Virtues in the Public Sphere: Citizenship, Civic Friendship and Duty 2018036548, 2018048063, 9780429505096, 9781138585737

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
List of contributors
Foreword
Introduction
SECTION 1:
Virtues and Vices in the Public Sphere
1. Virtue against sovereignty
I
II
III
IV
V
Notes
2. Reducing arrogance in public debate
Introduction
I
II
III
Notes
References
3. Moral education, skills of civility, and virtue in the public sphere
Notes
4. Vice, public good, and personal misery
1
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
Notes
References
5. Patience, temperance, and politics
Introduction
What is a political party?
Patience and temperance
Contemporary, structural barriers to flourishing
Notes
References
SECTION 2:
Civic friendship and virtue
6. Is there a plausible moral psychology for civic friendship?
A moderate version of civic friendship
A moral psychology for civic friendship
An expanded theory of civic friendship
References
7. Populism and the fate of civic friendship
Aristotle on demagogues, civic friendship, and reform
The genesis of populism in the U.S.
Aristotelian remedies
Notes
References
8. Education for living together in a diverse UK: A role for civic friendship, concord and deliberation?
Introduction
Fostering social cohesion: The recent educational context
Aristotelian civic friendship
Cultivating civic friendship and concord through deliberation
Conclusion
Notes
References
9. Resilience and hope as a democratic civic virtue
Introduction
I Resilience
II Hope: A brief and selective overview
III Hope as a democratic civic virtue
IV Resilience and hope as a democratic civic virtue
Conclusion
Notes
References
10. Trust as a public virtue
The nature of trust and its crisis
Trust as a moral concept
Trust as a public virtue
Duties to trust
Note
References
11. Making citizens virtuous: Plato on the role of political leadership
Introduction
Education, virtue and leadership in the Laws
The plan for the philosophical education of leaders
Dialectics in the Laws
Finding and cultivating virtuous leaders
The relevance of Plato’s ideal for contemporary political leadership
Conclusion
Note
Bibliography
12. Rethinking self-interest and the public good: American homeschoolers
Introduction
Data and method
Self-interest
The root of public goods
Cultivating the common
Conclusion
Notes
References
13. Fostering purpose as a way of cultivating civic friendship
Project Wayfinder
The Future Project
Fostering Purpose Project
Discussion
Note
References
SECTION 3:
Perspectives on virtue and the public sphere: Whypublic reason is not enough
14. Responding to discord: Why public reason is not enough
I
II
Notes
15. Designing for dialogue: Developing virtue through public discourse
Introduction
Polarization and public dialogue in the U.S.
Dialogue and virtue
What do we mean by “design,” and how can it help?
The power of framing
Applying a design model to dialogue
Conclusion
Notes
References
16. Virtù revisited
Introduction
in the republican tradition
Machiavelli’s innovation
Virtù domesticated
The modern Machiavellians
Notes
Bibliography
17. Democratic change and ‘the referendum effect’ in the UK: Reasserting the good of political participation
Introduction
1 Participation, education and politics as practice
2 Participation and the referendum
3 Division through democracy: referendums and the
‘tyranny of the majority’
4 Recent examples from British politics
5 Conclusion: the future of participation
Notes
References
Concluding remarks
Index

Citation preview

Virtues in the Public Sphere

Virtues in the Public Sphere features seventeen chapters by experts from a variety of different perspectives on the broad theme of virtue in the public sphere. Spanning issues such as the notion of civic friendship and civic virtue, it sheds light on the role that these virtues play in the public sphere and their importance in safeguarding communities from the threats of a lack of concern for truth, poor leadership, charlatanism, and bigotry. This book highlights the theoretical complexity of putting virtue ethics into practice in the public domain at a time when it has been shaken by unpredictable political, social, technological, and cultural developments. With contributions from internationally acclaimed scholars in the fields of philosophy, psychology, sociology, and education, this book highlights the main issues, both theoretical and practical, of putting virtue ethics into practice in the public domain. Split into three sections – “Virtues and vices in the public sphere”, “Civic friendship and virtue”, and “Perspectives on virtue and the public sphere” – the chapters offer a timely commentary on the roles that virtues have to play in the public sphere. This timely book will be of great interest to researchers, academics, and postgraduate students in the fields of education, character and virtue studies, and will also appeal to practitioners. James Arthur is Deputy Pro Vice Chancellor and Director of the Jubilee Centre for Character and Virtues at the University of Birmingham.

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Virtues in the Public Sphere

Citizenship, Civic Friendship and Duty

Edited by James Arthur

First published 2019 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2019 selection and editorial matter, James Arthur; individual chapters, the contributors The right of James Arthur to be identified as the author of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Arthur, James, 1957- editor. Title: Virtues in the public sphere / edited by James Arthur. Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2019. | Includes bibliographical references. Identifiers: LCCN 2018036548 (print) | LCCN 2018048063 (ebook) | ISBN 9780429505096 (E-book) | ISBN 9781138585737 (hbk) | ISBN 9780429505096 (ebk) Subjects: LCSH: Political ethics. | Civics--Moral and ethical aspects. | Common good. | Virtue. Classification: LCC JA79 (ebook) | LCC JA79 .V568 2019 (print) | DDC 172--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018036548 ISBN: 978-1-138-58573-7 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-50509-6 (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by Taylor & Francis Books

Contents

List of contributors Foreword

vii xi

LORD JAMES O’SHAUGHNESSY

Introduction

xiv

JAMES ARTHUR

SECTION 1

Virtues and Vices in the Public Sphere 1 Virtue against sovereignty

1 3

JOHN MILBANK

2 Reducing arrogance in public debate

28

ALESSANDRA TANESINI

3 Moral education, skills of civility, and virtue in the public sphere

39

JONATHAN JACOBS

4 Vice, public good, and personal misery

51

JONNY ROBINSON

5 Patience, temperance, and politics

63

KATHRYN PHILLIPS

SECTION 2

Civic friendship and virtue 6 Is there a plausible moral psychology for civic friendship?

77 79

BLAINE J. FOWERS

7 Populism and the fate of civic friendship RANDALL CURREN

92

vi Contents

8 Education for living together in a diverse UK: A role for civic friendship, concord and deliberation?

108

ANDREW PETERSON

9 Resilience and hope as a democratic civic virtue

124

NANCY E. SNOW

10 Trust as a public virtue

140

WARREN J. VON ESCHENBACH

11 Making citizens virtuous: Plato on the role of political leadership

157

MARK E. JONAS

12 Rethinking self-interest and the public good: American homeschoolers

170

MARY ELLIOT AND JEFFREY S. DILL

13 Fostering purpose as a way of cultivating civic friendship

184

KENDALL COTTON BRONK AND RACHEL BAUMSTEIGER

SECTION 3

Perspectives on virtue and the public sphere: Why public reason is not enough

199

14 Responding to discord: Why public reason is not enough

201

JOHN HALDANE

15 Designing for dialogue: Developing virtue through public discourse

213

HARRY H. JONES

16 Virtù revisited

224

EDWARD SKIDELSKY

17 Democratic change and ‘the referendum effect’ in the UK: Reasserting the good of political participation

234

JOSEPH WARD

Concluding remarks Index

250 253

Contributors

James Arthur is Deputy Pro-Vice-Chancellor for Staffing and is also Director of the Jubilee Centre for Character and Virtues at the University of Birmingham and Chair of the Society for Educational Studies. Professor Arthur is the leading academic in the UK on character education, and on policy entrepreneurship in education. He has written widely on the relationship between theory and practice in education, particularly the links between communitarianism, social virtues, citizenship, religion and education. Rachel Baumsteiger is a doctoral candidate at Claremont Graduate University with a concentration in positive developmental psychology. Her primary research interests include moral development and well-being. She is currently preparing a dissertation that describes a new intervention designed to foster habitual prosocial behavior among adolescents and young adults. She also works in Kendall Cotton Bronk's Adolescent Moral Development lab, which specializes in helping young people cultivate a sense of meaning and purpose. Kendall Cotton Bronk is an Associate Professor of psychology at Claremont Graduate University and is interested in understanding and supporting the positive development and moral growth of young people. Work in her Adolescent Moral Development lab is focused on creating and testing interventions for fostering purpose, on understanding how purpose develops among marginalized youth, and on learning how global political and economic events influence young people’s view of the future and their role in it. Her work has been funded by the Spencer Foundation, the John Templeton Foundation, and the Fulbright Foundation. Randall Curren is Professor and Chair of Philosophy at the University of Rochester (New York). He was the Ginny and Robert Loughlin Founders’ Circle Member at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton for 2012–13, and Chair of Moral and Virtue Education in the Jubilee Centre for Character and Virtues at the University of Birmingham (England) and Professor in the Royal Institute of Philosophy (London) 2013–15. His latest works include

viii

List of contributors

Living Well Now and in the Future: Why Sustainability Matters (MIT Press, 2017), Why Character Education? (Wiley-Blackwell, 2017), and Patriotic Education in a Global Age (University of Chicago Press, 2018). Jeffrey S. Dill is Affiliate Professor of Sociology and Liberal Studies in the Templeton Honors College at Eastern University in St. David’s, PA. He is also Donchian Scholar of Character and Culture at the Institute for Advanced Studies in Culture at the University of Virginia. He is author of The Longings and Limits of Global Citizenship Education (Routledge, 2013). Mary Elliot is a Lonergan Graduate Fellow in Philosophy at Boston College, and the Graduate Research Assistant at the Boisi Center for Religion and American Public Life. Warren J. von Eschenbach is Associate Vice President and Assistant Provost at the University of Notre Dame, holds a concurrent faculty appointment in the Department of Philosophy and is a faculty fellow at the Nanovic Institute for European Studies. He teaches a course on moral and political philosophy and specializes in 19th and 20th century European philosophy and value theory. Blaine J. Fowers, Ph.D. is Professor of Counseling Psychology at the University of Miami. He conducts theoretical and empirical investigations of virtue and flourishing. Fowers is the author of The Evolution of Ethics: Human Sociality and the Emergence of Ethical Mindedness (Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), Virtue and Psychology (APA, 2005), and Beyond the Myth of Marital Happiness (Jossey Bass, 2000), and a co-author of Re-Envisioning Psychology (Jossey Bass, 1999) and Frailty, Suffering, and Vice: Flourishing in the Face of Human Limitations (APA, 2017). He is a Fellow of the American Psychological Association and a recipient of the Joseph B. Gittler award for contributions to the philosophical foundations of psychology. John Haldane is the J. Newton Rayzor Sr Distinguished Professor of Philosophy at Baylor University Texas, and Professor of Philosophy and Senior Fellow, and former Director of the Centre for Ethics, Philosophy and Public Affairs at the University of St Andrews. He is also Chair of the Royal Institute of Philosophy, Fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, Senior Fellow of the Center for Ethics and Culture, University of Notre Dame, and Senior Fellow of the Witherspoon Institute, Princeton. He has published extensively in philosophy of mind, the history of philosophy, theoretical and normative issues in social and political philosophy, ethics and aesthetics, and artistic, educational, and theological issues. Jonathan Jacobs is Professor of Philosophy at John Jay College of Criminal Justice, a member of the Doctoral Faculty of Philosophy and Faculty of Criminal Justice at CUNY Graduate Center. He is author of nine books and over one hundred articles on topics in moral psychology, ethics, medieval philosophy, and criminal justice. He has received grants from NEH, Littauer

List of contributors ix

Foundation, Earhart Foundation, and has been a Fulbright Scholar and Visiting Fellow or Visiting Professor at University of Edinburgh, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Clare Hall, Cambridge, Chinese University of Hong Kong, and the Oxford Centre for Hebrew and Jewish Studies. Harry H. Jones, PhD, Lieutenant Colonel, U.S.Army is Assistant Professor of Philosophy at the United States Military Academy at West Point. He teaches ethics and works on strategies for developing leaders of character. He also serves as Associate Director for Design for the West Point Center for Innovation and Engineering where he aims to equip leaders with the tools they need to become innovators and expert creative problem solvers within their organizations. His research focuses on the intersection of character, creativity, and leadership, and he sees creativity as an essential skill for leadership in complex environments in the 21st Century. Mark E. Jonas is Associate Professor of Education and Associate Professor of Philosophy (by courtesy) at Wheaton College. His research interests are in the ethical, political, and educational thought of Plato, Nietzsche, and Rousseau. Some of his articles have appeared in History of Philosophy Quarterly; Phronesis; Journal of Philosophy of Education; History of Political Thought; Educational Theory; British Journal for the History of Philosophy. He is a coauthor of Nietzsche’s Philosophy of Education: Rethinking Ethics, Equality, and the Good Life in a Democratic Age (Routledge, 2018). He is currently working on a book on Plato’s theory of moral education. John Milbank is a theologian and philosopher who has taught at the Universities of Lancaster, Cambridge, Virigina and Nottingham. Currently he is the President of the Centre of Theology and Philosopy and a Visiting Professor at the Edith Stein Institute of Philosophy in Granada. His many books include Theology and Social Theory (Wiley-Blackwell, 2006); Being Reconciled (Routledge, 2003); Beyond Secular Order (Wiley-Blackwell, 2014) and most recently with Adrian Pabst, The Politics of Virtue (Rowman & Littlefield International, 2016). Andrew Peterson is Professor of Character and Citizenship Education at the Jubilee Centre for Character & Virtues, University of Birmingham, UK. His research focuses on the connections between character and citizenship education, including civic virtues. His most recent monograph is Compassion and Education: Cultivating Compassionate Children, Schools and Communities (Palgrave Macmilan, 2017), and with Garth Stahl and Hannah Soong he is editor of a new major reference work entitled The Palgrave Handbook of Citizenship and Education (2020, https://link.springer.com/referencework/ 10.1007/978-3-319-67905-1). Kathryn Phillips is an Assistant Professor in the Writing, Speaking, and Argument Program at the University of Rochester in Rochester, New York.

x List of contributors

Jonny Robinson is completing a PhD in Philosophy at Macquarie University, Sydney, with a thesis examining vice in Aristotle’s ethics. His research interests centre around moral character, vice, and cruelty, with work forthcoming in Analysis and the Journal of Moral Philosophy. Edward Skidelsky is senior lecturer in philosophy at the University of Exeter. He is author (with Robert Skidelsky) of How Much is Enough: Money and the Good Life (Penguin, 2012). He is currently working on a history of virtue and vice concepts, forthcoming with Princeton University Press. Nancy E. Snow is Professor of Philosophy and Director of the Institute for the Study of Human Flourishing at the University of Oklahoma. She is the author of Virtue as Social Intelligence: An Empirically Grounded Theory (Routledge, 2009) and over forty papers on virtue and ethics more broadly. She has also edited or co-edited seven volumes, including The Oxford Handbook of Virtue (Oxford 2018). She is currently revising a monograph on hope, writing one on virtue ethics and virtue epistemology, and co-authoring a book on virtue measurement. She is the editor of “The Virtues,” a fifteen book interdisciplinary series. Alessandra Tanesini is Professor of Philosophy at Cardiff University. She is the author of An Introduction to Feminist Epistemologies (Blackwell, 1999), of Wittgenstein: A Feminist Interpretation (Polity, 2004), and of several articles in epistemology, feminist philosophy, the philosophy of mind and language, and on Nietzsche. Her current work lies at the intersection of ethics, the philosophy of language, and epistemology with a focus on epistemic vice, silencing, prejudice and ignorance. She is currently a co-PI on a two-year multidisciplinary research project Changing Attitudes in Public Discourse which is dedicated to reducing arrogance in debate. Joseph Ward is Research Associate and Impact Officer at the Jubilee Centre for Character and Virtues, University of Birmingham. He is also a doctoral researcher at Birmingham in the Department of Political Science and International Studies. His thesis concerns the factors surrounding the emergence of the referendum as a tool of political management in the UK.

Foreword Lord James O’Shaughnessy

There is a certain risk in a politician introducing a book about the creation of virtue in public life, even with a selection of chapters as erudite and wideranging as that edited by James Arthur for this collection. This is especially true for anyone who grew up in the era of ‘back to basics’ and the counter-productive attempts of John Major’s Government to inject moral considerations into political discourse. Nevertheless, it is a risk worth taking because the case of a different, bolder approach to the discussion of moral value in the public realm is, as this book shows, now unarguable. Politicians have never been the most popular creatures, but the real problem we face is much deeper. Polling by the Jubilee Centre for Character and Virtue, which brought together this compelling and incisive set of papers, has shown that two thirds of Britons report a decline in displays of ‘public virtue’, defined as a ‘willingness to set aside private interests for the good of society’. Half of respondents to the poll reported ‘rarely’ seeing examples of public virtue within their local community, and almost one in three said most people in Britain do not contribute either ‘greatly’ or ‘at all’ towards the common good. This speaks not simply of a mistrust of those in power but of a much more troubling situation. It shows a clear mismatch between what people think ought to happen to provide for the public good, and what they perceive other citizens are actually doing. A spiralling lack of trust in others is both the result and the cause of this discrepancy. That should alarm us all, because trustworthiness is the foundational virtue of a well-functioning society. What the Jubilee Centre’s research also shows, albeit by implication, is that the current policy solutions we are using to address this decline in trust are demonstrably not up to the task of rebuilding it. Concerns about social dislocation and atomisation have been the topic of policy debates for many years. All kinds of policy innovations have been tried; if they were working trust should be growing again, but the opposite is true. Another approach is needed. Without it, other social virtues - such as honesty and compassion - will also decline, particularly in a secular society. The first step towards creating more virtue in public life is for those in positions of power and authority to start talking about virtue. Easier said than done, of course, but political leadership is the sine qua non of societal

xii Foreword

transformation. Politicians must have the courage to engage in moral discussions and use moral language in the public sphere, without fear of our own flaws and weaknesses being used against us to undermine the points we seek to make. There are good reasons to believe the public will respond positively to such an approach. Far from being wary of politicians who make firm moral distinctions, people are more interested in, and attracted to, those who do use this kind of language because it reflects the experience of normal people, who are used to making moral evaluations and distinctions. The attempts to pretend otherwise, and reduce political discourse to a set of purely economic considerations, not only impoverishes us all but sounds a dissonant note to the song of everyday life. Meanwhile, the Brexit vote has demonstrated that people value cultural, social and political ends at least as highly as economic ones. We love nothing more than our hearts being lifted for a greater cause and that is even more true of young people. However, using moral language in public life and justifying actions in more explicitly ethical terms will only take us so far. That is because, even if we will the end, the means we use – the very nature of the solutions – will ultimately determine whether virtue is created or destroyed. In public life, delivering on political promises is still reliant on which side of public/private divide the governing party favours. But both big state and big capital suffer from the same problem, which is that they wield power and authority over citizens and encourage those individuals into dependent relationships with them. As a result, people increasingly act as receivers of the state or capitalist product rather than co-producers of some mutually desired end. This creates a situation of dependency, rather than reciprocity, between the individual and those big, distant organisations, which are of a inherently impersonal nature. What is lost in the process is trust, because there is an absence of interpersonal exchange. Instead of a network of horizontal relationships where people come together in mutual endeavours to solve common problems, we find a series of vertical relationships where the individual is dependent on the ability of the powerful organisation to find solutions and left exposed if that does not happen. Ultimately, the self-sustaining creation of virtue can only happen in institutions which normalise voluntary exchange of ideas, time and money among people of more or less equal power in the pursuit of solutions to mutually experienced problems. Not only are these more productive, I would argue, those engaged in such activities hugely value the sense of meaning and reciprocity that a co-operative endeavour creates, not only can such institutions deliver solutions to common policy problems, the way in which they do so strengthens rather than undermines society. I believe this kind of institution is the key to creating more virtue in public life. Let me give one example of how it might work in practice. At the

Foreword xiii

moment, in England, we are locked into a system where neither private developers nor the public sector are delivering the type, quantity or form of housing that people actually want. People are dependent on this dysfunctional arrangement to meet their housing needs, which it has historically failed to do. A different approach would allow people without their own homes to come together to put in a joint request for land for housing. They would form a mutually owned housing co-operative, and the local authority would be obliged to find land on their behalf. The potential homeowners would have to buy this land with their own money and raise the funds to build the homes they would live in. This would be financed by the private sector, as happens with mortgages now. As a result, instead of relying on the big state or big capital to deliver them a product, people would come together to create that most wondrous institution – a home – with state and capital playing a supporting rather than dominant role. The very nature of the process would create trust because it would be a mutual endeavour in which citizens were acting virtuously to meet their own and others’ needs. They would be exercising power and control over both state and capital, rather than vice versa, acting as autonomous and independent creatures who nevertheless join with others to meet common needs. The route to creating a more virtuous public life starts with recognising the public’s desire for moral leadership and engaging in explicitly moral discussions are necessary conditions of the change we seek, but in themselves these behaviours are not sufficient. Thoughts and words require action; as Aristotle said, no-one is virtuous when they are asleep. But some actions are better than others because they create the conditions in which virtue can flourish. We now have a choice ahead of us. Continue as we are, and increasingly lock citizens into what Hilaire Belloc called a ‘servile state’, one where they are increasingly dependent on the ability of those with power and authority to deliver outcomes on their behalf. This reduces trust in public life, sows the seeds of a less virtuous society and leaves ordinary people as the supplicants of those in power. Or we can take a different approach, one based on creating and developing institutions that strengthen individuals’ ability to come together to tackle the challenges they face. Such endeavours create a sense of trust, shared purpose and common feeling, and as a result create a self-sustaining culture of virtue creation. This is the harder path, but it is worth the risk.

