledge of its consequences voted for Britain’s withdrawal, such political action would fall foul of my interpretation on account it will very likely ‘diminish’ the ‘world’ of British citizens. Therefore, is a British State which will willingly take the country out of the European Union knowing the damage it will do to their ‘world’ one that falls foul of my interpretation of Political Obligation? Subsequently, is a British State which carries out such action one that UK citizens should no longer feel politically obliged to? What precedent would this set? Does any decision that a State makes which results in negative consequences for their country suddenly cease to be a legitimate object of citizen obligations? This rule could be dangerously ambiguous in its particular application, and as a consequence move this interpretation from seeing all types of political regimes as legitimate to practically none. There is also a danger here that I am moving into the territory of inserting a normative argument for a certain type of State. In regarding an inherent quality of ‘world’ to be choice and multiplicity, it could be argued I am providing a subtle argument for political liberalism. I could thus be accused of resisting an external liberal moral framework only to subtly insert it at the heart of my interpretation. These criteria I suggest clearly have difficulties and ambiguities and, especially the third criterion concerning the ‘world’, would need a lot of working out if it was to be accepted. I would however remind the reader that the purpose of this book was never to provide norms for assessing Political Obligation but of an approach to interpreting its functioning in concrete political communities. This was achieved in Chapter 6, and the subsequent discussion here was in order to the think about how that which

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was uncovered in hermeneutic interpretation could then possibly be normatively assessed. In particular, to avoid the requirement of an external moral and epistemic framework, I wished to consider how normative rules could be drawn from the interpretation of the situation which I believe I have now done. I believe the three rules I have considered above could be used to normatively assess arguments, ideas, and narratives of obligation uncovered from hermeneutic investigation, but they would admittedly need a lot more conceptual development. This is however not the place for such conceptual development. I have outlined the hermeneutic approach to Political Obligation through the encounter, and I have suggested how normative criteria can be drawn from such interpretation, and this brings me to the very limits of what I hope to achieve in this book. There is only so much detail one can add to such frameworks prior to an actual interpretation of particular relationships between citizens and State as exist in political communities, and more rigorous assessment can only take place through inquiry into the arguments, ideas, and narratives as are actually excavated from a study of encounters within a particular political community. This threshold between abstract theorising about Political Obligation and more empirical inquiry into the nature of Political Obligation as exists within particular societies is thus naturally where philosophical books on the subject typically end, and I to am now reaching my final words. However, I would rather not consider these my final words on the subject, but rather the first words in a new approach to studying Political Obligation. Unlike other discourses on the subject, this book was not designed to give ‘answer’ to the ‘problem’ of Political Obligation but rather to outline a new approach to studying its functioning in particular political communities. The end of this book thus marks the debarking point for future study of Political Obligation. In the conclusion, I would thus like to outline areas in which this approach through the encounter could be fruitfully utilised in the future.

Notes 1. Such a limitation, it should be acknowledged, is indeed one faced by most scholars who seek to establish a hermeneutic interpretative means, as opposed to a more scientifically positivistic or normative approach, of investigating political and social phenomena. As Baron notes whilst laying the ground for his own Hermeneutic Phenomenology of the ‘Post-truth Era’, hermeneutics is frequently dismissed as a source of knowledge as, by virtue of being

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grounded on interpretation, is considered inherently relativistic and lacking in foundational moral principles which can be used to provide normative analysis (Baron 2018: 67). 2. Such a view is not isolated to McIntyre and is shared by other commentators and analysts. Matthew d’Ancona, for instance, describes the election of Trump as the ‘ultimate Post-modern moment’ (d’Ancona 2017: 97).

References Ball, J. (2017). Post-truth: How Bullshit Conquered the World. London: Biteback Publishing Ltd. Baron, I. (2018). How to Save Politics in a Post-truth Era. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Collingwood, R. G. (2005). The New Leviathan or Man, Society, Civilisation and Barbarism (D. Boucher, Ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Cox, M. (2017). The Rise of Populism and the Crisis of Globalisation: Brexit, Trump and Beyond. Irish Studies in International Affairs, 28, 9–17. d’Ancona, M. (2017). Post-truth: The New War on Truth and How to Fight Back. London: Ebury Press. Davies, E. (2017). Post-truth: Why We Have Reached Peak Bullshit and What We Can Do About It. London: Little, Brown. Frankfurt, H. (2005). On Bullshit. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Fuller, S. (2018). Post-truth: Knowledge as a Power Game. London: Anthem Press. Machiavelli, N. (2008). Discourses on Livy (J. Bondanella & P. Bondanella, Eds.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Machiavelli, N. (2009). The Prince (T. Parks, Ed.). London: Penguin Classics. McIntyre, L. (2018). Post-truth. Cambridge: MIT Press. Midley, N. (2016). Oxford Dictionaries Word of the Year 2016: Post-truth. English Oxford Living Dictionaries. Available at: https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/ word-of-the-year/word-of-the-year-2016. Last Accessed on 23 October 2018. Simmons, A. J. (1996). Associative Political Obligations. Ethics, 106(2), 247–273. Slomp, G. (2009). Carl Schmitt and the Politics of Hostility, Violence, and Terror. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.