Introduction James Arthur

In recent years, we have witnessed increased polarisation, not only between, but within societies, and the breakdown of civic friendships, in particular as a result of ‘political earthquakes’ that have hit both sides of the Atlantic. Questions have emerged about the relationship between public and private virtues. Do ‘sinners’ perhaps make better politicians than ‘saints’ – and are certain private vices, such as duplicity, necessary in order for the public sphere to function? This collection of papers has its origins in a highly successful international conference entitled ‘Virtues in the Public Sphere’ of the Jubilee Centre for Character and Virtues held at Oriel College, Oxford in January 2018. The central aim of the volume is to highlight the main issues, theoretical and practical, of putting virtue ethics into practice in the public domain. More precisely, the volume includes chapters from internationally acclaimed scholars in the fields of philosophy, psychology, sociology, and education under three broad headings; Virtues and Vices in the Public Sphere, Civic Friendship and Virtue and Perspectives on Virtue and the Public Sphere. The main aim of this volume is to explore the role of virtues in the public sphere. Is there a virtue of ‘civic friendship’ and how can it be cultivated? Is the language of virtue apt for carving out a discursive path between illiberal radicalism and post-truth relativism? More specifically, does the language of virtue indicate an ethical and political approach that calls into question both extreme illiberal and liberal habits of mind – or does it carry an individualistic and moralistic bias that makes it inapplicable to political disagreements? What are the virtues of a ‘good’ politician or civil servant? Should we care whether a skilled diplomat or surgeon is also a good person? Can virtue be ascribed to collectives and institutions such as universities and schools and, if yes, what would, for example, a ‘virtuous school’ look like? Are character education and civic education comrades or competitors? What is the relationship between an ethos of good character in a school and the ethos of the neighbouring community? How, if at all, does virtue guide civic engagement and a pedagogy towards the public good? How do public virtues inform a social ethos of moral responsibility? And, at the most general level, what does it mean to talk about the ‘politics of virtue’?

Introduction xv

At a time when the public domain is trembling with shocks from unpredictable political, social, technological, and cultural developments, and terms such as ‘posttruth’ and ‘fake news’ are dominating social media and public debate, the present volume offers perhaps a timely and appropriate commentary. The chapters shed light on the role that the virtues have to play in the public sphere, and their importance in safeguarding communities from the threats of lack of concern for truth, poor or authoritarian leadership, charlatanism, and bigotry. The following introduces the content of the three sections of this book:

Section 1: Virtues and vices in the public sphere In Chapter 1 Millbank argues that many Christian conservative voices are today proposing a return to a politics of virtue. This involves a seemingly paradoxical but coherent combination of hierarchical paideia and popular participation. In effect, it is a rejection of liberal democracy in favour of a return to mixed constitutionalism, combining democratic with aristocratic elements, in the republican sense. Tanesini in Chapter 2 argues for using self-affirmation techniques to reduce arrogant behaviour in public debates. It offers an account of what speakers owe to their audiences, and of what hearers owe to speakers. It also illustrates some of the ways in which arrogance leads to violating these obligations. In Chapter 3 Jacobs argues that the liberal polity does not directly require virtue or educate people directly in a sustained, systematic way in how to lead their lives. Yet, he says the many contexts of civil society are crucial loci of moral education encouraging virtue-oriented habits, attitudes, and skills of civility even if they fall short of practical wisdom. The liberal polity requires multiple contexts of moral education. Robinson in Chapter 4 clarifies Aristotle’s account of strict vice and shows that Aristotle’s vicious agent is miserable, not simply immoral. He concludes by noting the inverse and insidious consequences of private vice upon public good. In the concluding Chapter 5 of this first section Phillips gives an account of the conditions under which political parties in a democracy flourish and which virtues facilitate those conditions.

Section 2: Civic friendship and virtue Fowers opens this second section with a chapter on the Aristotelian concept of civic friendship as a promising pathway for improving political cooperation in fragmented Western democracies. Curren follows in Chapter 7 and addresses the nurturing of civic friendship and virtuous institutions in society. In Chapter 8 Peterson examines the potential educational benefits and implications of Aristotelian civic friendship as a way of conceiving the relationship between citizens in plural, heterogeneous political communities. While in Chapter 9 Nancy Snow argues for a conception of hope as a civic virtue that she argues is most valuable when democracy faces significant challenges. Eschenbach in Chapter 10 describes how Western societies are experiencing a crisis of trust

xvi James Arthur

and that this crisis of trust seems paradoxical in that at the same time people report greater feelings of mistrust or an erosion of trust in institutions and technologies, but increasingly entrust their wellbeing and security to these very same technologies and institutions. In Chapter 11 Mark Jonas outlines Plato’s ideas concerning the role political leaders play in creating happy, flourishing societies by describing Plato’s preferred model of political leadership which, contrary to popular belief, is not found in the Republic but in the Laws. He argues that Plato believed that leaders must be thoroughly virtuous and that their ultimate responsibility is to inculcate virtue in their citizens. Dill and Elliot address arguments that homeschooling can be a threat to liberal democracy because it represents a withdrawal around the private interests of the family and neglects the public good and the virtues required to sustain it. They question whether the self-interest of homeschoolers leads to the public good, or if their political move pushes us to reconsider the good of education altogether. Finally in this section Bronk and Baumsteiger explain how one way to cultivate civic friendships is to encourage the development of a sense of purpose in life.

Section 3: Perspectives on virtue and the public sphere In Section 3 Haldane begins with a chapter on examining difference and disagreement, contest and dispute as common features of human interactions and relationships. He argues that insofar as they are confined to the private sphere the inability to resolve them may be a matter for regret, but there are strategies for containing, coping with or evading them. He further argues that the intention and value of recently advocated norms of ‘public reason’ are themselves matters of contest and we need to think more deeply about what is and what is not reasonable. Beyond that he says we need in private and public life to identify relevant intellectual and practical virtues and give priority to the advocacy and inculcation of these. Jones then draws on the literature in virtue ethics, social psychology, and design, in order to argue that design thinking, or human-centered design, could help increase virtue in the public sphere. In Chapter 16 Skidelsky provides a re-examination of Machiavelli’s notorious concept of virtù and argues that Machiavelli was the first European thinker of note to advance a fundamentally instrumentalist conception of virtue as that which promotes the security and grandeur of the state – a conception that laid the ground for most early modern thinking on the subject. He concludes with some pessimistic reflections on contemporary efforts to relaunch a “politics of virtue”. Ward finally concludes this section with a commentary on recent British political engagement. Finally, I provide a short summary by way of some concluding remarks.

Section 1

Virtues and Vices in the Public Sphere

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Chapter 1

Virtue against sovereignty John Milbank

I The modern political order is based upon a refusal of the founding of political order in virtue. That has to be the starting point for any consideration of the question of virtue in public life today. If one is a Kantian, a utilitarian, or an advocate of the ethics of sympathy, then it is possible to suggest an increased moralisation of a current political order seen as being inevitably about power and pragmatic purpose in the first place. But if one is any sort of virtue ethicist, in an antique, Patristic or mediaeval tradition, that is impossible. For an ethics of virtue, this conception of the political, by marginalising the ethical, misconstrues at once the political, and also the ethical as having a centrally political dimension. This follows because the ethical is not, for this outlook, a kind of ‘add on’ to the normally human, but concerns specifically human purposes as such. These are acting in such a way as to bring about a good and noble flourishing, and to develop habits of persistence in such action. It is impossible to understand what a good flourishing is solely at the individual level, since man is a social and political animal and purpose must first be understood socially and politically, in a sense that includes the priorities of a religious community. To act ethically is therefore to aim towards the bringing about of a particular kind of community whose goodness is its justice. Justice consists in the appropriate distribution and proportioning of roles, tasks and rewards. And it is only with reference to political justice that the individual can fully discern what her own appropriate and so ethical role might be. Conversely, a political order not concerned to foster the living out of such roles in good character is not simply an order lacking in virtue, it is, by that very token, also an order lacking in the quality of the political as such.1 For this reason, a politics of virtue refuses the usual modern contrast of realism with idealism. They are not, at the most fundamental level, in tension with each other, because only the genuinely ideal, which is always a situated ideal, will work, while conversely that which cannot work is not truly an ideal, but an escapist fantasy.

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But what is then the consequence of such an observation for our assessment of our contemporary political order and the possibility of its increased ethicisation? As already indicated, this order refuses the primacy of virtue for the primacy of power, will, comfort and convenience. Does that then mean that any hope to morally improve it is hopeless, as Alasdair Macintyre tends to imply? Is the project of a politics of virtue rather a revolutionary one? In one sense, the answer to that question has to be yes, if we mean not so much revolution as a thoroughgoing and fundamental transformation. This follows, because so long as politics has refused its basis in classically understood virtue, it cannot, for the virtue ethicist be significantly moralised. On the other hand, such a drastic verdict can covertly stress too one-sidedly the ‘ideal’ dimension of an ‘ideal realism’, the realism of objectively real forms and ideas, to which virtue ethics is inherently linked ever since Aristotle and Plato. For if ‘virtuous’ is as much a description of all human life as such, as it is a recommendation and prescription, then it follows that, while a society may deny the basis of politics in virtue, this is not just to debase itself, but also to tell itself a lie, and a lie even, to a degree, about its own politics insofar as it remains vestigially a politics at all. In other words, if the virtue approach is true, we can never quite depart from virtue as much as we think and to some degree theory must misdescribe practice, which can never be as fully modern as we imagine. For example, it may well be true that courts much more assume in their deliberations the exigency of distributive justice, than theoretically avowed positivisms, formalisms and theories of the basis of justice in subjective rights would seem to allow. In the face of this observation, the project of infusing public life with more virtue might be given a more reformist, besides a more drastically transformative cast. But it might then become a matter of discerning the most promising points of entry for future change. I will return to this point eventually.

II For the moment, I want further to substantiate the idea that modern politics is a refusal of the basis of politics in virtue and for that reason of its basis in the ethical as such. In fact, I want to argue that the main lines of modern political theory, and to a degree modern political practice, involve a reversion to barbarism, in contrast to the mediaeval gothic modification and development of the classical outlook. This becomes most apparent if we examine the prime concept of modern politics, which is sovereignty. For many commentators, for example the legal theorist Martin Loughlin, this notion is a mark of modern sophistication of which the mediaevals were not quite capable.2 For sovereignty is taken to be a notion of authority at once resting in and yet over the whole political body and yet abstracted from any particular personal or even institutional site of the

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exercise of such authority. On Loughlin’s account, this means that Jean Bodin, the main modern instigator of sovereignty doctrine, failed adequately to distinguish it from absolutism, regarded as a mediaeval survival. Of course, to say this is to commit a scholarly howler, because absolutism is as modern as sovereignty, which is its twin, and was equally unknown to the Middle Ages. But Loughlin can commit this blunder because he is making an a priori assumption about the essential rationalism and objective abstraction of the modern perspective. For just the same reason he also claims that sovereignty picks out for the first time the differentiated essence of the political as the abstract relationship of binding authority between government and people that is, beyond feudalism, at last distinguished from power relationships involving material property. Yet he immediately finds himself in some confusion when forced to concede how closely tied up the thinking about sovereignty and the thinking about property right is in a thinker like Thomas Hobbes, and is again forced to imply an insufficient development of a distinction already sufficiently there in germ. Yet once more and as I shall presently argue, it is just the other way round: it is rather modernity, not the Middle Ages, that tends to conflate entirely notions of ownership with notions of ruling. In these respects, evidences of the barbaric at the outset of the modern appear, to a conventional establishment thinker like Loughlin, to be so counter-intuitive that they must be speedily glossed over. By the same token, he cannot even consider the possibility that the mark of the modern might not be its distinguishing of the specifically political from other social relationships, but rather, as Hannah Arendt contended, its suppression.3 For that would follow if politics as legitimate rule is only possible as the rule of virtue, or rule through the direct action of honourable citizens, and if the prime purpose of ruling is the promotion of virtue. This paradigm immediately implies that there is no centre of rule, no alienated ruling apparatus or machinery set apart from the ordinary life of citizenhood, nor even necessarily any civic or national circumference of rule, since virtuous citizenship, ever since Plato and as enacted by ancient Rome, has a capacity to transgress, beneficently as well as questionably, every possible border. Legitimate rule for this paradigm is to be exercised collectively and turn by turn by the practically wise, in whatever numbers and in whatever social position, with the primacy of terrain subordinated to that of interpersonal community. This outlook in turn implies that rule is to be fundamentally shared and distributed. Indeed, it further implies that to rule is to give the possibility of participation in rule, both as the government of others and of oneself.4 For such a model therefore, there is a certain continuity (however sometimes drastically qualified) between the rule of families, villages, other corporate bodies and the city itself. Rule is dispersed just because it is coterminous with the entire social body, just as virtue is taken to be coterminous with a fully human existence. At the very centre of government, there has to be an ‘aristocratic’ sharing of rule to the degree that the valid rulers are equal in virtue.

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From these assumed circumstances, the notion of ‘mixed polity’ that we find in Plato, Aristotle and Polybius and that were conventionally echoed through the Middle Ages and beyond, naturally arises.5 The architectonic role of the ‘one’ ruler at the top can never be avoided to the degree that a polity is like a single organism and must be unified both continuously and in an emergency. But this rule is generally to be shared with relative equals in virtue, save in the problematic case of an outstanding god-like persona whose emergence presents very grave problems, as discussed by Aristotle.6 Polities are normatively mediated by an aristocracy of ‘the few’ and this tends to render deliberation amongst the wise politically fundamental, rather than the location of a single indefeasible origin of power to which all must submit. Where virtue is more widespread, then much greater democracy becomes valid, as it does equally if virtue is more or less lacking, since the corruption of the many tends to temper the corruption of the elite. The ancients were of course not blind to the pure power-play element of politics, nor even to its normal human prevalence, but they did not think that a just, and because just, stable order could be erected on the assumption of its normativity. This, however, is exactly the modern and barbaric move. Sovereignty was offered, first by Bodin and later by Thomas Hobbes as a salve against endemic civic conflict and failure to agree about fundamental religious and moral norms. Hobbes erected this circumstance into a sceptical anthropology and denied that human beings can ever achieve fixity over their opinions and legitimate preferences without the exercise of an absolute authority. This opinion was later (contrary to received interpretations) shared by Immanuel Kant, for whom the categorical imperative as such finally reduces to the imperative to obey the state just because we can never be quite sure of our own purity of motive in electing norms that may become the subject of universal and external moral legislation and so require this externality to be backed by decision and force.7 Sovereignty is here required not just as a salve against human tendencies to rivalry and conflict, but also as a salve against an inherent human ignorance of the true and the good. Since we have no access to any absolute within finitude and such an absolute may not even be available, we require a substitute absolute which is the absolute of the monopolisation of force. In the case of Hobbes, it is this monopoly alone which can now mediate to us the divine absolute in every respect as touching human social existence, including the public interpretation of scripture.8 Thus where Machiavelli had merely enunciated a cynical power-basis for political morality, leaving ordinary, private morality untouched, Hobbes extends this cynicism into every human domain and thereby politicises also the private, in an already totalitarian fashion.9 Ostensibly the doctrine of sovereignty, in despair of the rule of virtue, is the result of a purely rational consideration, purged of all feeling, which Hobbes in any case reduced to an amalgam of evidence and efficient impulse to motion.10 Yet in reality the doctrine of sovereignty was entirely cobbled together from ancient and primitive elements and from a later Middle Ages already turned neo-primitive.

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From the outset, Bodin declared that his novel sovereignty was also ancient Roman majestas.11 In this way he linked it with a certain supervenient, imperial claim to overriding glory and the capture of territory. It is true that Bodin did not, like Hobbes, see the sovereign as something ‘artificial’ standing overagainst the people, and indeed curiously promoted a kind of pluralism of guild and corporate sharing in government which would seem to us to be the very opposite of sovereignty-doctrine, just because he denied an Aristotelian breach between familial economic and public political authority.12 In this way, sovereignty is kept by him within a given and organic national boundary. Yet the same assimilation of the king to supreme paternity could also later endorse a spilling over this boundary, if all the ultimate right to decide has been alienated to him, rendering him equivalent to a lone individual, potentially able to roam over the world and constrained only by his own liberty. In this respect, as Tuck has described, Bodin adhered in part to a group of often Protestant late, Tacitean humanists, who tended to advocate a ‘reason of state’ beyond the constraints of virtue and who celebrated in a more unconstrained way the Roman imperial pursuit of glory.13 It was within this current, as with Alberico Gentili, an Italian Protestant professor of Oxford university, that the Spanish New World ventures tended to be entirely justified, against the qualms of the Spanish second scholasticism.14 Pre-emptive war was held, after Cicero, to be valid and equally war to enslave people simply on the grounds of their primitive or supposedly immoral character. From this historical linkage one can suggest that, if the basis of sovereignty lies in an unconstrained source of power, that while on the one hand it is inherently linked with the newly autonomous modern state, on the other hand from the outset this was not a securely bounded state, unthreatening to its neighbours. On the contrary, it was an inherently proto-imperial state, almost immediately to become such, as with Spain, France and England in the early modern period. It is with the thought of the Dutchman Hugo Grotius, historically wedged between Bodin and Hobbes, that we see the full linkage of the national with the international and the individual with respect to sovereignty and dominion, as once again Richard Tuck has pointed out.15 For Grotius, in an unprecedented fashion, not just the state but even a trading company, in this case crucially the Dutch East India company, can be thought of as entirely like an individual person. Thus he was able seamlessly to fuse Roman private, fetial16 and natural law with the ius gentium, the international ‘law of nations’, in terms of a ‘distorted gothic’ extension of the feudal fusion of public with private law.17 In all these cases, law for Grotius concerns fundamentally the protection of property, and property – whose ownership the Romans had already tended to see as total – is defined by the right of first occupation. Here the wild and barbaric become primarily normative, because Grotius takes his first principles from thinking about the open sea, naturally free to passage, and supposedly virgin lands, free to be seized and farmed as they are supposedly not occupied by hunter-gatherers or else supposedly just ‘gardened’ by women.18 Political

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sovereignty on this model involves an absolute ownership of people as well as terrain, constrained only, as for Bodin, by a partial refusal of oriental ‘eminent domain’ in terms of an non-violable respect for private property rights.19 Since the basis of all legal and political normativity lies in occupation, and since the public and the private person have been equated, the problematic coabsoluteness of sovereignty with private right has to pertain. Just as Grotius in the Tacitean lineage justified the right to enslave through war and the right of any person to sell himself into slavery, so likewise his account of state authority hovers close to one of the enslavement of all subjects, qualified only by their indefeasible rights also to be masters on a smaller scale. From all this one can see the proximity of not a minor but the major current of modern political thought, the current that gives us our contemporary normative ‘liberalism’, to a revived paganism, indeed to a revival of a later and debased Roman paganism, of the kind which St. Augustine denounced.20 To point this out is not to indulge in a meaningless and actually dangerous denunciation of all imperialism as such, but it is to indicate the frequent proximity of modern liberal nationalism to a particularly unpleasant mode of the imperial.

III However, this neo-paganism is not the only aspect of modern political barbarity. The other aspect is a perverted Gothicism. If one reads Loughlin or the much more percipient Tuck, then one has the impression that sovereignty doctrine is the upshot of a sheerly rational consideration of how a state is constituted in the first place, as opposed to how it is governed, and in the case of Tuck a consideration with a bias to democracy, to the founding will of the people, even in the case of Bodin and the early Hobbes, and even if the immediate alienation of popular to monarchic rule is both noted and recommended by them.21 Here it is notable that one gets a very different picture if one reads the work of the French scholar Jean-François Courtine and notable also that the Anglo-Saxon scholars he cites are Figgis, Wilks, Post, Ullmann and others from an older generation, rather than exponents of the later Cambridge school of political thought, whose imperfect historicism so oddly seems often to exclude or downplay religion and theology, as Maurice Cowling rightly noted.22 Courtine stresses that one cannot ignore the long term genealogy of sovereignty doctrine. Notions of majestas imply height and remoteness that sometimes, as the Italian philosopher Giorgio Agamben has stressed, invoked notions of a divine cosmic monarch who reigns but does not rule and images of an empty throne, denoting a continuity of the Crown through time, beyond any personal occupancy.23 The thematic of the King’s two bodies (as famously discussed by Ernst Kantorowicz)24, his literal one and an undying mystical one, was a variant of this topos in the Middle Ages, specifically invoked by Bodin, as Tuck however ignores.25 For this reason the association of sovereignty with a royal absolutism more than with popular or constitutional rule was not accidental, as Tuck tends to imply.

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Nor was it a mere primitive survival insofar as it is the precisely the primitive, personal and material character of rule that is now foregrounded in the face of real material anarchy as over-against the greater abstract constitutional legacy of the Middle Ages. In other respects also, it is the personal character of ruling that now gets more emphasised. There is first of all the circumstance, as underscored long ago by John Neville Figgis, that royal absolutism was not something primarily asserted within a realm, where in reality, whether in James I’s England or Louis XVI’s France, it was always constitutionally diluted, but asserted over-against the external power of the Pope of Rome.26 It was first of all popes, as shown by Figgis and M.J. Wilks, who elaborated the ideas and the specific terminology both of ‘the state’ and of ‘sovereignty’, which all commentators agree to be of co-birth and inseparable. The grades of status, according to Augustine of Ancona, require a supreme status of ‘the one’ at the top, whose power must be unlimited if it is to prevail.27 In this way sovereignty doctrine emerged already in the Middle Ages within the Church, which became thereby the first ‘state’ as Figgis famously said – preceding and influencing the beginnings of secular state-thinking in Machiavelli and Marsiglio of Padua.28 But already in the ecclesial case this emergence involved a withering of ecclesiastical and so of Christian virtue, because, as the French theologian Henri de Lubac pointed out, the Gelasian higher auctoritas of the Church which was largely moral and suasive got debased effectively into the Gelasian potestas, the forceful coercion of the imperial and secular arm.29 In posing their counter forceful power to imperial power, the later mediaeval popes were inclined both further to secularise the latter in order to reduce its dignity, and to raise the status of the non-imperial states which they nonetheless aspired themselves to command. A drastic resistance to that ambition explicitly started to involve a mimicry and appropriation of the Papal, besides, to a degree, the claims of the Holy Roman Empire, on the part of the Atlantic seaboard kingdoms. It is for this reason that Kingship started to assume a form which perversely blended the highest sacral claims with a greater monopoly of coercive force. This was surely to rewrite the religion of the Cross in letters of crucifying command. In this respect, any historiographical narrative focused on the beginnings of the modern state as secularising will tend to miss this crucial transfer of the sacral which alone gives to the modern sovereign state its final legitimacy and has later tended to be re-invoked, in often sinister forms, right up to our own time. This dimension coalesced from the outset with a second dimension of ‘distorted gothic’ order which has been frequently noted by a plethora of commentators, including, besides Courtine, André de Muralt, Marcel Gauchet, Francis Oakley and Jean Bethke Elshtain. This is the implicit and sometimes explicit reference of sovereignty doctrine to the contrast between the absolute and ordained power of God, typical of the late mediaeval theological doctrine of the via moderna.30

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The later Scholastic theology of divine power impinged in two respects. First, it traced God’s ordained order to his arbitrary will and so underwrote the idea that one can only know of this will through the sovereign monarchs he has ordained and what those monarchs happen to will in turn. Second, with respect to an echoing on earth of the absolute and ordained power distinction in terms of the contrast between sovereignty which authorises a state, and government which is its executive exercise and may take a mixed constitutional form as both Bodin and the early Hobbes of De Cive allow, despite the absolutist state foundation.31 The earthly distinction would seem also remotely to invoke the ancient pagan contrast of reigning and ruling and the mediaeval contrast of the latent power of the king’s mystical body with the exercised power of his living one. For these reasons it is impossible to follow Richard Tuck in thinking that Bodin’s sovereignty/government distinction concerns primarily a rational and even popular derivation of power in a suitably modern and proto-secular manner. Indeed, it is perhaps astonishing that he does not further ponder the genealogy of Hobbes’ metaphor of ‘the sleeping sovereign’ which actually gives the title to his fine and probing book on this subject – despite my hesitations concerning its main thesis. Moreover, these more ‘distorted gothic’ aspects of the distinction fit better with what is more truly the specifically modern concern of Bodin, who significantly calls his discovery of the distinction a ‘secret de police’.32 This concern is not to distinguish sovereignty from government in order to safeguard the former (especially not in the mode of democracy), but rather further to permit the exercise of the latter as modern ‘police’. Or in other words ‘economy’ or ‘administration’ in just the terms which Michel Foucault so famously foregrounded.33 If there is one unqualified form of power, then in consequence a formal administrated order, controlling things mechanically and without virtue or participation in rule (despite the qualifying element of guild pluralism in Bodin) will now be possible, in an attempt to stem the anarchy of France post the horrors of the Catholic ligue in the 1590s. What allows this rational machine to run smoothly is, paradoxically or not, a sheerly ancient and mystical foundation in mimicry of the late mediaeval Church for which also a voluntarist theological foundation had gone hand-in-hand with a further codification and routinisation of its jurisdiction. One can also note here that Bodin and his successors, by promoting the ‘economic’ at once debased in a technicising fashion the Christian ‘pastoral rule’ which had integrated household, economic affairs into the political order, and yet by distinguishing the political from the economic reinstated in a new fashion the pagan corralling of the economic from the political arena. The Christian reversal whereby the political now exists is for the sake of the economic, the political for the ‘household of faith’ is sustained, but the economic is now robbed of direct charitable care and returned to the pagan condition of the merely biological and functional.34 Yet this reduction now pertains without the pagan vision of the higher political life of participation in virtue, albeit for a male few, beyond

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this domestic purview. Thus, through such a twisting of the Christian legacy a paganism far worse than the original paganism that Christianity had preserved and elevated is being promoted. Tuck’s attempt instead to idealise Bodin’s novel distinction of the political from the ‘economic’ can be further questioned in terms of the way in which he virtually ignores the point that in Bodin, Hobbes and still more later in his other hero Rousseau, political sovereignty is not just about constituting a state, but is equally about specific legislation which precedes and enables the executive acts.35 In this way, despite the possibility of a mixture and even a virtuous (though more likely a pragmatic) mixture at the level of executive government, in reality sovereignty theory is associated with much absolutism of legislation, usually grounded in divine right. The final respect in which sovereignty doctrine is an outcome of a distorted gothic concerns its links to feudalism.36 As again, Figgis (after F.W. Maitland) argued, feudalism is a crucial source of modern contract theory.37 Throughout the Middle Ages there was of course a tension, besides a merging, between feudal and royal authority. Grotius is apprised of this tension when he argues that actually sovereignty can be compatible with feudal bonds.38 Although one might think that they tied the liege and so ultimately the king too much to the vassal in terms of mutual obligation, as Grotius understands this obligation, the more one ascends the feudal pyramid, then the more an asymmetry ensues, until, with the sovereign power, his unilateral edict is required to ensure the enforceability of all lesser feudal obligations. Such an analysis assumes first that the feudal tie is regarded as a formal and contractual one rather than one of reciprocal obligations to generous service, and concomitantly that, while people are tied together through property, actually a sharp separation of person and property is involved, denying any inseparable symbolic and ancestral link of this person with this land, and any symbolic resonance of a piece of land as linked to a person’s identity. It can be argued both that later so called ‘feudalism’ evolved in these ways beyond an earlier mode of hierarchical and symbolic gift-exchange, and also that the feudal relation was retrospectively and somewhat inaccurately construed in these terms by early modern lawyers.39 Nevertheless, the paradox that feudalism at once ‘held back’ and yet in time covertly advanced the modern state, modern sovereignty and modern contract, was discerned with great acuity by Figgis, with the implication that the very absoluteness of the modern distinction between public and private, formal and personal, depends, with a terrible irony, upon an asymmetrical transcendentalising of a private monopoly at the centre, which is exactly the Grotian conception.40 It is absolute ownership that then secures the monopoly of ‘public’ force and underwrites the unassailability of ‘public’ legality. For these reasons it follows that modern sovereignty has elements of a more brutalised feudalism about it, in a way that may after all justify the soubriquet of ‘feudal absolutism’ once used by Soviet historians to characterise the ancien

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regime in France.41 As we have already seen with Grotius, the political bond is in modern times both legalised and feudalised in the sense that imperium is assimilated to dominium, rule to ownership. This also means that legitimate rule is likewise bastard-feudalised in the sense that it is no longer a matter of the shared inter-psychic rule of citizen, turn by turn, over each other through an exercise of virtue as described by Aristotle as defining the political as such,42 and is instead now much more construed in brutally personal embodied terms, shorn of psyche, as the figura of ‘Leviathan’ on the frontispiece to the eponymous book illustrates. Once more in this case we have to do with a corrupted gothic. For canon law had invented the persona ficta of the corporation in order to acknowledge, on a specifically theological, Trinitarian, sacramental and episcopal model, that the populace is only united and present through its representation, while conversely the representative figure, paradigmatically the body of Christ which is the corpus mysticum, exists to serve and nurture each single individual.43 By comparison, the merely fictional and nominalist character of the Hobbesian persona ficta does nothing to dilute its terrible reality, but rather the inverse. The people remain but an anarchic scattered ‘multitude’ until united through its representation whose artifice is untrue and indeed ‘Anti-Christian’, as the name ‘leviathan’ implies (and Hobbes well knows) and yet with an untruth crucial to its allowance of a real concentration of force which has nothing to do with the nurture and everything to do with the control of Christian citizens.44 Their entire religion must now reduce to an eschatological expectation of the eventual breaking in of the real divine and Christological, but sheerly material and forceful order, shorn of all artifice.45 All this of course leaves scope for wondering, with Agamben and also the poet Geoffrey Hill in his critical writings, just what Hobbes’s final meaning really might be.46 The most crucial inventor of liberalism well knew at one level that he had invented, as what he seemingly deemed to be a necessary simulacrum, something horrendous and even evil.

IV We have seen, so far, the barbaric character of the modern sovereign state. But in substituting itself for a classical and mediaeval politics defined by the exercise of virtue, did it really establish a viable and autonomous sphere of the political? I now want to argue that it did not, and that the currently resumed ‘metacrisis’ of the foundations of liberalism (whose first phase came in the 1930s) is in some ways a manifestation of the unravelling of its incoherent founding gestures and assumptions.47 For a politics of virtue, the political is always already begun. Humanity is a political animal and therefore there is nothing ontologically prior to the political that is fully human. Politics assumes only its own practice which is an ongoing, handed down, traditional formation of virtue and the spatial reciprocity of mutual

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rule and assistance by citizens, however hierarchically qualified in terms of both pedagogic and architectonic processes, besides a scale of degree that ensues upon an ineliminable differences in the possession of talent and wisdom. By comparison, the crucial problem for modern, liberal politics is that it must be founded as something artificial and so must be aporetically founded on a more original human nature supposedly without artifice, which Plato and Aristotle had no need to fantasise, since they did not ground temporal formation in fantasised depths, but suspended it from speculatively discerned heights. This situation issues in two further specific aporias, both of them remarkably admitted by perhaps the most crucial and subtle of all liberal theorists, JeanJacques Rousseau. First, there is the question of the transition from the supposed state of nature to that of a legal and political order. This is aporetic in that, as Rousseau points out, the good founding of a city upon a set of basic laws requires long political experience, whereas in this situation no experience exists whatsoever. To meet this problem Rousseau suggests, in terms which I think should be taken literally, that founders like Lycurgus and Moses are truly ‘sublime’ and divinely inspired.48 The need for a Deus ex Machina is qualified by the suggestion that only a kind of proto-formed, relatively natural, wild and primitive people, unversed in luxury and so satisfied with a virtuous independence will be receptive to such inspired legislation.49 Whereas for Hobbes (as Tuck overlooks), vice and rivalry are natural, for Rousseau they are only consequent upon the civilising process that invites comparison and mimetic rivalry. Hence his conception of the social contract brings together a different, supposedly innocent because individualist barbarism with an alternatively modern sophistication that is, as it were, ‘post-cultural’ and concerned only to foster a rude independence for all, plus a specifically invoked Baconian cultivation of the more necessary crafts.50 The problem with this conception is not only that its anthropology is false and fantasised, but also that it involves a divine intervention profoundly linked to Rousseau’s Malebranchian and Leibnizian idea that sovereignty establishes a providential ‘general’ order that can be dualistically divided from specific actions and preferences, just as there is supposedly, in most Baroque metaphysics, a sharp division between God’s general providence, and his exceptional, special one – something at odds with a truly Thomistic understanding of the divine simplicity. Thus, Rousseau thinks that once the political community has been founded in these general terms, it will be continuously easy for the office of the wise and detached ‘legislator’ to distil from the infinitesimal ‘small differences’ between peoples’ preferences a more abstract order which will allow their compatibility. It is clear that this notion of a general will is neither one of majority will, nor of a universal allowance of the same rights, but something much more subtly abstract that is a liberal, bastardised version of an Augustinian vision of the recovery under grace of ontological human harmony, owing much to Malebranche and Leibniz.51

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Yet it will not do, just because no such calculation could ever ensue without some sort of bias towards certain special interests and concerns rather than others. To judge which are valid and which not, one requires the kind of debate about the human common end and substantive modes of flourishing that Rousseau does not really allow. Indeed, Rousseau is specifically dubious as to ancient Athenian deliberation and thinks that it must always result in an oligarchy of orators, in contract to the truly democratic mechanism of unmediated voting set up by ‘the great Lycurgus’ in Sparta.52 For him true, direct democracy must take place spontaneously, literally without debate and any risk of mutual influence which always involves for him a dubious process of contaminating mimesis. Instead, any true human opinion is purely an individual one and it is from raw, wild humanity that the truth can be expected to emerge. As both Tuck and Mark Goldie and others have shown, such a conception of popular rather than representative democracy was expressed by many of the early English whigs, by the Girondins during the French Revolution and more extremely by the Jacobins (who also wanted direct popular daily governance, inevitably issuing in terror), and by many more of the early American revolutionaries than we tend to think.53 This tension between what we might well call ‘populism’ and representationalism, which is resurfacing in our own day, tends to indicate that Rousseau’s double appeal to the divine and to the primitive cannot adequately massage the aporia. For by natural right it might seem that the people should be sovereign. And yet, as Hobbes realised in his twisted adaptation of canon law principle, the ‘Multitude’ of people who should be represented are not really there at all to be represented as a coherent ‘political’ body or ‘Commonwealth’ until after they have already been represented, after they have pictured themselves to themselves as a unity, which must always, in Hobbesian terms, involve some moment of arbitrary definition and probably imposition by some upon others.54 In this sense representation can be justified pragmatically as being for the sake of order and for governance, but not democratically, since it will always involve some sort of usurpation. Yet without representation in some sense, if we take Hobbes’s almost Derridean realisation to heart, even direct democracy is not really possible.55 Representation can only make sense as a specifically gothic, Christian addition to the antique repertoire, which permits an expansion and a pluralisation of order though the interaction of many free local and professional associations, in the process that the great 17th century German Calvinist and creatively Aristotelian political theorist Johannes Althusius named a ‘symbiotic consociation’, for which a sequence of constantly educative and formative interpersonal ‘communication’ was not just instrumental but primary.56 This profound and profoundly Christian vision has become possible for Althusius precisely because virtue as charity is now relatively democratised and so the popular represented and the aristocratically representing share a single teleological horizon of value. Without this shared horizon of jointly pursued and accepted virtuous ends, representation has to devolve either into mandation or into usurpation of the

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popular will, since representatives will then always tend to follow merely their own independent views. Usurpation would be a denial of democracy, but mandation is a false imagining that democracy can take place in what the moderate French revolutionary the Abbé Sièyes called ‘the watches of the night’, without daylight debate, with appeal only to a dubious Rousseauian spontaneity and an ignoring of the need always for detailed interpretation by those committed to a deeper pondering.57 It follows from this consideration that representational governance is only valid and truly workable when it remains part of a mixed constitution, as has to some degree been the case in the United Kingdom, which has retained some more authentically gothic features than elsewhere, since it lacks any liberal notions of an alien founding of the political process which is instead regarded as purely self-sustaining. Within this British tradition, as best understood by Edmund Burke, in order to avoid either mandation or usurpation, the representatives must think of themselves as being at once the tribunes of a somewhat virtuous people and equally the educators and encouragers of those people in virtue.58 At the same time, such a conception must not lead to a doctrine of parliamentary absolute sovereignty which is as bad as any other, as the American revolutionaries realised.59 In his remarkable pamphlet on the dissension between nobles and commons in Athens and Rome, Jonathan Swift accordingly sided with the Tories in favouring representation over populism and yet sided with the whigs of his day in requiring that parliament cannot simply substitute for the popular voice as its unique organ.60 Any authentic, both classical and gothic, notion of mixed governance requires all sorts of elements of federal and local representation and participation, besides representation at the centre, along with a monarchic and or presidential encouragement of the most long term, unifying and (at the opposite end of the scale) exceptional considerations. To the degree that the United Kingdom has been and continues to be too much of a parliamentary absolutist state, it is after all deficient in gothic, federal aspects that are much more evidenced on the Continent as encouraged by its Roman law tradition. Impossible as this seems in the current circumstances, it is just for this reason that we require a conversation between different examples of classical and gothic survival in different places, and it is just with respect to these diverse survivals that certain ‘chinks’ for the promotion of virtue open to view, as mentioned in my introduction. The second aporia of the liberal order concerns the transition from an artificially constituted polity to the regular governance of this polity, the switch from sovereignty to government or administration. For one point of the distinction of the two is that the constituting must be general and objective and disinterested. By comparison, daily rule is always partial and contested. So how is one to get from the one to the other, from the constituting to the governing process, especially if a unified sovereignty is indifferent as to whether actual government is monarchic, aristocratic, democratic or mixed?

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Again Rousseau saw this dilemma and pointed out how the English Parliament resolves it by the occasional device of forming a ‘committee of the whole house’, such that the governing body becomes, for a while, a constituting one.61 But in reality what this meant, Rousseau considered, was that the legislators must become for a transitional moment the primal founders of the legal and constitutional body as such. Yet of course this tends immediately to qualify their founding neutrality, if those setting up the rules of the game are now the first players of that game itself. In this sense the Girondin must always toy with Jacobinism and any espoused democratic populism of foundation, whether of plebiscite, or of constitutional assembly, risks spilling over into the terroristic populism of everyday regulation and enforcement where anyone may become tomorrow the victim of a committee. It is clear that today, in this respect, one dimension of liberalism has itself become populist (for example in demanding that the police assume the veracity of accusers in certain cases of claimed victimhood) and that more conservative, communitarian modes of populism are arising partly in reaction to this development. Down the other fork of the dilemma, executive government is not really rooted in a different, sovereign foundation at all, but is rather self-appointed and self-directed. In modern liberal terms this can only imply once more a usurping oligarchy. Only in ancient and mediaeval terms can a government without sovereign foundations be valid, if it is both virtuous and ‘virtually’ representative of the people by virtue of a shared horizon of custom and tradition tending to the common good, as Burke advocated. I hope that this helps to illuminate why, today, seemingly irresolvable tensions are arising between populist and representational models of democracy. The risk of the latter, without virtue, is of the rule of usurping technocratic elites. The risk of the former, without virtue, is of a right-wing, semi-fascistic atavism or else equally of an impossible left-wing Rousseauian programme of endlessly proliferating and ethically unmediable (by any calculus!) supposedly ‘natural’ rights of newly claimed ‘diversities’. This programme seems increasingly in league with one of sheerly technocratic mediation likely to devolve into a new mode of State totalitarian control, as now already emergent in China, with its plans to electronically manipulate its populace through a universal ‘social credit’. The question is therefore not, as usually posed, one of liberalism versus populism, but of the representational versus populist tension within a liberal construal of democracy itself. And as I have already remarked, the drift to populism has, in our times, arguably arisen first of all in the distinctly liberal mode of a contagious encouragement of a rights culture linked to an increasing definition of the political subject as a claimed or potential victim. Although this culture has been nurtured by elites, it prevails by engineering a clearly populist appeal to every individual who is encouraged to ‘immediately’ think of herself in terms of her own self-perception, self-identification and perception of others. This immediacy doubly bypasses the mediation of debate, both in courts who have to make proportionate judgement as to human relations in particular circumstances, and in legislating bodies who must seek to

Virtue against sovereignty 17

fairly distribute and relate to each other varying rights and duties in keeping with the will of the majority and a general discernment of the common good. This bypassing has then been partially responsible for inciting a ‘conservative’ populist response, from neglected or abandoned old and sometimes persisting majorities, who increasingly understand their solidarity in local, nationalist and ethnic terms, themselves now newly unmediated to universal humanity.