CHAPTER 8

Conclusion

‘Wherefore hast thou brought me forth?’ Experiencing the torturous ambiguity of his situation, Job sat broken amongst the sand and ashes. The reader of his story does not however share in his existential angst. Before the reader was ever introduced to Job, the reason behind his world’s collapsing was already revealed; God had made a bet with Satan, wagering the pious Job would remain faithful to him despite what miseries came his way. Job would never know this. God, assuming Job’s faith, never considered how Job would encounter these plights beyond the assumption he would remain faithful. Friends tried to give explanation for why Job suffered, none of which he accepted. Eventually, God appeared before Job through the force of a whirlwind. He did not however calmly explain the situation, rather he boasted of his power and rebuked Job for daring to question his choices. God never considers Job’s perspective; Job is never given a satisfactory explanation for his suffering. The ‘Book of Job’ presents a classic situation of existential suffering; however, it does not provide reconciliation between the removed objective perspective of the omniscient observer and the existential experience of the individual within the worldly situation. I have begun and ended with the story of Job because I believe it captures the existential angst of finding oneself subject to a situation not of one’s choosing; it captures the gnawing anxiety of being cast into a strange world in which we come to understand ourselves and our purpose, all the time dealing with the competing demands entities in this world constantly

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place upon us. It also, I believe, evokes much of what I have discussed in regard to the situation of Political Obligation. Like Job’s predicament with God, the citizen finds herself in a relationship with an incredibly powerful entity which will demand her obedience to its commands and expect her to feel a sense of obligation towards it. Many theorists have attempted to explain why the citizen should accept (or reject) this situation. Such arguments frequently however view the issue from the outside, from the vantage point of a removed observer, the same privileged position of God, and by extension, the removed reader. They subsequently seek to find justification for (or denunciation of) this situation: an answer to one who may be crying out for explanation as to why she is in this relation of obligation that she did not choose. As a result, such approaches look to find or create a paradigm by which to analyse the citizen’s situation. Rarely do they consider the experiences or perceptions of the citizen actually inside the situation. Indeed, such perception is seen as second order to the explanatory framework, and if experience and perception contradict, they are dismissed as a mistake; a ‘false perception’ resulting from the citizen’s limited perspective from ‘inside’. This book’s main objective was to create a concept which could correct this oversight, an approach which could recapture the existential presentation of arguments, narratives, and ideas of Political Obligation as they are produced and perceived within the situation. It was with this purpose it investigated the concept of encounter. Detailed outline of this concept, and how it might be used to investigate situations of Political Obligation, is given in at the end of Chapter 6. I will not tire the reader by repeating that discussion here, nor by giving a concise summary of the chapters of this book. Rather, I will here seek to give the essence of this book in a nutshell, before delivering on the promise of indicating future fruitful areas of further research. This book was concerned with Political Obligation. Political Obligation I understand to encapsulate the relations of a political community, in particular the relationship between citizen and State. Most approaches to this subject have viewed Political Obligation as a ‘problem’ which they subsequently seek the best ‘answer’ to. Such approaches are thus predominantly normative attempts to justify (or refute) why the citizen has an obligation to the State. Rather than see Political Obligation as a problem, I have framed it as a situation; I have argued that, finding oneself thrown into a world in which a political authority will make demands and will expect one’s loyalty, is a predicament nearly all human beings will find themselves in. Being