V In one third and final respect it was Rousseau who glimpsed a further dilemma of the liberal order, as Richard Tuck has today emphasised. The more that the individual and the state are assimilated, then the more it would seem that, if the sovereign state is the answer to individual dissension, whether generated by nature (Hobbes) or culture (Rousseau), then international government must be the answer to the dissensions of individuals writ large as states.62 Yet, as Tuck says, liberals seem on the whole adverse to this solution and attached to the nation state, as if in reality an original natural anarchy was what they most love and tend to project onto a collective level, as with the English love of their piratical modern foundations.63 This attachment appears though to include Tuck himself who, in a rather complex way seems to support Brexit as being, on the one hand, an induction of the British into a modern distinction of founding sovereignty from exercised government through the device of the referendum, whose refusal of the EU now refounds the UK as a properly defined modern state after all, rather than as a relic of gothic empire. On the other hand, he apparently sees Brexit as allowing us to revert to gothic parliamentary government which, as a continuous unfounded process, is singularly unlimited and makes no distinction between basic constitutional and ordinary occasional measures.64 Yet if Tuck is truly supportive of the sovereignty of the people over parliament, as The Sleeping Sovereign seems to indicate, then he cannot really, it would seem, uphold the unqualified representative dominance of Parliament. What would rather seem to attract him is its absolutely sovereign aspect which can exist, as he tends to obscure, but as Grotius and later in the 17th century Samuel Pufendorf exemplify, without any clear distinction of the sovereign from the governing power.65 This distinction, as first made by Bodin, is in fact not absolutely crucial to sovereignty doctrine which more consists in the simple advocacy of a monopoly of enforceable power.66 Yet insofar as Tuck wishes himself to uphold Bodin’s distinction, then it would seem that he desires for the future a more continuous element of direct populist intervention, perhaps by electronic means. But as I have just shown, if one does uphold Bodin’s distinction, either this risks constant usurpation by elitist and technocratic forces, or if populism spills over into the business of government itself one risks Jacobin or Maoist or altliberal terror on the one hand or the emergence of a quasi-fascistic atavism on the other.

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What is more, it is unclear, as indicated much earlier in this article, just why sovereignty should be confined within the bounds of a single nation state. If sovereignty is the self-founding of a state by a people, then what causes the people to be this people within these bounds in the first place? Part of the answer to this question, besides language and custom, is that law and the political order are always already there, defining a people through their self-representation. But then the long term ancestral question arises in this particular context, as to who are the English? And who the British? And what is the most relevant ultimate political unit for the English – is it England or Britain or perhaps rather Europe? Once more and finally in conclusion, modern liberal politics, because it thinks normatively only in terms of the individual and of power and will, is forced to choose between the autonomous state as the lone anarchic self-choosing natural individual and ending the state of international anarchy which is the real war of all against all, as Rousseau realised against Hobbes, through some sort of system of world government.67 Nationalism or globalisation, like populism versus representation, is the aporetic dilemma by which we now find ourselves transfixed, as a politics without virtue unravels before our eyes.68 And once again it is not simply a matter of liberal globalisation versus communitarian nationalism. To the contrary, liberal capitalism has in part turned to nationalism (as with Trump) in order to avoid increasing international political regulation in a fashion that co-opts, but is unlikely ultimately to satisfy, local grievances and sometimes prejudices. But for a politics of virtue this alternative in international relations is a false one. Just as local and civic ruling is a matter of sharing in virtue and of reciprocity of rule, turn by turn, so also, without the sovereignty doctrine, we do not have to choose between the absolutely sovereign state on the one hand and an increasingly absolute global body or bodies on the other. Instead with Burke once again, and with that Catholic federalist tradition that sovereignty doctrine from Bodin to the Genevan Rousseau is primarily shaped to rebut, we can recognise the primacy of shared culture across borders and the way in which this permits all sorts of benignly tangled legal and other corporate and interregional co-operations to spring up.69 Clearly, in the case of the EU, it possesses sovereignty to some degree, since it can override the decisions of national courts and cannot be thought of, as Martin Loughlin thinks of it, as a mere executor of the will of sovereign nations, and nor yet can it be thought of as their merely pooled sovereignty.70 Rather, a highly complex sharing of sovereignty at regional, national, international and cross-border corporate and educational and scientific levels becomes possible, as the Catholic personalist founders of the EU intended, if one thinks of political and social and economic activity as a collaboration towards continuously debated and commonly pursued aims of human flourishing. If sovereignty is in this way pluralised, then it need not be the case that the more inevitably technical aspects of modern governance preclude the restoration of the ancient understanding of politics whereby rule was in fluid continuity with the normal actions and interactions of citizens.

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A possible objection here is that the EU potentially lays claim after all to absolute sovereignty in terms of an explicit or at least tacit avowal of a distinction between sovereignty and government. This would be evidenced by the supposed role of the European Court of Justice as a ‘constitutional court’ with powers to lay down rules that the European and national parliaments are forced to obey through mere submission to judicial fiat. Were that the case, then this would indeed violate the spirit and potentially the practice of the British constitution as identified by Tuck, and by Jesse Norman when he says that its continuous revisability (rather than its mythical ‘unwritten’ character) places it in a ‘perennial dynamic with political consent and consensus’.71 However, it is not clear that the ECJ is a fully-fledged constitution-making organ. As Norman himself says, it is not actually allowed by Germany and France to override their own constitution-making bodies, and now that the UK has (however much this tends to dilute its constitution) a supreme court, this could be deployed to the same effect. But what is more, the ECJ scarcely acts as a rival to the legislature to the same degree as the US supreme court and in fact its judicial activism has somewhat declined since the 1990s. It also takes much account of precedent as well as principle in a fashion that tends to fuse common and Roman law mentalities, for all its use of the French language (and actually the same blending has been underway within French law for some time). In any case, the EU constitution is ultimately set up exclusively by intergovernmental treaties (sometimes backed by national referenda) which have been continuously revised. It is therefore arguable that the EU constitution in reality cleaves considerably to a British indistinction of constitutional rules and governing functions within its own classical/gothic mode of mixed constitution. None of this, of course, denies that, in the course of its history, the personalist dimension of the EEC/EU, linked to a government by an active citizenry, has been to a large degree swamped by a purely technocratic one, which was also there from the outset, under the very different inspiration of Jean Monnet. In order to correct this, and to secure a greater ‘British’ indistinction, and an increase in participatory mixed government, many new reforms are needed. Among these would be: the reduction of the Commission to the status of a civil service; the creation of a more permanent European ministry; a greater European ministerial and parliamentary instigation of legislation; a bicameral Parliament with a second, vocational and regional chamber; the debating of European measures also within national Parliaments and the formation of genuine European-wide political parties linked to the slow development of a truly European constituency and citizenship. The latter is especially crucial: without a ‘spirit’ of European law, the EU can have no real federal legitimacy.72 Thus one should not despair of the project of personalising the technical, as indeed personalist thinkers like Emmanuel Mounier focussed on from the outset.73 Here one might usefully recall that the Aristotelian division of ethical ‘doing’ from artistic and technical ‘making’ is not found in Plato and is rebuffed by the Neoplatonist Plotinus for which both are subsumed under a dynamic,

20 John Milbank

inner and outer kinesis. 74 As the Catholic artist Eric Gill taught in the 1930s, we need once more to marry Ars and Prudentia, to infuse our ethics with creative imagination and architectonic enabling of the future, but equally to infuse all our technology with a personal sensitivity and adaptability.75 Such a marriage of the technical and the interpersonal was what the Christian, mainly Catholic but also Protestant, founders of the EU had in mind. In this way they sought to qualify a soulless capitalist and bureaucratic globalisation process on the one hand, and on the other to temper nationalisms in which the personal has turned exclusive and poisonous. Clearly this virtuous goal has been more than considerably lost sight of, but may it soon be recovered rather than perhaps fatally abandoned.

Notes 1 See John Milbank and Adrian Pabst, The Politics of Virtue: Postliberalism and the Human Future (London: Rowam and Littlefield, 2016). 2 Martin Loughlin, ‘Ten Tenets of Sovereignty’ in Neil Walker ed. Sovereignty in Transition: Essays in European Law (Oxford/Portland Oregon: Hart Publishing, 2003) 55–86. 3 Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition (Chicago: Chicago UP, 1998). 4 See John Milbank, ‘The Gift of Ruling’ in John Milbank and Simon Oliver eds. The Radical Orthodoxy Reader (London: Routeldge, 2009), 338–362. 5 See Aristotle, Politics, Book IV,1–13, 1288b 10–1301a15; Polybius, The Histories, trans. Robin Waterfield (Oxford: OUP, 2010), Book Six, [2–18], 370–385; Milbank and Pabst, The Politics of Virtue, 205–244. 6 Aristotle, Politics, Book III.8, 1284a-30; 8,1288a20–30. 7 Thomas Hobbes, The Elements of Law, Natural and Political (Oxford: OUP, 2008), Part One, Human Nature Chapter XIV, 1–10 pp. 77–79; The Citizen [De Cive] in Man and Citizen (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1992), VI, 6–12, pp. 177–180; Leviathan, (Cambridge: CUP, 1991) Chapter XIII, Chapter XXI, pp. 87–90, 148; Richard Tuck, The Rights of War and Peace: Political Thought and the International Order From Grotius to Kant (Oxford: OUP, 2001), 109–139, 197–225; John Milbank, Being Reconciled: Ontology and Pardon (London: Routledge, 2003), 1–25. 8 See John Milbank, Theology and Social Theory: Beyond Secular Reason, second edition (Oxford: Blackwell, 2008), 18–22. 9 I owe this point to Edward Skidelsky. 10 Hobbes, On Man [De Homine], XII in Man and Citizen, pp. 55–62; The Elements of Law, Part One, Human Nature, Chapter VII, pp. 43–45. 11 Jean Bodin, On Sovereignty: Four Chapters from The Six Books of the Commonwealth, trans. Julian H. Franklin (Cambridge: CUP, 1992), Book I, Chapter 8, ‘On Sovereignty’, p. 1. See also, Govery Buijs, ‘“Que les Latins appellant maiestatem”. An Exploration into the Theological Background of the Concept of Sovereignty’ in Walker ed., Sovereignty in Transition (Oxford: Hart Publishing, 2003), 229–257; Gaines Post, Studies in Medieval Legal Thought: Public Law and the State, 1100–1322 (London: Lawbook Exchange, 2012) 340ff; Walter Ullmann, The Growth of Papal Government in the Middle Ages (London: Methuen, 1970), 21; F.S. Lear, ‘The Idea of Majesty in Roman Thought’ in Essays in History and Political Theory in Honour of C.H. McIlwain (Cambridge MA, 1936),168–198. 12 See Antony Black, Guilds and Civil Society in European Political Thought From the Twelfth Century to the Present (London: Methuen, 1984), 129–132.

Virtue against sovereignty 21 13 Richard Tuck, Philosophy and Government, 1572–1651 (Cambridge: CUP, 1993), 1–119. 14 Tuck, Philosophy and Government, 120–153. 15 Tuck, Philosophy and Government, 154–201; The Rights of War and Peace, 78–108; Benjamin Straumann, Roman Law in the State of Nature: The Classical Foundations of Hugo Grotius’ Natural Law (Cambridge: CUP, 2015). 16 This was a type of law made by special priests relating to international treatises and declarations of war. 17 See note 40 below for John Neville Figgis’s insights about Grotius in this respect. 18 Tuck, The Rights of War and Peace, 226–234. 19 Hugo Grotius, On the Law of War and Peace (Cambridge: CUP, 2012), Prologue; Book I, Chapters 1–3; Book II, Chapter 1, 2–5, Chapters 2–3; Chapter 12, 2–8, 26, Book III, 8, 1–4, pp. 1–19, 23–67, 81–84, 92–115, 202–205, 214, 374–375. 20 John Milbank, Theology and Social Theory, 382–442. 21 Richard Tuck, The Sleeping Sovereign: The Invention of Modern Democracy (Cambridge: CUP, 2015). 22 Jean-Franҫois Courtine, Nature et empire de la loi: études suaréziennes (Paris: J.Vrin, 1999), 9–43. 23 Giorgio Agamben, The Kingdom and the Glory: For a Theological Genealogy of Economy and Government (Homo Sacer II, 2), trans Lorenzo Chiesa (Stanford CA: Stanford UP, 2011), 1–16. 24 Ernst Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies: A Study in Medieval Political Theology (Princeton: Princeton UP, 2016). 25 Bodin, On Sovereignty, Book I, Chapter 8, p. 44. 26 J. N. Figgis, The Divine Right of Kings (Cambridge: CUP, 1914), 38–65; Nicholas Henshall, The Myth of Absolutism (Harlow: Longman, 1992). 27 Augustine d’Ancona: Omnis status reducitur ad caput unum … . ubicumque autem est capitis unitas, ibi est status, cited in Michael Wilks, The Problem of Sovereignty in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge: CUP, 1963), 158. However, Wilks’ overall account which sees ‘Thomism’ and more radical secularised and individualising forces as weakening an ‘Augustinian’ and ‘Neo-Platonic’ account of Papal ‘Totalitarianism’ is inaccurate, whiggish and sometimes anachronistic. In reality, the drift to Papal absolutism in Augustine of Ancona and Giles of Rome derived from novel Averroist (and so after all inflectedly Aristotelian) influences, encouraging an understanding of Papal authority in terms of a more purely formal jurisdictional and coercive, and now less mystical and symbolic (and so less ‘neoplatonic’) power, as Henri de Lubac has shown. By contrast, Aquinas merely modulates the Augustinian political legacy in terms that are more ‘Greek’ in a Byzantine as well as Aristotelian sense. What is more, as becomes evident in thinkers like William of Ockham, as later on with Hobbes, absolutism and individualism are in dialectical collusion with each other, if not indeed in isomorphic monistic coincidence at different levels. J.N. Figgis was much nearer to realising this. See Henri de Lubac, ‘Political Augustinianism’ in Theological Fragments, trans. Rebecca Howell Belinski (San Francisco: Ignatius, 1989), 235–286. One can readily dismiss the attempted critique of de Lubac on this point by Eric Leland Saak SJ in his High Way to Heaven: The Augustinian Platform Between Reform and Reformation, 1292–1524 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2002) 158n.406. He derides the French theologian’s invocation of ‘the true Augustine’ against later interpretations, on the seeming grounds that such a hermeneutic discernment has no historical purchase: any old influence of Augustine must apparently be authentically ‘Augustinian’, especially if espoused by members of the Augustinian order of friars. But if the historian is unprepared to distinguish between more and less accurate readings of past texts, then he will be unable to discern the covert breaks that occur in time under the nomenclature of continuity. At that point it is the discerning theologian

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28 29 30

31 32 33 34 35

or philosopher who becomes the more accurate historian. In the case of Augustine, a refusal of historians to attend to such more recent voices has resulted in the perpetuation of huge myths about an ‘Augustinian’ tradition that distorts western intellectual and cultural history in really fundamental ways over a very long temporal trajectory. Figgis, The Divine Right of Kings, 15; From Gerson to Grotius (Cambridge: CUP, 17). De Lubac, ‘Political Augustinianism’; Ullmann, The Growth of Papal Government, 20–21. Courtine, Nature et empire, 33, 37; André de Muralt, ‘La structure de la philosophie politique modern. D’Occam à Roussseau’, in Souverainté et Pouvoir: Cahiers de la revue de théologie et de philosophie, n.2, 1978, 20ff, 66–67; Marcel Gauchet, ‘L’État au miroir de la raison d’État: La France et la chrétienté’ in Y.C. Zarka ed., Raison et déraison d’État (Paris: PUF, 1994), 193–244; Francis Oakley, Natural Law, Laws of Nature, Natural Rights (London: Continuum, 2005); Jean Bethke Elshstain, Sovereignty: God, State and Self (New York: Basic Books, 2008). For the distinction of the potentia absoluta/potentia ordinata in general, see the mediaeval texts collected by Olivier Boulnois in La Puissance et son Ombre. De Pierre Lombard à Luther (Paris: Aubier, 1994). Richard Tuck, The Sleeping Sovereign, 1–120. However, see note 34 below for the case that Tuck exaggerates the duality of sovereignty versus government. Jean Bodin, Les Six livres de la République [1576] (Paris: Myriel, 2017) 233. Michel Foucault, Sécurité, Territoire, Population (Paris: Le Seuil, 2004); La Naissance de la Biopolitique (Paris: Le Seuil, 2006). See John Milbank, ‘Oikonomia leaves home: theology, politics and governance in the history of the west’, in Telos, No 178, Spring, 2017, 77–99. Bodin, On Sovereignty, Book 1, Chapter 8, pp 1–45. P.23: ‘We thus see that the main point of sovereign majesty and absolute power consists of giving the law to subjects in general without their consent’. This is exactly what distinguishes law from contract (p.15). The Prince is bound by his internal and external contracts, in respect of being a private person, to the same extent as any other private person and to the contracts made by his predecessor, in so far (and so far only) as he is their heir. But as legislator he is not so bound by his own laws, which he can continuously make and unmake, just as he does not really inherit the crown by right of succession, but immediately and without interval ‘in virtue of the kingdom’s law’, by which ‘the king never dies, as they say’ (p. 44). That is to say, sovereignty is granted and sovereign legislation continues to be passed, in the name in the name of the undying monarch. Thomas Hobbes, The Citizen, Chapter VI in Man and Citizen, 173–190; Leviathan, Chapters XVIII, XXVI, pp. 121–129, 183–200, esp. p 184: ‘The Legislator in all Common-wealths, is only the Sovereign, be he One Man, as in a Monarchy, or one Assembly of men, as in a Democracy, or Aristocracy. For the Legislator is he that maketh the Law.’ This reveals that ‘legislation’ in Hobbes somewhat undercuts the sovereignty/government distinction in a way that Tuck overlooks. Sovereignty is absolute and undivided, not only in the constitution of a state, but also continuously in the exercise of its power. And this power, like government (the ‘economising’ of legislation) may be exercised by a mixed constitution, even though the ultimate monistic ground of its power does not (as it did for the tradition) lie in any mixture. Power has now been ‘transcendentalised’ as formally above and outside of human regular activity as citizens. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, The Social Contract, trans. Maurice Cranston (London: Penguin, 1968) Book II, Chapters 6,7, 11 and 12, pp. 80–88, 96–100. And see the reviews of The Sleeping Sovereign by Robin Douglass, ‘Tuck, Rousseau and the Sovereignty of the People’ in History of European Ideas, Vol.42 No.8, 1111–1114 and Martin Loughlin ‘Active, Passive or Dead’ in London Review of Books, 16th June, 2016.