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therefore, I have argued, a central component of the human condition, I have sought to try and better understand this situation. My approach has thus, rather than taking a strictly normative persepctive, instead been primarily interpretative and hermeneutic: it seeks to understand Political Obligation rather than justify or refute it. In particular, the approach has sought means to uncover and interpret how justifications of State legitimacy and citizen obligation are produced by States within particular political communities and how such messages may be experienced and understood by citizens inside and subject to this situation. Key to this has been the concept of the encounter which seeks to identify the moment the citizen comes ‘face to face’ with the existential manifestation of the State and tries to identify the message of Political Obligation which is communicated in such moments. I have understood this encounter as a pivotal moment in both one’s hermeneutic process of self-understanding and of her relationships with other entities she shares the world with. Such encounters are thus the foundational experiences which the relationship between citizen and State are built on, and the sense of Political Obligation which is established in such moments will become the foundational ethos of the political community. In identifying and studying such moments, and in uncovering the sense of obligation which is produced and received existentially in encounters across the political community, one will thus be able to uncover and interpret a sense of Political Obligation, not in the abstract, but as it is produced and contested within particular political communities. Most ‘answers’ to the ‘question’ of Political Obligation tend to end once theoretical problematising meets empirical reality; having given a broadly abstract justification (or refutation) of Political Obligation, philosophers frequently leave it to citizens themselves to judge the claims of the particular States whose territories they inhabit. As Knowles concludes his work on the subject: despite the ‘pretences’ of many philosophical colleagues, authority over factual matters such as history and current affairs—and thus of who owes what to what authority—is not given to philosophers (Knowles 2010: 190). This may be true of ‘answers’ to Political Obligation, which may draw broad justifications which would be up to citizens themselves to apply to their own situation. However, it is not true for an approach which seeks to understand the ‘situation’ of Political Obligation. In this case, the drawing of a theoretical approach to understanding Political Obligation is not the end, but rather only the beginning. Having designed an approach for uncovering and interpreting the arguments, ideas, and narratives of Political Obligation as they are produced in particular situations, the next

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logical step is to continue and apply this approach to the study of particular situations. The approach through the encounter thus must not halt on the border between philosophy and political reality, but rather must cross the empirical frontier in order to properly begin its mission of uncovering notions of Political Obligation in particular political communities. I will conclude this book therefore by suggesting some areas in which such research, I believe, would be particularly fruitful. I would in particular like to highlight two areas for research which have surfaced from discussion in this book. Firstly, it became evident in the last chapter the problems of what has been termed Post-truth creates for our political communities. I would thus suggest an important area for future research is to uncover and interpret how Political Obligation functions in liberal societies in our current climate of Post-truth. I believe it would be particularly fruitful to consider how liberal discourse on Political Obligation functions in relation to this Post-truth predicament. Liberalism, committed to values of individual autonomy and subsequently transparent and rational political understanding, would seem to be the obvious opponent and foil to Post-truth narratives built on emotion and deception. However, we have often seen that a rationalist approach can have difficulty in engaging with viewpoints which do not share its perspective, casting them instead in the role of the ‘irrational’, even ‘barbaric’. Indeed, we have already witnessed this in the academic response to Post-truth, with critics of the phenomenon casting it as ‘deplorable’, and thus instantly creating an epistemic and moral divide. Equally, we have witnessed this on a political level. Hilary Clinton’s dismissal of Trump supporters as an irredeemable ‘basket of deplorables’ the most infamous example of liberal thinking’s creation of a seemingly unbridgeable epistemic and moral divide. How liberal articulations of Political Obligation are produced and received in the Post-truth era thus seems a pressing question for investigation. How such ideas are communicated to citizens and what effect this has on those encountering them is a pressing concern. It would also invite discussion of how, if certain political discourse is widening societal divides and entrenching partisan groups in polarised positions, this might be addressed. The encounter, in its investigation of the production and contestation of ideas of Political Obligation within particular societies, would provide invaluable insight into such issues. The second area I would recommend is in relation to the Critical Approach, and in particular to Marxism. In much of the academic literature, Marxism has been viewed as a critique of Political Obligation: a philosophy that challenges the legitimacy of States and seeks to reveal their underlying

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oppressive nature. However, as we have discussed, in many States which have undergone Marxist Revolution, Marxist-inspired philosophical argument has actually come to be used as a means to justify State legitimacy. This functioning of Marxism is a phenomenon which has been much overlooked by the philosophical discourse surrounding Political Obligation and is thus something which is in serious need of proper consideration. In particular, the functioning of Marxist discourse to underpin Political Obligation in contemporary China I believe to be a fruitful area of future research. This is not just because of the increasing importance of China on the world stage, nor just because of the increasing dominance of Marxist rhetoric under the leadership of President Xi, but also because of the fact that much discussion of Political Obligation has been of evident western focus, with much less attention paid to its functioning in global areas such as East Asia. I thus believe an investigation into how Marxist ideas are used to produce arguments for Political Obligation, with a special focus on East Asian polities such as China, is a pressing gap in our understanding of Political Obligation which the approach through the encounter could address. With these final suggestions, I now end my investigation of the encounter as a conceptual tool for studying Political Obligation and hopefully launch the beginning of the deployment of this tool to increase our knowledge of this situation in actual concrete political communities.