Virtue against sovereignty 23 36 Courtine, Nature et Empire, 27; Joseph R. Strayer, On the Medieval Origins of the Modern State (Princeton: Princeton UP, 2016), 18: ‘Curiously enough, the drive towards improved judicial and financial institutions was especially strong in some of the larger feudal lordships’. Strayer goes on to argue (18–19) that a move to something like state formation, especially in France, derived from a combination of the unprecedented (in Rome and barbaric Germania) novelty of intense personal fealty to lords, their relative political transcendence of the merely tribal (exemplified by the structures of the county with its court and count or Shire Reeve) and the desire of the lords for increased political governance in order to provide more income and security for himself and his heirs. J.N. Figgis, From Gerson to Grotius, 10: ‘[feudalism] tended more than anything else towards the growth of the doctrine of hereditary right, and the notion that the king’s claims were unassailable, in fact towards the treating of the State as an estate … The Commonwealth under feudal notion is a pure Herrshafts-verband, not a Genossenshaft; and the king’s rights are those of a landed proprietor’. 37 Figgis, From Gerson to Grotius, 18–19: ‘it is in the feudal system that the contractual theory off government took its rise … It was feudalism which led to that comparison between private and public rights which makes “ the case of the king” a precedent in private law. In fact, as Professor Maitland pointed out, under feudalism there is no public law; all rights are private, including those of the king’. Figgis goes on to point out that just for this reason there was in the Middle Ages no secular state nor sovereignty: ‘there is perhaps no more essential element in feudal theory than the belief in the infinite divisibility of sovereign power’ (The Divine Right of Kings, 30). Yet he is also advancing a paradox: the very things that prevented such a development were also nurturing it – namely feudal relations and the privatisation of law. See also The Divine Right of Kings, 24 ff. Perhaps this is akin to Marcel Mauss’s paradox that gift-exchange at once wards off contract and yet encourages its eventual arrival. 38 Grotius, On the Law of War and Peace, Book I, Chapter 3, 23–24, pp. 65–67. Grotius’s refusal of Bodin’s sovereignty/government distinction tends to reinforce a construal of sovereignty in personal, private terms, even if this means that the promises made by a sovereign as sovereign must for him, unlike Bodin, in more ‘constitutional’ a fashion bind his heir: Book II, Chapter 16, 16, p. 245, also Chapter 14, 1–2, pp. 22–223. 39 Susan Reynolds, Fiefs and Vassals: The Medieval Evidence Reinterpreted (Oxford: OUP, 1996). And as regards gift-exchange see my remark at the end of note 36 above. 40 See note 36 above. Figgis also saw (From Gerson to Grotius, 226–227 (19)), that Grotius was able to revise international law because of the same feudal indistinction between public and private. Hence the barbarity of modern liberal empire is, again, also a ‘mock-gothic’ barbarity. Thus (227) ‘Grotius argues for war from the principle of justifiable homicide, and the same is true for the application of many other principles, such as usucapation to the action of States’. 41 Boris Porshnev, ‘The Bourgeoisie and Feudal-Absolutism in Seventeenth-Century France’ in P. J. Coveney, France in Crisis, 1620—1675 (London: Macmillan, 1977), 103–135. 42 Aristotle, Politics, Book III, 1271b1–1288b9. 43 Carl Schmitt, The Necessity of Politics; An Essay on the Representative Idea in the Church and Modern Europe (London: Createspace, 2017). But Schmitt plays down the democratic aspect of representation already in the case of the ecclesial notion. See further John Milbank, Beyond Secular Order: The Representation of Being and the Representation of the People (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013), 140–176. 44 Hobbes, Leviathan, Chapter XVII, 120. 45 Leviathan, Chapters XXXII-XL, 255–415.

24 John Milbank 46 Giorgio Agamben in Stasis: Civil War as a Political Paradigm, trans. Nicholas Heron (Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 2015) discusses the implication of Hobbes’s apparent celebration of AntiChrist: is this in any sense ironical? Geoffrey Hill, in his essay ‘Rhetorics of Value and Instrinsic Value’ in Collected Critical Writings (Oxford: OUP, 2008) declares on p. 469 that ‘Leviathan, whatever else it is or is not, is a tragic elegy on the extinction of intrinsic value ….’, or in other words on the possibility of a politics of virtue. Hill suggests that Hobbes’s rhetoric, in respect of his lament for his friend the young Royalist Sidney Godolphin as ‘slain … by an undiscerned and undiscerning hand’, might be ‘upstaging his own pretended cynicism of despair’, perhaps ‘implying that the intelligence that created Leviathan is the true heir in an untrue world, and witness to an unwitnessing future, to the magnanimity of Godolphin, Falkland, and the Great Tew “symposium”, whatever arguments to the contrary might be drawn from the theses of the work itself’. Yet if this were so, one would have to ironise the entirety of Hobbes’ materialist ontology and brutal theological voluntarism, which the undoubted heirs of Great Tew’s rural Oxonian latitude were so offended by. This seems completely incredible, and yet again it is as if, with regret, Hobbes, once the youthful peruser of his mentor William Cavendish’s large library of Hermetic and Rosicrucian tomes, later decided that civil war and the accession of the Commonwealth has disclosed the bleak cosmic truth of a Protestant materialism. 47 Milbank and Pabst, The Politics of Virtue, passim. 48 Rousseau, The Social Contract, Book II, Chapter 7, p. 87. 49 Rousseau, The Social Contract, Book II, Chapter 10, p. 95. 50 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, ‘First Discourse’ in The First and Second Discourses, trans. R. D. and J.R. Masters (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1964) pp. 33–74; ‘Discourse on Political Economy’ in The Basic Political Writings, trans. Donald A. Cress (Indianapolis: Hackett, 2011), 123–152. 51 Bastardised because here grace is bypassed in favour of a social mechanism to correct a contagion that is seen as the original sin only of culture, not of the human race as such. See The Social Contract, Book IV, Chapters 1–2, pp. 149–154; Patrick Riley, The General Will Before Rousseau: The Transformation of the Divine Into The Civic (Princeton: Princeton UP, 1986); Alexis Philonenko, Jean-Jacques Rousseau et la pensée de malheur (Paris: J.Vrin, 1984); Luc Ferry and Alain Renault, Political Philosophy 3: From the Rights of Man to the Republican Idea, trans. Franklin Philip (Chicago: Chicago UP, 1992), 49–59. Tuck’s objection to Riley’s (and by implication Philonenko’s) thesis of Malebranchian, Arnauldian and Leibnizian origin, that the language of general and particular will is already found in a purely political context in Samuel Pufendorf (The Sleeping Sovereign, 128) ignores the historical reality that theology stood behind every political invocation of this contrast. In Pufendorf’s case incorrigible human disagreement requires ‘a perpetual union of the wills of all’, while a continued cleaving of individuals to their own groundless options requires the constituting of a single sovereign power ‘which shall be directly before their eyes’. This corresponds to God’s general natural law on the one hand and his particular institution of states in the face of the violation of that law (more or less reduced by Pufendorf to the rights of self-government and property ownership) on the other: On the Duty of Man and Citizen According to Natural Law, Book II, Chapter 6, 4 and 14, pp. 136, 138. 52 Rousseau, The Social Contract, Book II, Chapter 3, pp. 72–74. 53 Tuck, The Sleeping Sovereign, 121–248: Mark Goldie, ‘Situating Swift’s Politics in 1701’, in Claude Rowson ed. Politics and Literature in the Age of Swift (Cambridge: CUP, 2010), 31–51. 54 Hobbes, Leviathan, Chapter XVIII, p. 121.

Virtue against sovereignty 25 55 Derridean because the ‘supplement’ of representation added to the body of the people is always already there ‘at the origin’ in order for there to be a definable body at all. Significantly, Jacques Derrida sometimes directed such an insight against Rousseau. Tuck’s attempts to assimilate Rousseau and Hobbes with respect to direct democratic foundations do not then seem coherent. For a postmodernist account of the impossibility of a pure, natural, Rousseauian direct democracy see Hans Lindahl, ‘Sovereignty and Representation in the European Union’ in Walker, Sovereignty in Transition, 87–114. 56 Johannes Althusius, Politica, trans. Frederick S. Carney (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 1995), esp. I, IV-VI, IX-XX, XXI-XXVII, pp. 1–26, 33–50, 66–134, 135–158. Although Althusius formally accepted Bodin’s sovereignty theory and even his distinction of this from government, which indeed structures his book, just as inversely, as we saw, Bodin’s political theory included a corporatist element, he massively qualified this by his more thoroughgoing and unprecedented (even in the Middle Ages) inclusion of vocational guilds within the primary structures of both rule and administration. In this way also he qualified modern contractualism in favour of a kind of ‘alternatively modern’ validation of the primary political role of free associations inherited from the Middle Ages. Nonetheless, the discerning reader can see elements both of a ‘contracting’ between different corporate bodies and accordingly also some element of a central sovereign power ‘over-against’ the corporations and regional assemblies and therefore able to deploy these as instruments of political control, rendering the element of ‘government’ perhaps after all in the end somewhat primary. (Therein lies arguably the germ of the difference between modern Calvinist and modern Catholic social teaching, for all their resemblances; it can be seen that it is the former, not the latter that is protofascistic, as in its admittedly perverse South African outworkings, and for all the distortions to which Catholic corporatism has often been subject.) This same tendency can be related to the way in which the Holy Roman Empire could also, alongside the emerging Nation-State, be a vehicle for modernising processes, especially if one stresses, after Foucault, the primacy of police and administration, in the wake of Humanist proponents of empire like Mercurino Gattinara in the Sixteenth Century. All the same, Althusius also shows how the imperial context could qualify this modernising in an ‘alternative’ way by retaining to a considerable degree medieval pluralism and federalism within a ‘prophetic’ context, as most famously manifest in Dante, that looked always to a further reforming of Christendom, sometimes, after the Reformation keeping alive ecumenical hopes. See Laurent Gerbier, Les raisons de l’Empire (Paris: J.Vrin, 2016), 171–182. Also Black, Guilds and Civil Society (London: Methuen, 1983), 132–142. 57 Tuck, The Sleeping Sovereign, 173–174. 58 See Milbank and Pabst, The Politics of Virtue, 179–244. 59 Eric Nelson, The Royalist Revolution: Monarchy and the American Founding (Cambridge MA: Harvard UP, 2014). 60 Jonathan Swift, A Discourse on the Contests and Dissensions Between the Nobles and the Commons in Athens and Rome, with the Consequences they had Upon Both those States (London: John Nutt, 1701). 61 Rousseau, The Social Contract, Book III, Chapter 17, pp. 145–146. 62 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, ‘The State of War’ in The Basic Political Writings, 255–265. 63 Tuck, The Rights of War and Peace, 226–234. 64 Richard Tuck, ‘Brexit; A prize in Reach for the Left’, a talk given for Policy Exchange, on the web at http://policyexchange.org.uk/pxevents/brexit-a-pri ze-in-reach-for-the-left/ 65 Tuck rather obscures the degree to which the differences between Bodin, Hobbes and Rousseau on the one hand and Grotius and Pufendorf on the other are somewhat ‘scholastic’. For all of them (if less clearly Bodin) are theorists of an original political

26 John Milbank

66 67 68 69

contract between naturally isolated individuals – a notion, which, as Tuck rightly says, was not merely heuristic, as it often had the situation of the new American ‘wilderness’ in mind. In every case, the solution to this original anarchy is the formation of a polity through a monopoly of power at the centre. Although Hobbes, like Bodin, distinguishes a founding sovereignty from later government, at least in Leviathan the democratic moment is immediately obliterated by the alienation of collective to a single power. Since, as we have seen, there can be no polity without this alienation and its power of enforcement, the later Hobbes is consistently aware that the aporia of a contracting multitude who cannot make an enforceable contract until it is already made requires this absolutist resolution. And although Grotius makes no distinction between the regular government of a specifically political coetus perfectus liberorum hominum and its sovereign foundation, nonetheless this does not, as Tuck avers, align him in most essential respects with traditional notions of mixed government. For even if, for him, in contrast to Bodin, the Roman dictator or Caesar was not sovereign as owing his power to an ‘original’ and ‘direct’ popular acclamation, nevertheless any government for him, whether monarchic, aristocratic, democratic or a mixture, now rests on a separate, monopolising ‘sovereign’ foundation which stands over against the ruled, and is no longer a teleological outcome and fruition of the regular activities of citizens as such. As to Pufendorf, unlike Althusius, he rejected, as Tuck notes, the federal structure of the Empire on the basis of sovereignty theory. This Althusius massively qualified by his corporatism, even if the discerning reader can see elements both of a ‘contracting’ between different corporate bodies and accordingly also some element of a central sovereign power ‘over-against’ the corporations and regional assemblies and therefore able to deploy these as instruments of political control. (Therein lies arguably the germ of the difference between modern Calvinist and modern Catholic social teaching, for all their resemblances; it can be seen that it is the former, not the latter that is protofascistic, as in its admittedly perverse South African outworkings, and for all the distortions to which Catholic corporatism has often been subject.) Pufendorf secured this sovereignty in terms of a theory of two distinct instances of political constitution in a way that is akin to Bodin and Hobbes, as Tuck obscures, even if it is also distinct from them, as he rightly avers and other commentators, like Alfred Dufour overlook. For Pufendorf, this duality takes the mode of two distinct contracts: one to establish the political coetus as sovereign, the other to determine what mode sovereign government (now indistinct, as Tuck says) will take. Since democracy, were it to be chosen, is not yet in force, the majority cannot as yet compel any minority, in the case of the first contract, which is merely deliberative. Clearly this is subject to a Hobbesian critique: unless obliging force and a ruling majority or a unanimity were already there, no polity could be set up in the first place. Thus the same basic modern liberal alignment of individualism, mass consensus and monopolising, alienated force is at work in all these thinkers, in a fashion that Tuck in effect obfuscates. What he explores is the representational versus populist tension within this consensus, but without recognising the aporias that afflict the latter pole, nor its inherent dialectical linkage with the tyrannical. For Dufour’s views on Pufendorf see Alfred Dufour, ‘Pufendorf’ in The Cambridge History of Political Thought 1450–1700 (Cambridge: CUP, 2006), 561–588. See the previous note. Rousseau, ‘The State of War’. See Milbank and Pabst, The Politics of Virtue, 313–378. The dilemma is also a trilemma as Dani Rodrik has argued in his book The Globalisation Paradox (Oxford: OUP, 2011). One cannot have globalisation, the sovereign state and democracy all at once. Philippe Chenaux, De la chrétienté à l’Europe (Paris; CLD, 2006).

Virtue against sovereignty 27 70 Loughlin, ‘Ten Tenets of Sovereignty’. 71 Jesse Norman ‘The ECJ, the EU Charter, the British Bill of Rights and the Future of our Liberties’ on the web at Conservative Home, 18th May, 2016. However debatable in certain respects, this is a very searching article. 72 I am heavily indebted here to discussions with Adrian Pabst. 73 Emmanuel Mounier, Personalism (Notre Dame: Notre Dame UP, 1970). 74 Plotinus, Enneads VI, 1, 15.1–17.20. Plotinus argues, beyond Aristotle, that if intransitive energeia does not require the passage of time, then neither necessarily does transitive kinesis. 75 Eric Gill, Art and Prudence: An Essay (London: Golden Cockerel Press, 1928).

Chapter 2

Reducing arrogance in public debate Alessandra Tanesini

Introduction In many countries we are witnessing clear signs that debates about important political issues are becoming increasingly ill-tempered and polarised. This situation has coincided with an increase in arrogance and closed-mindedness in discussion. Assuming that humility and open-mindedness in debate are worth cultivating, whilst arrogance and closed-mindedness are best avoided, there is a pressing need to develop interventions to ameliorate the current state of affairs. This chapter proposes that self-affirmation techniques can help to address this issue by reducing arrogant behaviour. It consists of three sections. The first offers an account of what speakers owe to their audiences, and of what hearers owe to speakers. It also illustrates some of the ways in which arrogance leads to violations of conversational norms. The second argues that arrogance can be understood as an attitude toward the self which is positive but defensive. The final section offers empirical evidence why we should expect self-affirmation to reduce defensiveness and thus the manifestation of arrogance in debate.

I Arrogance in debate may take many different forms. Arrogant speakers often do not respect the implicit rules of turn-taking in discussion. They are prone to interrupting others when they speak. They may also speak at length and deprive others of the same opportunity. In addition, arrogant speakers do not like to be challenged. They respond with anger to genuine questions. They do not answer objections; instead, they dismiss them without the consideration that they are due. Arrogance is not the preserve of speakers since it can also be displayed by members of the audience. Arrogant listeners tend to treat speakers with disrespect. They may make a show of incredulity after a speaker’s assertion; they may shake their heads or roll their eyes. They may also ignore a speaker’s contribution to a conversation and behave as if it has never been made.

Reducing arrogance in public debate 29

These behaviours exemplify a form of disrespect for other participants in discussion. The person who interrupts another is in normal circumstances violating an obligation.1 Each person is entitled to be able to finish her contribution to a conversation. That is, others owe it to her that she completes her speech act. Similarly, the person who does not answer legitimate criticisms breaks a norm governing conversation since people are entitled to ask speakers to defend the point of view that they have put forward in conversation. Similar considerations apply to all other characteristic displays of arrogance in discussion. They are disrespectful because they break norms governing what we owe to each other in debate. The norms violated by the arrogant are likely to take different forms. My focus here is exclusively on the rules governing one kind of linguistic exchange, namely the giving and receiving of testimony through the use of assertions. In short, I shall be looking at cases where a person tells something to an audience. Further, these tellings are not intended as the sharing of speculations or guesses. The speaker in these cases is not sticking her neck out; rather she is making statements. In other words, she puts forward what she is telling as true. There is no philosophical consensus on the best account of testimony but there is sufficient agreement on some aspects of this social practice. First, a person who is telling someone that something is the case conveys that she has the appropriate epistemic standing vis a vis the content she asserts.2 Second, this same person is conveying to her audience that she is prepared to answer reasonable challenges to her claims. The view that a speaker undertakes these two commitments when giving testimony by means of an assertion is reasonably uncontroversial.3 These two features of the practice of telling are commitments undertaken by speakers. I label the first the ‘accountability’ commitment, and the second ‘answerability’. I will take these in turn. When making an assertion in the context of an act of telling the speaker essentially commits to being someone on whom others can rely for the truth of what is said. For this reason, some have argued that telling is akin to making a promise or giving one’s word that what is being said is true (Hinchman, 2005; Moran, 2006). When the speaker conveys that she can be relied on for the truth of what she says, she is implying that her relation to the content she asserts is such that she is within her rights to make the claim. There is serious disagreement about the nature of the standing that the speaker must have in relation to her assertion for her asserting it to be appropriate. Some say that the appropriate standing must be knowledge, others that justification is what is required, still others defend the view that speaker’s belief in the asserted content is sufficient.4 I do not take a stance on this issue here. My point is instead that whatever is required for an assertion to be proper, the speaker in telling something to another person undertakes a commitment to having met that requirement. This is what I mean by an accountability commitment. The speaker undertakes to be accountable for her claims. It is because she has made this commitment that she licenses other speakers to hold her responsible if, having trusted her, it turns out that what she said was false.

30 Alessandra Tanesini

The answerability commitment is different from the accountability one. When making an assertion a teller also undertakes the commitment to address any reasonable challenges to her claims by answering them. Note that accountability does not entail answerability since a person may still be accountable for the truth of what he says without being required to defend it. This is true of individuals who have been conferred special kinds of authority. What I have in mind here are referees who do not need to answer players’ challenges and judges whose verdicts are also not a matter of debate from the jury or the parties in the dispute. The same may be said of the Pope when issuing ex cathedra pronouncements which are also meant not to be open to being challenged by anyone on earth.5 In addition to speakers’ undertaking commitments toward their audiences, listeners too owe something to speakers. What speakers are entitled to expect is, minimally, that what they have attempted to communicate is acknowledged. Thus, listeners do not owe speakers that they are believed. In my opinion, but this is a matter of debate, hearers are not even obliged to speak up if they disagree with the speaker.6 Speakers, instead, are owed uptake. They are entitled to expect that if they have done everything in their power to make themselves clear, and there no circumstances warranting justifications, excuses or exculpations, then the audience grasps what the speakers purports to communicate. In short, speakers are entitled to expect that hearers listen to them and understand what they have communicated. We are now in a position to consider how arrogant speakers and listeners tend to violate the obligations outlined above. The problem with arrogant speakers is that they behave as if the commitments that must be undertaken by purveyors of testimony did not apply to them. Thus, arrogant speakers behave as if they were umpires or judges. They take it that they do not need to answer any challenges, because other people in their view lack the authority to question them. This is the reason why arrogant speakers respond with anger to perfectly legitimate questions. They interpret these challenges as an affront because they imply that others are as authoritative as the speaker. The arrogant individual implies with his words and actions that he is epistemically superior to others. Hence, he takes himself to be exempt from the answerability commitment that must be undertaken by all speakers. Since this claim to an exemption is an unwarranted arrogation of authority, the arrogant speaker implicitly disrespects others because he treats them as his epistemic inferiors even though this treatment is not warranted.7 Arrogant hearers also disrespect speakers because they violate the norms governing the behaviour of those who receive a testimony. Since hearers owe to speakers that their word receives uptake, in the case of testimony an audience must recognise what the speakers say but also that they are putting it forward as true. That is, the audience must acknowledge that the speaker has undertaken the accountability and the answerability commitments. The person who continues a conversation as if the interlocutor’s claim had never been made fails to acknowledge that the speaker has put herself forward as someone who can be trusted because she has committed to her assertion having been

Reducing arrogance in public debate 31

properly made. Similarly, the person who stares in disbelief or rolls her eyes fails to acknowledge that the speakers has made a commitment to answer challenges. It is disrespectful to express one’s disagreement by rolling one’s eyes since this behaviour deprives the speaker of the ability to defend her viewpoint. As with the case of the arrogant speaker, the arrogant hearer behaves as if he is exempt from the obligations governing the behaviour of ordinary participants in conversation and debate. Thus, one way to think about what is wrong with arrogant behaviour is to note that it involves arrogating a special status for oneself and, as a result, behaving in ways which are disrespectful of others (Cf., Roberts & Wood, 2007).

II In this section I turn to the psychological underpinnings of the arrogant behaviours discussed in the first part. In the view defended here, this vice is the manifestations of attitudes (as these are understood in social psychology) directed toward one’s own intellectual character or cognitive make-up and its components. Arrogance, I argue, is an expression of defensive or fragile self-esteem. In order to clarify my position, I need first to define what is meant in social psychology by an attitude and clarify the notion of attitude function. Attitudes in this sense are not propositional attitudes; they are instead summary evaluations of an object (Banaji & Heiphetz, 2010). Thus, one may be said to have a positive attitude toward some person or group, a value like equality, or any other thing whatsoever. Positive attitudes are akin to liking something and feeling warmly about it. Negative attitudes are dislikes. Attitudes are thus always evaluative. They can be thought as cognitive shortcuts because they summarise all the information one has about a given object. Thus, attitudes are formed by aggregating (perhaps separately) the plus or minuses that one associates with a given thing which are embodied in one’s beliefs, desires, memories, past behaviours related to that object. The information from which attitudes are derived is known as attitude content (Maio & Haddock, 2015). Attitudes are often said to have functions. These are individuated by the needs that the attitudes satisfy. For example, a person may dislike chocolate because she wants to belong to a group of skinny people who abhor fattening foods. This person’s negative evaluation of chocolate serves the need to be socially accepted by her elective group. Attitudes that satisfy this need are said to have a social-adjustive function. There is no consensus on the number of functions served by attitudes, but there is a broad agreement on some. These include: satisfying the need to make sense of the world (knowledge function); the need to express one’s values (value expressive function); the need to defend the ego against real or presumed threats (ego-defensive function) as well as the need to be socially accepted (social adjustment function). Each attitude may serve more than one function (Maio & Olson, 2000a).

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Most important for my purposes here is the ego-defensive function in addition to the need to be socially accepted introduced above. Attitudes serving the need for ego-defence are evaluations of an object based on one’s informational basis with regard to how well the object satisfies the need to feel good about oneself. One has negative ego-defensive attitudes toward things that make one feel bad about oneself, and positive attitudes towards those things that have the opposite effect. Similarly, people have positive social-adjustive attitudes toward things that enhance their social acceptance, and negative attitudes toward things that promote their social exclusion (Maio & Olson, 2000b). Attitudes can be strong or weak. There are several different notions of attitude strength. First, attitudes are strong when they are highly accessible. An attitude is strong in this sense when the representation of the object and the positive or negative valence are strongly associated so that the activation of the first automatically triggers the second. When attitudes are highly accessible they are ever present in one’s interactions with the attitude objects; these attitudes are predictive of one’s behaviour in relation to that thing in a broad range of situations (Maio & Haddock, 2015). Attitudes can also be strong in other senses of the term. For example, they can be extreme when one has a highly negative or positive view of something. Some attitudes are strong in sense of being central or important to the person because the attitude is part of one’s self-conception. Finally, attitudes are said to be strong when they are held with certitude because the person is certain that some statement conveys her attitude (clarity) and/or because she is sure of the accuracy of her evaluations (correctness) (Petrocelli et al., 2007). In addition to attitudes about things we also have attitudes directed toward the self and toward features of our personality. In particular social psychologists think of self-esteem as an attitude directed toward the self.8 High self-esteem is a positive attitude, whilst low self-esteem is a negative one, toward the self. In addition to being positive or negative, one’s attitude toward the self may also have been formed to satisfy a specific need. Thus, one may have a form of defensive self-esteem because one’s self-evaluation assesses the worth of the self for its ability to protect itself from threats. That is, this kind of high self-esteem consists in a positive evaluation of the self that satisfies the need for selfenhancement. In short, the person with high self-esteem thinks highly of himself. If his attitude is defensive, his high estimation of himself is not based on his actual achievements or abilities. Instead, his own self-assessment, which makes him feel good about himself, is based on how good he is at making himself feel good about himself. Hence, there is something inherently delusive about a positive attitude toward the self which is defensive. Psychologists reserve the term ‘defensive high self-esteem’ for a special kind of discrepant self-esteem (Haddock & Gebauer, 2011). It refers to individuals who have high self-esteem as explicitly measured but low self-esteem as measured implicitly. There are two ways in which attitudes, including attitudes toward the self, can be measured. First, explicitly by means of questionnaires. A person is said

Reducing arrogance in public debate 33

to have high self-esteem as explicitly measured if they report that they think of themselves as able and like who they are. Second, self-esteem may be measured implicitly.9 These measures include the name letter liking test where subjects are asked to rank how much they like letters. Those who don’t like the first letter of their name are said to have low implicitly measured self-esteem (Sakellaropoulo & Baldwin, 2007). Given that individuals with high defensive self-esteem are characterised by extreme defensiveness in their attitudes (Haddock & Gebauer, 2011), it is plausible to conclude that their positive attitude toward the self, as explicitly measured, possesses an ego-defensive function. Individuals with defensive high self-esteem exhibit a range of behaviours that are characteristic of arrogance. These include: arrogant responses to threats (McGregor et al., 2005); tendencies to self-enhancement (Bosson et al., 2003); boasting (Olson et al., 2007); higher levels of prejudice toward members of other ethnic groups (Jordan et al., 2005); heightened defensiveness (Haddock & Gebauer, 2011); being prone to anger (Schröder-Abé et al., 2007); higher levels of self-deception in general than those whose high self-esteem is congruent (Jordan et al., 2003); a propensity to overestimate the extent to which other people agree with their views (McGregor et al., 2005); a propensity to react badly to negative feedback by derogating the views of out-group members (Jordan et al., 2005). These manifestations of defensive high self-esteem make it very likely that the arrogant behaviour described in the first section of this paper is motivated by a defensive attitude that leads one to perceive most situations as threatening and to react to them in a defensive manner. Arrogance, therefore, is a fight response to a perceived, often non-existent, threat. Crucial to this fight response is the need to feel good about oneself which is often achieved by putting other people down so that one can excel in comparison. In conclusion, arrogance appears to be a defensive response to perceived threats. The arrogant person attempts to feel good about himself by feeling superior to others. He enacts this sense of superiority by arrogating special entitlements. He arrogates exemption from the commitment to answering people’s proper challenges of his views. He also deprives others of the ability to discharge the commitments they have undertaken. In particular, arrogant listeners by challenging speakers in a manner that cannot be rationally addressed deprive others of the opportunity to defend their views.

III I have argued so far that arrogance in discussion is disrespectful. I have also looked at the psychological mechanisms that underpin these problematic behaviours. In this final part of the chapter , I propose that self-affirmation techniques, which require participants to reflect upon their values and on what makes them valuable, are effective in reducing defensiveness and therefore arrogance in debate.10

34 Alessandra Tanesini

First, I wish to point out why a different intervention which is currently receiving attention is unlikely to be successful in reducing arrogance. It has been proposed that exposures to good exemplars or role models will lead to improvement via emulation (Zagzebski, 2010, 2015). This approach is unlikely to be successful to reduce arrogance. Human beings engage in social comparisons as a way of gauging their abilities. These comparisons are extremely frequent. We evaluate others by comparing them to us (Dunning & Hayes, 1996) and evaluate ourselves by comparing us to others (Mussweiler & Rüter, 2003). Defensive individuals are motivated by selfenhancement and their social comparison judgements are guided by this motive. Therefore, these subjects prefer to engage in comparisons with individuals whom they judge to be inferior to themselves (downward comparisons) (Vohs & Heatherton, 2004). When making these judgements individuals test the hypothesis that they are different from these inferior others. Since human beings are prone to confirmation biases, testing this hypothesis leads them selectively to consider evidence in its support whilst giving insufficient weight to contrary evidence (Corcoran et al., 2011). When forced to engage in comparisons with high status exemplars (upward comparisons), defensive subjects formulate and seek to test the hypothesis that they are already similar to the model. Because of confirmation biases, in these cases subjects will overestimate the degree to which they already possess the admirable features characteristic of exemplars (Corcoran et al., 2011). In addition, individuals whose high self-esteem is defensive are especially prone to malign envy when engaging in upward social comparisons (Smallets et al., 2016). That is, because these subjects find such comparisons threatening, they judge the exemplars with whom they compare themselves as possessing negative features such as arrogance and as deserving to fail (Smallets et al., 2016). These empirical findings strongly suggest that exposure to positive exemplars is unlikely to reduce arrogance and promote intellectual humility. This methodology presupposes that the individuals it targets recognise themselves as being deficient in some respect and also feel admiration for the positive features of the exemplars. Unless these presuppositions are in place, there will be no propensity to emulate the role models. Since existing empirical evidence strongly indicates that these assumptions are unfounded, one must conclude that exposure to exemplars is counterproductive because it is likely to strengthen arrogant people’s conviction that they are already special or their tendency to derogate other people’s achievements. The hypothesis that defensive high self-esteem lies at the root of arrogant behaviour points in the direction of a different strategy to reduce its prevalence. What would be required are interventions that address subjects’ defensiveness. Self-affirmation techniques are one promising approach. They involve different tasks such as asking participants to think about what values are central to them. Subsequently, they are invited to write a short essay about these values, why they are worthwhile, and why they are important to them.11 Alternatively

Reducing arrogance in public debate 35

subjects may be encouraged to reflect on a life experience in which an important value played a significant role. Self-affirmation helps to make participants more secure in themselves and thus less defensive (Sherman & Cohen, 2006; Steele, 2010).12 There is reason to believe that self-affirmation techniques work because they make one’s temporary self-conception more capacious (Critcher & Dunning, 2015). Through self-affirmation individuals are able to focus their attention on those things that are central to the self and constitutive of their self-concept. In this way subjects become aware of their multiple values and thus, at least temporarily, realise that there is more complexity and variety to their self-concept than they have implicitly assumed. In turn, this awareness of the breadth of the self makes the perceived threats, responsible for the subject’s defensiveness, seem narrow by comparison. Consequently, such threats appear less threatening because they leave untouched numerous facets of the self. If this is right, selfaffirmation works to reduce defensiveness by drawing attention to the fact that there are self-defining aspects of the self which are not under threat. Thus, the techniques in their standard applications rely for their efficacy on individuals’ ability to understand themselves well enough to know that there are many valuable things that define them.13 It is possible, however – or perhaps it is even likely – that individuals who have a defensive high selfesteem may, when asked to self-affirm, be unable to reflect on those values which are genuinely central to their self-definition. Instead, they may narrowly focus on those aspects of the self which they feel are under threat. If this occurs, since self-affirmation would fail to expand one’s current conscious conception of the self, it would be ineffective to reduce defensiveness and the arrogant behaviour it generates. It may, therefore, be necessary to develop enhanced self-affirmation techniques to promote a genuine appreciation of the breadth and complexity of the self even in those who are extremely defensive. That is, in the case of extremely defensive subjects self-affirmation interventions may require prior identification of the most important aspects of the self-concept to allow for more personalised self-affirmation manipulations targeting aspects of the self which subjects do not perceive to be under immediate threat.14 The idea that self-affirmation can reduce arrogant behaviour is counterintuitive since one may think that arrogant people need to be taken down a peg. Instead self-affirmation proposes that we reduce arrogance by making people who already think they are special feel good about themselves.15 But the suggestion becomes more plausible if we consider that arrogance is ultimately a response that is characteristic of people who feel under threat. It is not surprising that if we adopt interventions that can make them feel less threatened and more secure in themselves, they will respond by toning down their defensiveness and therefore behave in a less arrogant manner. Ultimately, this is an empirical claim that we are currently testing; we hope to report some concrete results later this year.16

36 Alessandra Tanesini

Notes 1 There are of course exceptions. A person may interrupt to alert someone of an imminent danger. If so she has a justification for her behaviour. Also, someone may have not realised that the other person had not finished. In such a case, one has an excuse for the interruption. Finally, one may interrupt with an involuntary shriek that was not under one’s control. The involuntariness of the behaviour supplies an exculpation since the norms governing turn-taking only concern genuine speechacts. However, barring justifications, excuses or exculpations, interrupting others is disrespectful. 2 There are exceptions to this commitment since one may wish to transmit as knowledge something that one does not oneself believe. Jennifer Lackey famously has made this point noting that a teacher may teach evolutionary theory because it is in the curriculum without believing it herself and yet impart knowledge (2011). In this example we may think of the teacher as passing onto the institution that legitimises the curriculum the responsibility for having the right epistemic standing with regard to its content. 3 It would, however, be enormously controversial to say that an account of the nature of assertion consists in detailing these two commitments. 4 This debate is known as the debate about the norm of assertion. For a detailed treatment of the issues see Goldberg (2015). 5 Usually, speakers when making an assertion also commit to being sincere. I do not discuss this matter here since it is not relevant to the issue of arrogance. 6 For my defence of this view see Tanesini (2016a). Section 1 of this paper is largely based on the more detailed discussion presented in that paper. 7 Deeper forms of arrogance also involve arrogating exemptions from the accountability commitment. I discuss these in Tanesini (2016a). 8 For discussions of various aspects of this attitude see the contributions collected in Zeigler-Hill (2013). 9 There are several implicit measures of self-esteem and they do not correlate well. So implicitly measured self-esteem is not an unproblematic construct. 10 I have developed these points in more detail in my Tanesini (2016b). 11 Therefore, self-affirmation techniques are not the same as the kind of positive affirmation aimed at self-enhancement that involves telling oneself that one is great and getting better everyday. The usefulness of the latter kind of affirmation for individuals suffering from low self-esteem is dubious. 12 See McQueen and Klein (2006) for a systematic review of the variety of self-affirmation techniques in the current literature. 13 It also presupposes that subjects are able to value a broad range of things. 14 Self-affirmation is thought to work best if the aspect of the self which is affirmed is distinct from the aspect that is thought to be threatened. 15 Self-affirmation is also an effective means to reduce closed-mindedness in negotiation (Cohen et al., 2007). It is plausible that it may also facilitate openmindedness in conversation. If so, self-affirmation is doubly effective in addressing some common obstacles to respectful and knowledge-conducive debating behaviour. 16 For more information on this research project visit https://sites.cardiff.ac.uk/cha ngingattitudes/. This project, and the research for this paper, was supported by a subaward agreement from the University of Connecticut (Humility and Conviction in Public Life) with funds provided by Grant No. 58942 from John Templeton Foundation. The contents of this chapter are solely the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the official views of UConn or John Templeton Foundation.

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References Banaji, M. R., & Heiphetz, L. (2010). Attitudes. In S. T. Fiske, D. T. Gilbert, & G. Lindzey (Eds.), Handbook of Social Psychology (5th ed., Vol. 1, pp. 353–393). Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons. Bosson, J. K., Brown, R. P., Zeigler-Hill, V., & Swann, W. B., Jr. (2003). Self-enhancement tendencies among people with high explicit self-esteem: The moderating role of implicit self-esteem. Self and Identity, 2, 169–187. Cohen, G. L., Sherman, D. K., Bastardi, A., Hsu, L., McGoey, M., & Ross, L. (2007). Bridging the partisan divide: Self-affirmation reduces ideological closed-mindedness and inflexibility in negotiation. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 93(3), 415–430. doi:10.1037/0022-3514.93doi:3.415 Corcoran, K., Crusius, J., & Mussweiler, T. (2011). ‘Social comparison: motives, standards, and mechanisms’. In D. Chadee (Ed.), Theories in Social Psychology (pp. 119–139). Oxford: Wiley Blackwell. Critcher, C. R., & Dunning, D. (2015). Self-affirmations provide a broader perspective on self-threat. Personality and Social Psycholology Bullettin, 41(1), 3–18. doi:10.1177/ 0146167214554956 Dunning, D., & Hayes, A. F. (1996). Evidence for egocentric comparison in social judgment. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 71, 213–229. doi:10.1037/00223514.71.2doi:213 Goldberg, S. (2015). Assertion: On the Philosophical Significance of Assertoric Speech. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Haddock, G., & Gebauer, J. E. (2011). Defensive self-esteem impacts attention, attitude strength, and self-affirmation processes. Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, 47(6), 1276–1284. doi:10.1016/j.jesp.2011.05.020 Hinchman, E. S. (2005). Telling as inviting to trust. Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 70(3), 562–587. doi:10.1111/j.1933-1592.2005.tb00415.x Jordan, C. H., Spencer, S. J., & Zanna, M. P. (2005). Types of high self-esteem and prejudice: How implicit self-esteem relates to ethnic discrimination among high explicit self-esteem individuals. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 31, 693–702. Jordan, C. H., Spencer, S. J., Zanna, M. P., Hoshino-Browne, E., & Correll, J. (2003). Secure and Defensive High Self-Esteem. Journal of Personality & Social Psychology, 85 (5), 969–978. Maio, G. R., & Haddock, G. (2015). The Psychology of Attitudes and Attitude Change (2nd ed.). London: SAGE. Maio, G. R., & Olson, J. M. (2000a). ‘Emergent Themes and Potential approaches to Attitude Function: The Function-Structure Model of Attitudes’. In G. R. Maio & J. M. Olson (Eds.), Why We Evaluate: Functions of Attitudes (pp. 417–442). Mahwah, NJ; London: Lawrence Erlbaum. Maio, G. R., & Olson, J. M. (Eds.). (2000b). Why we evaluate: functions of attitudes. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. McGregor, I., Nail, P. R., Marigold, D. C., & Kang, S.-J. (2005). Defensive Pride and Consensus: Strength in Imaginary Numbers. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 89(6), 978–996. McQueen, A., & Klein, W. M. P. (2006). Experimental manipulations of self-affirmation: A systematic review. Self and Identity, 5(4), 289–354. doi:10.1080/ 15298860600805325.

38 Alessandra Tanesini Moran, R. (2006). Getting Told and Being Believed. In J. Lackey & E. Sosa (Eds.), The Epistemology of Testimony (pp. 272–306). Oxford: Clarendon Press. Mussweiler, T., & Rüter, K. (2003). What friends are for! The use of routine standards in social comparison. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 85, 467–481. doi:10.1037/0022-3514.85.3.467 Olson, M. A., Fazio, R. H., & Hermann, A. D. (2007). Reporting tendencies underlie discrepancies between implicit and explicit measures of self-esteem. Psychological Science, 18(4), 287–291. Petrocelli, J. V., Tormala, Z. L., & Rucker, D. D. (2007). Unpacking attitude certainty: Attitude clarity and attitude correctness. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 92(1), 30–41. doi:10.1037/0022-3514.92.1.30 Roberts, R. C., & Wood, W. J. (2007). Intellectual Virtues: An Essay in Regulative Epistemology. New York: Oxford University Press. Schröder-Abé, M., Rudolph, A., & Schütz, A. (2007). High implicit self-esteem is not necessarily advantageous: discrepancies between explicit and implicit self-esteem and their relationship with anger expression and psychological health. European Journal of Personality, 21(3), 319–339. doi:10.1002/per.626 Sherman, D. K., & Cohen, G. L. (2006). The psychology of self-defense: Self-affirmation theory. Advances in Experimental Social Psychology, 38, 183–242. doi:10.1016/ S0065-2601(06)38004–38005 Smallets, S., Streamer, L., Kondrak, C. L., & Seery, M. D. (2016). Bringing you down versus bringing me up: Discrepant versus congruent high explicit self-esteem differentially predict malicious and benign envy. Personality and Individual Differences, 94, 173–179. doi:10.1016/j.paid.2016.01.007 Steele, C. (2010). Whistling Vivaldi and Other Clues to how Stereotypes Affect Us. New York; London: W. W. Norton. Tanesini, A. (2016a). I - ‘calm down, dear’: Intellectual arrogance, silencing and ignorance. Aristotelian Society Supplementary Volume, 90(1), 71–92. doi:10.1093/arisup/akw011 Tanesini, A. (2016b). Teaching virtue: Changing attitudes. Logos & Episteme, 7(4), 503–527. Vohs, K. D., & Heatherton, T. F. (2004). Ego threat elicits different social comparison processes among high and low self-esteem people: Implications for interpersonal perceptions. Social Cognition, 22(1), 168–191. doi:10.1521/soco.22.1.168.30983 Zagzebski, L. (2010). Exemplarist virtue theory. Metaphilosophy, 41(1–2), 41–57. doi:10.1111/j.1467-9973.2009.01627.x Zagzebski, L. (2015). I-admiration and the admirable. Aristotelian Society Supplementary Volume, 89(1), 205–221. doi:10.1111/j.1467-8349.2015.00250.x Zeigler-Hill, V. (Ed.) (2013). Self-esteem. Hove: Psychology Press.