Reference Knowles, D. (2010). Political Obligation: A Critical Introduction. Abingdon: Routledge.

Index

A alcohol, 12, 34, 38, 39, 41, 42, 129 anarchism, 5, 88, 100 Arendt, Hannah, 140, 155, 156 Aristotle, 138, 150–155, 160 Associative Theory, 65, 68, 69, 101

B Bacon, Francis, 25 barbarism, 43, 44, 103 Beauvoir, Simone de, 94, 96, 97, 113, 114 Bell, Daniel, 73, 74, 76, 78, 79, 81 Bentham, Jeremy, 30, 32 Bosanquet, Bernard, 31, 43 Boudicca, 99 Britain, 11, 30, 50, 200 Buchanan, George, 25, 26 Bullshit, 184, 185 Burke, Edmund, 59, 63

C China, 17, 72–79, 84, 207 Christianity, 89, 119, 120 Cicero, Marcus Tullius, 25, 83, 110, 151–156, 160 Collingwood, R.G., 31–33, 43–45, 103, 187 ‘common good’, 35–38, 41, 59 Communist Party of China (CPC), 80–82, 170, 172 communitarianism, 58, 60–63, 65, 72, 73, 78, 83 Confucianism, 72, 74–84, 171, 172 conservatism, 58, 60, 61, 63 Context-based Approach, 58, 63, 64, 68, 70–73, 78, 80, 81, 83, 87–89, 105, 125, 126, 142, 143 Criminal Justice and Licensing Act (Scotland) 2010, 47, 172 Critical Approach, 18, 87, 88, 94, 97, 100, 102–105, 108, 109, 176, 187, 206

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 R. J. Brown, Political Encounters, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-17340-1

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210

INDEX

D Deontology, 33 determinism, 133 duty, 3, 6, 25–28, 32, 33, 62, 74, 148, 149, 154 E education, 12, 26, 37–41, 45, 93, 95, 102, 129, 153, 154, 157, 164, 168 Egoumenides, Magda, 20, 23, 57, 67, 100, 102 encounter, 3, 8, 10, 12, 13, 15–19, 46–48, 50, 51, 68, 70–72, 79, 80, 83, 100, 102, 105–109, 114, 115, 117–130, 136–144, 147, 148, 150–154, 156, 157, 159, 160, 163, 165, 166, 168–170, 172, 174–177, 181, 182, 184, 185, 188–197, 201, 203–207 Engels, Friedrich, 89–93, 104, 106, 110 enmity, 160, 161, 163, 164, 178 epistemology, 115, 116, 120, 122 Etzioni, Amitai, 60 European Union (EU), 11, 20, 178, 182, 200 existential, 1, 6, 7, 51, 52, 69–71, 100, 114, 115, 122, 126, 129, 141, 143, 147, 162–164, 169, 178, 203–205 Existentialism, 113, 134, 143 external observer, 70, 142 F false consciousness, 51, 67, 100–104, 185, 194 family, 4, 31, 32, 38, 49, 50, 52, 53, 62, 64, 75, 76, 80, 90, 97, 106, 107, 150, 166–168 Fanon, Franz, 94

feminism, 88, 94, 95, 105 filial piety, 75–77 Foucault, Michel, 94 freedom, 32, 38, 50, 51, 97, 107, 110, 130–137, 141, 143, 165, 167 friendship, 148–158, 160, 161, 163, 164, 166, 167, 177

G Gadamer, Hans-George, 6, 13–17, 20, 117, 121, 124, 125, 156 ‘general will’, 35–38, 43, 52, 168 Gentry, Caron, 98, 99, 110 Germany, 43, 45, 99, 163, 191, 199 Gilbert, Margaret, 64, 148, 149 God, 1, 25, 28, 38, 52, 89, 91, 119, 121, 124, 131, 134, 136, 137, 147, 190, 203, 204 Gramsci, Antonio, 93 Green, Thomas Hill, 3, 4, 31, 33–42, 52, 53, 149, 150, 166–168 Grotius, Hugo, 25, 26