Chapter 3

Moral education, skills of civility, and virtue in the public sphere1 Jonathan Jacobs

A concern shared by many people worried about the deterioration of political discourse and the sort of zero-sum politics that seems increasingly prevalent in the U. S., the U.K., and other liberal democracies is that a deficit of virtue is a significant part of the explanation. Politicians and their supporters seem increasingly willing to ‘race to the bottom’ in regard to the intellectual and moral qualities of their positions and approaches to defending them. European and North American liberal-democracies seem fraught, to various degrees, with political climates that include anger, resentment, distrust, and unwillingness to compromise at levels that are a good deal more troubling than is generally the case. A complex variety of explanatory factors, and not just one or two considerations account for this. The issue is deeper than the typical fault-finding and friction between major political parties. In the present discussion I argue that there are various ‘skills of civility’ crucial to a liberal-democratic rule of law, and that the importance of skills of civility is especially evident when civil society is decreasingly trusted as a locus of moral education. If people generally have, and exercise skills of civility the worst features of the deficit of virtue can be avoided. Restoring civil society as a widely trusted source of moral education depends in part, on whether people are expected and encouraged to have skills of civility. Virtue is a more ambitious aim and a notable degree of virtue is not a precondition for a politically and morally defensible liberal democracy. That does not mean that virtue is an unattainable or unimportant ideal. Instead, it simply notes that the liberal polity need not also be a project in state-mandated virtue. If there are many citizens who are constructively engaged in civic life in informed, deliberate, sustained ways that is an excellent thing. But expecting that to be the norm is probably unrealistic. There is often considerable illiberal potential in explicit, direct political strategies of encouraging virtue.2 Nonetheless, liberal states should protect and preserve the sorts of conditions that enable persons, through their own voluntary activities, interactions, and associations to acquire virtues. That means the state is to uphold the type of rule of law that sustains conditions for a diverse, open, dynamic civil society. The political/legal conditions for civil society in conjunction with persons possessing skills of civility makes for a social world in which virtue can be pursued effectively, even if not as a direct aim of the state or attained at a high level.

40 Jonathan Jacobs

There are several different rationales for the liberal polity and there are several different conceptions of it. We need not explore those in depth here. What is most relevant here is that in a plausible conception of a liberal polity individuals have extensive liberties, the state is restrained in regard to requiring persons to lead their lives in specific ways, and the state does not regard a person’s character as a direct, proper object of its interest. It is in the various departments of civil society that individuals regularly encounter and engage each other as agents, as acting for reasons, and guiding their actions by a variety of norms appropriate to different contexts. It is in the various contexts of civil society that most of us learn what it is to be accountable, learn various types of judgment and evaluation, and learn to give and to receive guidance, rebuke, admiration, censure, and so forth. We acquire our understandings of such things as apology, resentment, gratitude, admiration, and different types of anger and their appropriateness. Genuinely open civil society depends on a broadly liberal rule of law being maintained. It is not compatible with, or possible in just any political/legal order. Many people receive a measure of formal, explicit moral education but a great deal of moral education is acquired in and through their participation in different contexts of action, judgment, and evaluation whether or not moral education is a pronounced element of them.3 Experience, which to be sure, can include explicit guidance and criticism of many kinds, is often the chief source of whatever fluency with moral concepts one acquires, along with the development of one’s moral attention, and responsiveness. The interactions of civil society and encounters with reasons and perspectives unlike one’s own can lead to reconsideration of one’s views and an enlarged, more informed perspective. We should not assume that different perspectives and different traditions will, of course, remain separated from each other. There is often interaction of different views and traditions and that can help one appreciate the reasons in favor of a broadly liberal order. There is no guarantee of that, and a society can become morally Balkanized, but one of the merits of civil society is the good effect it can have in regard to the moral education of participants. Of course, there is no assurance that one’s moral education will be a sound one. If people become habituated to settling disagreements with threats or violence, if they do not trust others and are less than trustworthy because trust has not been a regular feature of their experience, that will make it very difficult to acquire ethically sound habits. Being repeatedly misled, insulted, and subject to other indignities makes the acquisition of virtuous habits very difficult. One’s moral experience may be very uneven—or consistently unfortunate—with respect to the conduct and perspectives of the people by whom one is surrounded. If there is very little civil society, little scope for voluntary, accountable activity it is difficult to see how a person could acquire fluency with moral concepts and maturity of judgment. One might be trained in an imposed code of conduct but that is not the same as the moral education of a free agent. There is an important relation of mutual reinforcement (and weakening)

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between civil society and a broadly liberal political/legal order. The latter makes civil society possible, and participation in civil society can provide people with reasons to wish to preserve that kind of political/legal order because of the appreciation of their freedoms. Also, the character of civil society is crucial to how people understand the relation between the rule of law and law enforcement. The rule of law is a vast and complex issue. A key aspect of it is this: A society lives under the rule of law when people generally endorse the laws by which they are governed and the basic institutional arrangements for enacting, enforcing, and changing those laws. Endorsement is necessary for the political/legal order in general to be recognized as legitimate, and the perception of legitimacy is crucial to the sense of obligation to comply with the law.2 Regard for the political/legal order as legitimate is likely to weaken if people believe they are ill-served by the law or do not have a fair opportunity to comply with it. That is not to say that the rule of law can be reduced to attitudes; however, attitudes are crucial to the recognition of the legitimacy of the rule of law. Law enforcement concerns the (authorized) use of force—the unique, coercive power of the state in arrest, detention, criminal proceedings, and punishment. Attitudes toward law enforcement and regarding the rule of law influence each other. For example, if many people distrust the police and feel that the practices and policies of criminal justice are corrupt or unfair that can easily lead to people having doubts about whether the basic institutions of politics and law are legitimate. And if people have doubts about the legitimacy of basic political and legal institutions it is no surprise if they come to regard the police and the workings of the criminal justice system with suspicion. Even when the rule of law is respected, and people generally regard it as legitimate there will be offenders and law enforcement, criminal proceedings and criminal sanction are still necessary rather than discretionary or gratuitous. However, a legitimate liberal rule of law is respected and sustained on the basis of factors other than law enforcement. As Braithwaite remarked, “[m]ost of us comply with the law most of the time, not because we rationally weigh our fear of the consequences of detection against the benefits of the crime, but because to commit the crime is simply unthinkable to us.”4 Most people appreciate lawful civility and do not feel powerfully tempted by criminal opportunities. The following are among the dispositions crucial to a civil society: A willingness to compromise rather than seeking to get one’s way by violence, threats, or deceit; a willingness to cooperate even where there isn’t some opportunity to take advantage of the other party; being generally truthful; being self-controlled rather than impulsive; not expecting a free ride; and having at least a modicum of patience and willingness to delay many gratifications. These ‘skills of civility’ are necessary for civil society to function and to provide a durable setting in which a wide diversity of voluntary undertakings and association is possible. I am not supposing that people are notably virtuous or even that they aspire to an admirable level of virtue and practical wisdom.

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If we needed to do a thorough background check on any person with whom we enter into an exchange, civil society would grind to a halt. There certainly are circumstances in which checking credentials or other features of someone’s background, experience, and record are appropriate but countless actions and transactions occur every day without that sort of checking. People tell plenty of lies and they cheat in all sorts of ways; but in general, we rely on the trustworthiness of persons. Doing so is crucial to the complex metabolism of civil society. The civility of a pluralistic society does not require a homogenization of values, a flattening of differences or imposition of a dominant set of values via policy. Differences in perspective, interests, and attitudes can be accommodated if there is reliable trust. If people become habituated to settling disagreements with threats or violence, if they do not trust others and are less than trustworthy because trust has not been a regular feature of their experience that impedes development of the skills of civility. Being repeatedly misled, insulted, and subject to other indignities makes the acquisition of good habits very difficult. Misfortune in how one is habituated, and one’s own poor choices can result in bad judgment, moral tone-deafness, and vices of character without the agent recognizing it as such. And once settled into certain states of character as a second nature the agent may not even recognize that there are good reasons to change. If society is generally civil people will be able to recognize the difference between (i) the normative significance of the rule of law, and (ii) the powers, activities, and processes involved in law enforcement. It is a troubling sign when large numbers of citizens think of the rule of law in terms of law enforcement. To people who feel targeted by the new laws and law enforcement or to people who have good reasons for thinking the new laws are unneeded and unhelpful the rule of law looks increasingly like just more law enforcement. Also, advocates of ‘law and order’ might believe that the rule of law just is primarily a matter of rigorous law enforcement. From multiple directions the rule of law can lose some of its distinctive normative significance. This can result in a weakened commitment to the values and principles of a liberal political/legal order and perhaps a failure to notice illiberal policies becoming the norm.5 Also, as civility contracts people become increasingly skeptical of civil society as a locus of moral education. This can take numerous forms. People might be increasingly ideologically divided and less willing to compromise. People might be more committed to various group-oriented interests and concerns than the general good of the society as a whole. A period of economic distress can fuel that kind of tendency. Or, demographic shifts—an aging population, or a surge of immigrants, or rapidly increasing health care costs, especially for specific groups—these can shape different groups’ political priorities. People might shift their focus of concern away from the society’s overall welfare, and politics may seem an increasingly zero-sum project. There is evidence of such developments in the U.S., the U.K., Spain, Italy, and other European countries.

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As the sense of shared moral values weakens, the ways that people interact become more fractious, and less civil. People might feel strongly that the institutions of government serve only certain interests and that the justice system is unfair. They might feel that certain economic interests have disproportionate political influence and that they themselves do not benefit from that influence. Yet, the anger directed at powerful interests might have little to do with fairness and the overall good of society. These are ways that people can cease to regard civil society overall as a trusted, plausible context of moral education. If it is seen as a context in which untrustworthy people, dubious values, and various forms of corruption are prevalent it will be a diminished source of moral education and that, in turn, further diminishes civility. A great many individuals and groups might just become more narrowly concerned with their own interests in a fiercely partisan political atmosphere. As politics becomes more frictional and factional the sorts of respect people have for each other as participants in the political community can weaken. With regard to some social issues this trend might motivate people to turn increasingly to official policy—to criminalization, law enforcement, and punishment as approaches to social issues, instead of managing issues through various modes of social cooperation and political compromise.6 It is true that there are many new laws and regulations that are motivated by the complexity of contemporary society and the need for government administration and oversight of various sorts. But in the U.S. and to some extent in the U.K. recent decades have seen a rapid increase in criminalization. The number and kinds of conduct that can result in criminal charges have proliferated at a rapid pace. In the U.S. during the last four decades this has resulted in a troubling, many-fold increase in the number of persons incarcerated. There are many more mandatory sentences, and many sentences are disproportionately harsh.7 With less than 5% of the world’s population the U.S. has nearly 25% of its incarcerated population. The imprisonment rate for Black Americans increased by 355% between 1950 and 2000 and the rate for White Americans increased by 184%. Between 1973 and 2003 Mississippi’s rate of imprisonment went from 76 out of every 100,000 persons to 763 out of every 100,000. Also: The average inmate coming home will have served a longer prison sentence than in the past, be more disconnected from family and friends, have a higher prevalence of substance abuse and mental illness, and be less educated and less employable than those in prior prison release cohorts. Each of these factors is known to predict recidivism, yet few of these needs are addressed while the inmate is in prison or on parole.8 The numbers reflect a variety of political, social, and economic factors. However, it is fairly clear that in recent decades there has been a political competition to shape society in various ways primarily by imposing policy, by criminalizing what is thought objectionable, and by resorting to criminal justice rather than

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addressing social issues with civil cooperation, political bargaining, and means other than law enforcement. This both reflects and aggravates civil society’s weakening as a source of moral education. In any liberal state it is important for people to recognize the differences between finding something objectionable and being genuinely harmed by it. There may be numerous types of conduct and values that many people find obnoxious, and they wish that others would give them up yet, at the same time, acknowledge that they (those opposing the behaviors) are not being harmed by the conduct in question. In fact, one of the distinguishing features of a liberal polity is toleration of views and behavior thought to be offensive. Of course, there are limits. Yet, those limits can protect a wide scope for voluntariness and diversity of preferences, values, sensibility, and perspectives. When society does not suffer from a significant deficit of civility, citizens will recognize the difference between (i) finding this or that law or policy objectionable, and (ii) having serious doubts about the rule of law. Different persons and different groups may disagree concerning policy while regarding the rule of law as legitimate. That is, they agree that the political/legal order is the context within which to seek changes in policy. Also, at a given time many citizens might regard some of the laws as stupid and some policies as wasteful, unneeded or as dubious impositions but without believing that the only remedy is a fundamental change in the political order and its basic institutions, or arresting and incarcerating fellow citizens. One of the strengths of a liberal polity is that it can accommodate a measure of ongoing disagreement regarding various issues, even including the proper institutional arrangement and powers of a liberal polity. There can be civil disobedience in a liberal polity without that being a challenge to the rule of law. It challenges some specific laws but does not challenge the rule of law. Regarding dissent in a liberal polity Antony Duff wrote: In such instances, what the law says to those who dissent from the stand it takes is not simply and unqualifiedly that the conduct in question is wrong, but rather that this is now the community’s authoritative view. Even if they dissent from its content, they have an obligation as members of the community to accept its authority—to obey the law, even if they are not persuaded by its content, unless and until they can secure a change in it through the normal political process.9 Here, I think, it might be helpful to make a distinction between diversity and pluralism. By diversity I mean that there are different groups in a society according to ethnicity, religion, linguistic differences, regionally disparate economic activities, and so forth. Such groups may or may not also be distinguished by commitment to different values, perspectives, and cultural and social practices. Pluralism can mean any of the following three things: (i) that there are different sources of value relevant to the political context, e.g. welfare, rights, autonomy; (ii) that there are different,

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incommensurable ends that persons can legitimately pursue as good; (iii) that different groups can seek to realize incommensurable but legitimate aims and goals. There are multiple, rationally defensible commitments and valuative perspectives. This is not relativism, and there is nothing inherently pluralistic about relativism. It is the view that values and reasons are domesticated to whatever norms and beliefs people happen to accept, with no valid critical standpoint external to those. Pluralism is a claim about the valuative complexity of the world and human beings. It can be reflected and respected in politics, in part, by recognition that it is not a proper project of the state to require or coerce persons to lead their lives according to one specific set of values. We noted above that there are numerous rationales for the liberal political order. Some views maintain that there are multiple objective values but the state is to be restrained in enforcing values in ways that impose on liberty. Also, it is often argued that the state is not to govern as a moral sovereign. There are complex, important relations between political pluralism, moral pluralism, and the pluralism of individuals’ ends. We cannot explore them here. The crucial point for the present discussion is that in a genuinely pluralistic polity people with different valuative commitments and different guiding concerns agree in regarding the rule of law as legitimate in large part because it preserves extensive individual liberties and freedoms for all manner of civil associations. The fact of diversity does not make for genuine pluralism. A defense of relativism is not automatically a defense of either pluralism or liberalism. Relativism is consistent with fiercely dogmatic and intolerant moralities and politics. It is consistent with showing no interest whatsoever in values different from one’s own. These points can help explain how and why civil society is becoming a diminished locus of moral education. Several factors are involved. But it is, I believe, fairly clear that such things as identity politics—often accompanied by a ‘celebration of diversity’—has potential for seriously damaging the civility of society. Frequently presented as an endorsement of pluralism, in fact it tends to generally be a more or less incoherent form of relativism. If the celebration of diversity is accompanied by a denial (whether explicit or not) that there is anything to be learned from others or by indifference to others’ values and perspectives—i.e., compartmentalized diversity—that can result in barriers and impediments to civil interaction and becoming mutually informed and mutually instructed. In contrast, civility is a basis for practically effective recognition of, and respect for others’ different values and perspectives. Civility is what is most socially needful to support the liberal polity, not a celebration of diversity. The latter can do a good deal of damage by encouraging uncritical, unreflective commitments and by providing no coherent approach to the way that differences are to be negotiated in the political sphere. It contributes no effective resources for valuing civility and it offers no basis for regarding certain dispositions and attitudes as virtuous or virtue-oriented. Often, while celebrating diversity celebrants regard

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criticism or even disagreement as hostile or as an assault on one’s dignity or identity. Different groups accuse each other of being in the grip of ideological doctrines deaf to criticism and blind to the need for revision in light of the facts. Denying that certain principles and values are rational requirements for a coherent, sustainable, heterogeneous polity will doom pluralism’s prospects rather than safely broaden and extend them. A pluralistic political culture and commitment to a liberal political order are mutually supportive. Civility is necessary as a support of liberty and a pluralistic, open society and the legitimacy of the rule of law meant to preserve it. Skills of civility are crucial. There are left-oriented and right-oriented sources of incivility, and plenty of blame to share. Some of the sources are relativistic and some are simply dogmatic and illiberal. The chief point is that multiple sources of brittle, uncompromising politics and centrifugal social tendencies leave the society with a civic world that is much diminished as a common source of moral education and a locus of constructive disagreement. If people recognize each other as exercising skills of civility that is a vitally important basis for a kind of generalized trust without which people would be very reluctant to trust others to fill any role in the political life of the community or society. When there is an absence of trust or a breakdown of it, every act in every political office is likely to be regarded with suspicion and as corrupt. There is a chicken-and-egg relationship between society becoming less civil and people becoming increasingly skeptical regarding civil society as a locus of moral education. Each tendency reinforces the other. In the U.S.—and other liberal democracies at present—politics has come to have a hostile, almost vengeful quality and there is diminished willingness to engage in civil discourse and political bargaining. A combination of identity politics, cynicism regarding basic principles of civics and politics, resentment, and the assertion of vulgar forms of moral superiority and condescension and other illiberal valuative commitments reflects the fact that civil society is diminished as a locus of moral education. It also further diminishes civil society as a source of it. Each factor in the combination is an obstacle to people’s views being mutually informing and bases for cooperative deliberation and judgment. In a society fraught with a breakdown of mutual respect and with distrust and suspicion of other persons’ motives, valuative perspectives are likely to become defensive and impervious to criticism. That is one form of incivility. Another form that incivility takes in the political sphere is that opposing factions regard the institutions and powers of government as ‘trophies,’ possession of which will enable the possessors to impose policies aimed at promoting their own interests and disadvantaging others. This is an aspect of the ‘rush to policy’ characteristic of contemporary political culture. This is especially evident in the context of criminal justice, which, during recent decades has become an increasingly illiberal aspect of the political culture in the U.S. and U.K. with unhappy consequences for society. This means that not only is there less potential for participation in civil society to be morally

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educative but people may not even recognize the value of skills of civility. Many of the policies seem to have been undertaken chiefly for triumphalist political gratification without regard to long-term consequences for the society overall. To find examples of the ways in which society has become less civil consider the ways in which criminal sanction is effectively continued beyond the completion of sentence in many cases. In the U.S. there are numerous forms of disenfranchisement and disqualification that make it very difficult for former prisoners to find jobs, pursue education, borrow money, rent an apartment, and take other steps in the direction of reintegration into civil society. One’s civil status can be permanently diminished despite completion of sentence, and not just for persons guilty of sexual offenses and required to register as such. In addition to the dramatic increase in types of conduct being criminalized there seems to be also a hardening of attitudes toward persons with criminal records. To be sure, there are plenty of dangerous criminals and dangerous former prisoners. However, the conditions in many prisons—the overcrowding, brutalization, sexual violence, lack of meaningful activity, unrelieved tedium, and other morally objectionable features of incarceration—are known to damage persons in ways that basically de-skill them for participating successfully in civil society. This seems to have a good deal of public support despite the fact that it aggravates the contraction of civility in ways that are costly and avoidable. In recent decades in the U.S., and the U.K. as well, politicians have competed to demonstrate their ‘tough on crime’ credentials and this has resulted in a proliferation of criminalization, a huge increase in the prison population, longer, and in many cases, mandatory sentences. There is precious little to point to as constructive achievements of this sort of political institutionalization of populist incivility. It has largely excluded more informed, thoughtful approaches to crime and punishment from the public discussion. Formulations and proposals more responsive to the values and principles of a liberal democracy are regarded as insufficiently faithful to ideological purity and as making too many concessions. A troubling aspect of the rush to policy is that, in regard to numerous issues, the project of addressing them has been shaped more by democratic populism than informed, deliberate policy formation reflecting careful study and the attempt to educate the public. This has taken different forms in the U.S. and the U.K., but the basic feature is recognizably similar. (For instance, in regard to incarceration, there is a single Prison Service for England and Wales but in the U.S. the administration and governance of prisons reflects the much larger number of jurisdictions in the U.S., with both a Federal Bureau of Prisons and corrections services at the state level. Yet, many of the issues are recognizably similar.) A great deal of information is available and could figure in conscientious policy formation. However, what politicians perceive to be the imperatives of re-election seem to prevail in ways that result in policies that can be predicted to fail—and then they do.