H Hart, H.L.A., 30, 148, 149 Hayden, Patrick, 151, 155–157, 160, 163 Hegel, George Friedrich Wilhelm, 30–33, 43, 44, 53, 113, 120, 142, 144 Heidegger, Martin, 14, 121, 134 hermeneutics, 13–17, 19, 63, 68, 72, 79, 100, 105, 109, 114, 115, 121, 123, 128, 129, 158, 169, 170, 175–177, 181, 188, 191, 193, 198, 201, 205 Hitler, Adolph, 160, 162, 199 Hobbes, Thomas, 1, 2, 11, 25–29, 31–34, 40, 42, 52, 60, 64, 65, 83, 84, 97, 141, 148, 167

INDEX

horizon, 50, 62, 123–128, 130, 140, 143, 152, 154 Horton, John, 3–6, 20, 23, 34, 40, 41, 64–68, 70, 141, 148, 150, 166 Hume, David, 5, 58–60, 63

I idealism, 33, 142, 162 imperialism, 44, 104

J Jaspers, Karl, 6, 7, 14 Jiang, Qing, 73–78

K Kant, Immanuel, 29, 31, 32, 37, 40, 52 Kierkegaard, Søren, 115, 117–124, 136–140, 142–144, 147, 159, 198 Knowles, Dudley, 3, 4, 10–12, 20, 23, 57, 67, 148, 150, 169, 170, 185, 196, 205 Kollontai, Alexandra, 105–109, 174, 175

L Lenin, Vladimir, 93, 104 liberalism, 60, 72–74, 198, 200, 206 Livy, Titus, 25, 110 Locke, John, 28, 29, 31, 34, 42, 43, 96

M Machiavelli, Niccolò, 24–27, 190, 191 MacIntyre, Alasdair, 24, 27, 62, 65, 69, 70, 83, 89, 140, 144 Maclean, John, 50, 51, 54, 173 Mao, Zedong, 79, 82, 83, 104

211

Marcuse, Herbert, 93, 94 Marxism, 73, 74, 82, 87–89, 94, 105, 108, 143, 206, 207 Marx, Karl, 87–93, 97, 104, 110 Meinhof, Ulrike, 99, 110 metaphysics, 29, 116, 142 Mill, John-Stuart, 30, 43 monarchy, 10, 59, 60, 101

N narrative, 3, 5, 17–19, 46, 48, 51–53, 65, 67–71, 83, 99, 100, 104, 105, 110, 114, 126, 129, 130, 138, 140, 141, 144, 152, 154, 163, 168, 170–172, 175–177, 182– 184, 187, 188, 190, 192–194, 196–198, 201, 204–206 National Socialism, 44, 161, 177, 178, 200 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 133 Numa Pompilius, 24–26, 190, 191

O Oakeshott, Michael, 24, 58 objectivity, 6, 14, 96, 115, 189 obligation, 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 11, 12, 17, 18, 23, 25–29, 31–37, 39, 43, 46, 48–53, 59–62, 64–74, 76–80, 82, 83, 87, 92, 93, 97–102, 104, 105, 107–110, 114, 122, 129, 148–150, 152–154, 158, 160, 166–168, 170, 171, 173–177, 185, 189–201, 204, 205 ontology, 6, 13, 27, 72, 169

P passion, 33, 42, 45, 59, 60 Pateman, Carol, 97, 98 patriarchy, 97, 103 Plato, 5, 12, 115–119, 142

212

INDEX

Plutarch, 25 Political Obligation, 2–11, 13, 17–19, 23–28, 31, 33, 34, 36–38, 40–42, 44–53, 57–59, 63, 64, 66–68, 71, 73, 74, 76–79, 83, 84, 87, 88, 92, 94, 95, 97, 98, 100, 101, 103–105, 108–110, 114, 115, 118, 122, 126, 129, 141, 142, 148–150, 158, 164, 166–171, 174–177, 181, 182, 184, 185, 189–198, 200, 201, 204–207 Polybius, 25, 83 positivism, 6, 13, 15, 201 Post-truth, 13, 19, 181–189, 191–194, 198, 201, 206 Postmodernism, 88, 94, 183, 184 propaganda, 17, 105, 107, 174

Q quest, 140, 141, 159, 163–165, 173

R Rational Approach, 18, 23, 24, 27–29, 31, 33, 34, 40–46, 48, 50, 51, 53, 57, 60, 61, 64, 71, 73, 84, 87, 88, 95, 103, 120, 176, 186, 187 Rawls, John, 29, 31, 61 reason, 4, 12, 23, 25–34, 37, 38, 40–49, 52, 53, 57–64, 74, 78–80, 88, 90, 91, 95, 99, 103, 120, 129, 153, 156, 162, 167, 176, 187, 198, 203 recollection, 115–117, 119, 142 religion, 25–27, 30, 43, 52, 61, 89–91, 108, 110 rights, 3, 4, 10, 28, 32, 35, 37, 40, 44, 51–53, 65, 67, 95, 99, 104, 107, 132, 148, 156, 164, 167, 194, 196 ritual, 76–78

Rome, 24, 25, 110, 135, 151, 153–155, 157 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 35–37, 43, 53, 95 ‘ruling ideas’, 92, 93, 97 S Sandel, Michael, 61 Sartre, Jean-Paul, 134, 135, 143 Schmitt, Carl, 2, 160–164, 177, 178 Schopenhauer, Arthur, 130–134 Scotland, 10, 47–50, 52, 53, 79, 170, 172 Scruton, Roger, 31, 32, 59, 60 self, 15, 19, 31, 65, 80, 115, 124, 125, 127, 132, 139, 151, 156, 162, 169 sexual contract, the, 98 Simmons, A.J., 66, 67, 101, 102, 191, 198 Singapore, 73 situation, 1, 2, 4, 6–8, 10, 13–15, 17–19, 31, 32, 39, 41, 46, 51, 52, 66, 71, 82, 88, 90, 96, 101, 113–115, 118, 120–126, 128–130, 132–136, 139–143, 149, 150, 152–156, 159–161, 164–169, 172, 175, 176, 182, 184–186, 188–190, 192–198, 200, 201, 203–205, 207 Sjoberg, Laura, 98, 99, 110 Skinner, Quintin, 9, 10 Slomp, Gabriella, 141, 150, 160–162, 167, 178, 196 Social Contract Theory, 33, 34, 74, 98 Socrates, 5, 12, 115–117, 142 South Korea, 73, 171 State, the, 2–6, 8–13, 17–19, 25, 27, 28, 30–39, 41–44, 46–53, 60, 65–67, 74–84, 87, 88, 92–95, 97, 99–110, 114, 129, 135, 141, 142, 147, 148, 150, 152–154,

INDEX

158, 164–177, 181, 182, 185, 189–191, 193–201, 204–207 Strauss, Leo, 24, 27 subjectivity, 19, 96, 143, 159, 189, 191, 192 T Tan, Sor-Hoon, 73, 75, 79, 81, 84 Taylor, Charles, 2, 62, 63, 83, 120, 125, 126, 138, 144 teleology, 120, 137 theology, 119, 123, 124, 147 Tickner, Ann, 97, 98 time, 4, 6, 14, 17, 29, 32, 36, 51, 58, 59, 61, 66, 70, 74, 92, 99, 102, 108, 116–119, 123, 124, 127, 128, 138, 139, 144, 160, 176, 182, 203 tradition, 6, 8, 14, 25–34, 42, 43, 58–60, 63, 71–73, 75–78, 80–84, 89, 92, 96, 105, 108, 110, 138, 142, 170, 171, 175, 177 Trump, Donald, 11, 178, 182, 185–187, 190, 202, 206 truth, 14, 16, 20, 24, 25, 51, 89, 92, 96, 101, 103, 116–120, 122–125, 129, 136, 137, 142–144, 181, 183–185, 187, 188, 190, 198

213

U Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), 104–106, 108, 177 University, 17, 102, 113, 153, 154, 156, 157, 159, 164, 165 Utilitarianism, 30, 33, 58

W Walzer, Michael, 62, 143 Weber, Max, 9, 10 Wollstonecraft, Mary, 95–97, 103 ‘world’, 1, 2, 6, 7, 9, 14–16, 19, 35, 40, 41, 43, 61, 62, 89–91, 96, 101, 106, 108, 110, 113– 128, 130, 131, 133–139, 143, 148, 152–160, 162–177, 182, 183, 189–192, 196, 199–201, 203–205, 207

X Xi, Jinping, 11, 79–84, 105, 170, 172, 207

Y Young Hegelians, 89–91, 110