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Often, issues are formulated in oversimplified terms and political opponents caricature each other instead of engaging in constructive debate. The result is that ideology (along the entire spectrum) prevails over illumination and even where there could and should be recognition of morally significant issues the recognition is obscured and distracted by incivility. This has almost certainly been the case with respect to numerous issues of crime and punishment as well as in other disputed social issues. Whatever one’s political leanings, it should be clear that there are morally troubling aspects to the conditions in which large numbers of prisoners spend very long periods—often decades—and there are ways of making those aspects less troubling that should be agreeable by all reasonable parties. That can still leave plenty of scope for disagreement and argumentation. But when a society is morally hobbled by incivility, and incivility becomes accepted in politics, something has gone seriously wrong. The discussion thus far suggests that skills of civility are crucial to the civics of a liberal-democracy. The degradation of the political culture can result in weakened commitment to the values and principles of the liberal-democratic rule of law. Even if people are not committed to a thick notion of civic virtue, skills of civility are necessary to a political/legal order in which the dignity and standing of individuals, the limitations on the powers of the state, and recognized standards of what is politically reasonable and acceptable are of basic importance. If people lack skills of civility or do not appreciate the liberal-democratic rule of law in its proper terms the public sphere may cease to be regarded as a sphere of mutually beneficial transactions, multiple possibilities of cooperation, and shared reasoning with a view to widely endorsable approaches to social issues. The rule of law concerns fundamental issues of civics, and not just questions of policy. Even if citizens are not notably virtuous, if they exhibit a durable concern with the rule of law—understood as distinct from law enforcement—that indicates awareness of a distinction between civics and policy. That acknowledgment is a significant feature of a political culture. It suggests appreciation of certain values and principles as fundamental and the recognition that politics is not just a clash of ideologies or a contest of brute strength. Continued commitment to the rule of law and the preservation of civility go hand in hand, making possible initiatives of reform and workable compromises. Likewise, weakened commitment to the rule of law and weakened commitment to civility go hand in hand. Each can reflect a lack of respect for the political process and for fellow-citizens. Reliable, durable skills of civility are crucial to a liberal democracy. One of the merits of the liberal-democratic political order is that it preserves conditions for exercises of agency and forms of activity that can be morally educative. The possibility of virtue, if it is to be common and encouraged rather than rare and disvalued, depends on those exercises and that activity. A liberal state can be morally decent and durably committed to its most basic values even if those in political office and those engaged in the administration of civic affairs are not notably virtuous, and the state does not see itself as teaching virtue. The various departments of civil society can supply diverse

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contexts for moral education and habituation in the skills of civility. The degree to which they are effective is an indicator of the level of genuine commitment to the liberal-democratic rule of law and its values. In their absence people lack the attitudes and dispositions that sustain the political processes distinctive of a liberal polity. Politics is almost always contentious and often involves rhetoric that exaggerates the virtue of one side and the dangers of following the opposition. That rhetoric is most highly charged when there are elections, and once the campaigning is over politicians can settle down to the business of fashioning compromises that hopefully, well-serve the society in general. That is an important role for skills of civility on the part of politicians. At present, those skills, and not only full-fledged virtue, seem to be worryingly absent. If we consider the various ways politicians and their supporters often encourage distrust and suspicion, and encourage the public to listen only to certain select voices it becomes even more evident that there is a serious deficit of civility. In fact, the skills of civility are sometimes portrayed as indicative of naiveté, gullibility, and vulnerability to manipulation. The recovery and reinforcement of skills of civility is essential to the recovery of a politics more genuinely committed to a broadly liberal conception of the polity. Such a recovery would restore trust in civil society as a sphere in which moral education can occur and that would be a significant good to the society overall. A society that does not trust itself to be morally educative has little prospect of even understanding what genuine virtues are, no less actually encouraging and supporting them. The liberal political order preserves the conditions in which moral education can occur through participation in the various spheres of life. Civil society can encourage virtue even without the promotion of virtue as a project of the state except insofar as the rule of law helps make such education possible. The liberal order makes civil society possible, and at the same time civility is crucial to the preservation of liberty. If we pursue a politics that forgets that, regarding civility as a discretionary form of etiquette and not as more than that, virtue will become even more remote.

Notes 1 I would like to thank the Fulbright Scholar Program and the Law Faculty at the University of York. They made it possible for me to spend half a year doing research and writing at the Law Faculty in 2017. This paper was written during that period and I am very grateful to the Program and the Faculty for their support. 2 Much can depend upon whether a state has a diverse population in regard to religion, ethnicity, cultural heritage, and so forth. What appears to be a liberal and humane political culture may not yet have faced the challenge of significant immigration of persons from a different culture. That can be a crucial test of the society’s liberal and humane values. We are witnessing just such tests in Western Europe and Scandinavia and there is considerable disagreement over which values to prioritize.

50 Jonathan Jacobs 3 We should guard against interpreting legitimacy reductively in terms of attitudes and habits; there are substantive elements as well. Still, habits and attitudes matter a great deal, and the perception of legitimacy can be crucial to whether legitimacy is, in fact, precarious or not. 4 John Braithwaite, Crime, Shame, and Reintegration, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989, p. 81. 5 R. A. Duff, Punishment, Communication, and Community, New York: Oxford University Press, 2001, 65. 6 The relation between liberalism and pluralism can be explicated in a number of ways. One example is the following: “A liberal polity guided (as I believe it should be) by a commitment to moral and political pluralism will be parsimonious in specifying binding public principles and cautious about employing such principles to intervene in the internal affairs of civil associations. It will, rather, pursue a policy of maximum feasible accommodation, limited only by the core requirements of individual security and civic unity.” (William Galston, Liberal Pluralism, New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002, 20.) The notion that, in a liberal polity the state is restrained in regard to requiring people to lead their lives only in certain ways, and to have specific personal commitments and concerns is an important feature of many influential conceptions of the liberal state. 7 Also, in the U.S. about 95% of felony convictions are the result of plea-bargaining rather than going to trial. Often the bargains are very disadvantageous for defendants, in many cases, they will plead guilty to something they did not do just to avoid being charged with even more and weightier offenses. William J. Stuntz writes, “Today, American criminal justice is designed to facilitate criminal convictions and to make plea-bargaining easier for prosecutors.” The Collapse of American Criminal Justice, Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 2011, 39. Also, “The justice system became, more and more, an assembly line in which cases are processed, not adjudicated.” (Ibid., 57) And, “The upshot is that noninvestigation is the norm in American criminal litigation, careful gathering of evidence the exception.” (Ibid., 58) 8 Joan Petersilia, When Prisoners Come Home: Parole and Prisoner Reentry, New York: Oxford University Press, 2004, 53. 9 R. A. Duff, Punishment, Communication, and Community, New York: Oxford University Press, 2003, 65.

Chapter 4

Vice, public good, and personal misery Jonny Robinson

1 In Mandeville’s poem, ‘The Grumbling Hive’, a hive of successful, industrious, and vaguely anthropomorphic bees petition the god, Jove, to make them virtuous. Jove, moved essentially by indignation, grants this request, for, unbeknownst to the bees, their accomplishments were due to their vices. It was the demand for luxuries that employed a million of the poor. Envy and vanity were in fact ‘Ministries of Industry’. No more money is ‘wasted’ on fine clothes or in the taverns. The economy, once fuelled by greed and competition, is at a standstill. One can extrapolate further cases. In the end, without these vices, the hive falls into disrepair. The moral of the story—for one explicitly given—is that ‘Fools only strive to make a Great and honest Hive […] Without great Vices, is a vain Eutopia seated in the Brain’, and, presumably, in the brain alone (Mandeville, 1924). Mandeville is not the only one to suppose that the public good may depend on some sort of enabling vices. Bernard Williams wondered whether in politics a ‘Kantian Cabinet is really what we want’ (2014: 164). Orwell (in a widely misquoted passage) wrote that ‘Those who “abjure” violence can only do so because others are committing violence on their behalf’ (2000a: 316).1 And Gordon Gekko said, with characteristic eloquence, ‘Greed is good’. The sentiment is summarised in the subtitle given to Mandeville’s work: The Fable of The Bees: or, Private Vices, Public Benefits. 2 While it could be proposed that the public good in some way depends on the private vices of various individuals, these individuals in question still do possess vices and will (in most or perhaps all cases) suffer the consequences of them. To put this another way, while some argue that the vices produce a measure of public good, they do not produce private good for the possessor. This will be my argument in what follows. To give an account, I will turn to Aristotle’s remarks on vice and misery.

II Before we reach Aristotle, one way to take this claim about the public dependence upon vice is to recognise vices in a dispositional sense whereby they are reliable ways of thinking, acting, and feeling (Annas, 2011: 4).3 This sort of vice brings about

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unhappiness in two ways. First, vices, by their very nature focus ‘primarily on the self and its position in the world’ (Taylor, 2006: 1). Cowardice and envy and stinginess, for example, physically or mentally treat the self as of greater importance than others, and, physically or mentally, treat others unjustly in order to secure the goods at which each vice especially aims. This will inevitably or eventually take a toll on relationships. Once a vice reaches this point, and the relational or more broadly social fallout begins, the vicious person is typically unhappy. Suetonius’s Nero is a good example of this, ending up as he does a public enemy of the state, paranoid and weeping, and begging Sporus to set a good example by killing himself first (Suetonius, 2007: 238). Aristotle is realistic about this behavioural component of vice, advising that we ought to dissolve friendships with excessively vicious people (NE 1165b13–18), and that a father may even need to cut off a vicious son (NE 1163b24). Severe social exclusion, reproach, and the devastation of relationships is enough to make most of us unhappy. We might call this the instrumental relationship between vice and misery whereby vice tends to have bad consequences in the world. There is also, second, a psychological toll intrinsic to the vice whereby vice tends to lead to misery even where it does not necessarily produce negative effects in the world (as in the instrumental case). Gabriele Taylor describes the vices as being ‘corruptive to the self’, paradoxically destroying whatever good they seek. Here is Taylor on envy, for example (1994: 148): Envy the vice has as its ‘object’ not so much the good the other possesses, but rather the other’s-possessing-such-a-good. In [the view of the envious], possessing it gives the other a more advantageous position relative to her own, so that she sees herself as deprived by comparison. The aim of the envious is to redress their lack of self-esteem. One way of doing so is to destroy the other’s advantage. It can be done in a primitive way as when a child destroys a toy it cannot have, and here the agent feels that the desired good is not theirs because the other has it. Spoiling the desired good, though, means that the envious will never truly have it and so will be continually frustrated. Envy can also take a sophisticated course where an agent desires another’s position or status. The envious here has a low view of their own self. The other’s possession of position or status is not the cause of the envious agent’s own lack but rather a spotlight revealing their own shortcomings. Instead of focussing on their own lack, then, the envious person focusses aggressively and negatively toward the other, producing a superficial comfort while she is not thinking of her inferiority. But nothing is really done to help her self-esteem or self-worth. No positive steps are taken. And so she continues to ‘protect’ a self which she does not value; this is the root of the envy itself. Taylor says envy of this kind aims to change the world by magic (1994: 149). Instead of facing reality, the envious creates a ‘web of self-deception which will only further entangle them in their confusions and prevent them from finding a route of escape’ (Taylor, 2006: 52). ‘Concerned as she is with self-esteem she has yet left herself no clear view as to how it ought to be based and how it could be fostered’ (Taylor,

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2006: 50). Envy in this way destroys the good it covets. If all that sounds serious, I think it is because it is supposed to be. The common destination of an agent in the grip of a vice is a paradoxical psychological turmoil.

III Although the instrumental and psychological stories are certainly plausible, there is still another sort of unhappiness that I want to look at. In order to distinguish between the instrumental and psychological stories just mentioned, and a different vicious experience I will presently unfold, I will label the former the Weak Unhappiness Thesis whereby vice typically leads to unhappiness either instrumentally or psychologically (that is, without necessary negative effects in the world). I want to suggest that Aristotle holds what we might call the Strong Misery Thesis where vice is constitutive of misery.4 The word ‘strong’ is due to the necessary relationship between the ends of the vicious person and their inability to fulfil a foundational human desire with an objective target. I have chosen ‘misery’ rather than ‘unhappiness’ since the plight of Aristotle’s vicious person concerns something deeper, more holistic, and more existential than the instrumental or psychological results of acting according to one’s vices, as we shall later see.5 To discover more about all this, we need to look at Aristotle’s strict requirements for vice.6

IV In Book 3 of the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle invokes a particular desire for the end called boule-sis, often translated ‘wish’, and locates it in the rational part of the soul.7 In the opening phrases of NE we learn that the ultimate end (telos) of our pursuits is that which we wish for its own sake (NE 1094a18–22). In order to distinguish wish from mere appetite, Aristotle makes clear that we pursue the object of our wish not (only) as pleasant but as good (NE 1113b1). But precisely who’s good is at issue here, we may ask? The answer to this is important. In Book 2 of the Eudemian Ethics, Aristotle says that the ends of given pursuits are good by nature (EE 11227a18–31): The end is by nature always a good […] However, contrary to nature, and through perversion, something that is not the good but only the apparent good may be the end […] Both health and disease are objects of the same science but not in the same fashion: the former is its natural object, and the latter unnatural. Likewise, the good is the natural object of volition, but contrary to nature evil too is its object. By nature one wills what is good, but against nature and through perversion one wills evil. The ends of medicine, explains Aristotle, are in accordance with nature when they produce health. At work here is the comparative notion that what one wishes by nature is for the true good (he- boule-sis physei men tou agathou esti) and

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not whatever one happens to think is good, and contrary to nature one wishes for what is in fact not good. Aquinas tells us that ‘every natural faculty has some object determined by its nature’ (1993: 3.10.491). Wish, concerning the natural faculty of the will, possesses by nature a desire for the good for human beings, namely, rational activity of the soul in accordance with virtue. The virtuous person chooses what is good for her nature: ‘For as we have said, what is good by nature is good and pleasant in itself for an excellent person’ (NE 1170a15). And the bad person does not wish for what is good for themselves qua human.8 An apparently obvious problem surfaces here, however, since Aristotle also holds that people wish for what they believe to be good (NE 1136b7–8). In the dilemma raised at NE 3.4, the suggestion that a person with an incorrect view of the good would thereby not possess a wish is taken to be unpalatable (‘hence what he wishes is not wished, which is self-contradictory’, NE 1113a20). But how can the person with an incorrect view of the good be said to have a wish if they do not wish for the good set by nature? Aristotle solves the problem by stating that, while the good person’s object of wish is the good without qualification, the bad person’s object of wish is the apparent good and an object of wish in a qualified sense, that is, in relation to himself (Broadie, 2002: 318).9 By analogy, a sick person may indeed wish for what is good for a sick person. We must add, though, that even if the sick person obtains what is good for the sick person or the drug addict what is good for the drug addict (i. e. more drugs), it does not mean that they have attained what is good for their nature as a human. Foundational needs are still to be met over and above the drugs that an addict sees as good, and in fact the desires of the addict may conflict with these. Gösta Grönroos suggests that a Socratic spirit permeates this line of thinking: a person may pursue what they believe they desire even while it is not what they truly desire (Gorgias 466c9–468e5; Laws 9, 860d1–861d9). In respect to wish, a person may wish for what they falsely believe to be good even while this very pursuit is motivated by a basic desire for what is truly good by nature. Grönroos writes, ‘In case the representation of the good is erroneous, the agent will pursue the wrong things, but the source of the motivation will still be the desire for the human good’ (2015b: 74, emphasis added).10 Support for this view comes from NE 1173a4–5 which Grönroos translates as, ‘[S]imilarly, in bad people too there is something by nature good, which is greater than what they are in themselves [i.e. qua bad], and which longs for [ephietai] its own proper good’ [iso-s de kai en tois phaulois esti ti physikon agathon kreitton e- kath᾽ hauta, ho ephietai tou oikeiou agathou], (2015b: 79).11 There are echoes here of Aquinas who translates the same passage, ‘Perhaps in evil men there is some natural good better than themselves which seeks their own proper good’. Aquinas goes on to say that ‘in evil men there is some natural good that tends to the desire of a suitable good; and this natural good is better than evil men as such’ (1993: 10.12.1977). Not only is there a real good for humans, then, there is also in each person a basic inclination towards it motivating the pursuit of true and not only apparent goods (Grönroos, 2015b: 72).12

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Take appetite as an analogous case. According to Aristotle, the person who misrepresents the object of a given appetite and fails to satisfy it is still motivated by the desire for the proper object of that same appetite. Consider the intemperate person (NE 3.11). In this sphere there is a natural appetite, the desire for nourishment (trophe-). Grönroos reminds us that this natural appetite is framed objectively, without recourse to pleasure, and concerns the replenishment of a lack. Even where the intemperate person views the food and drink as pleasant, then, whatever pleasure is obtained is not the criterion of fulfilment of this natural appetite. An intemperate person often believes that they have satisfied this desire with the pleasure of food and drink, but the desire is truly for nourishment, and overindulgence brings about ‘especially slavish people’ (NE 1119a20). Apply this to the vicious person who, according to Aristotle, has a false view of the good, perhaps it is pleasure. Wish by nature is a desire for the human good. All people seek it, just as all have an appetite for nourishment. For Aristotle, the human good is the activity of the soul in accordance with virtue bringing human nature to its proper function. Even where the vicious person successfully obtains pleasure (her mistaken representation of the good), she will not have the object of that which motivates this pursuit of pleasure since that is a life in accordance with virtue. Even where she does obtain pleasure successfully, then, she will not have satisfied the natural object of wish.

V If we accept this account of wish (or something close to it), why does vice constitute misery? After all, if virtue is an ideal then many or most people will not possess it. If those who are neither virtuous nor vicious have a motivational wish by nature and do not obtain it either through failure or disinterest, why are they not in the same state as the vicious? The answer, I believe, comes from earlier depictions of vice the Nicomachean Ethics. Notably, there is an alleged discrepancy between the consistency and mental harmony foundational to the vicious person in Book 7 and the sudden admission of pretty severe misery and psychological conflict in Book 9.13 It is my contention, however, that the misery of the vicious is facilitated precisely by this lack of conflict apparent in the vicious agent of Book 7,14 in this way linking together two apparently incompatible accounts and, more importantly, arguing for the necessity of Book 7 in illuminating Book 9.

VI Aristotelian vice demands slightly more of the agent than merely dispositional vice in that there is more to the possession of an Aristotelian vice than the disposition to think, act, and feel in certain ways. Aristotle’s virtues and vices are choice states (hexis prohairetike-).15 Choice (prohairesis) is a technical term for Aristotle, partly of his own making (the term is used only once by Plato, Parmenides 143c), and might be thought of as an ‘all-things-considered

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judgment of what to do’, or ‘something practical to which one is committed’ (Broadie, 2002: 42).16 In light of an agent’s wish, choice is the desire to carry it out and is in this way desire in action. It is a particular focus of Aristotle’s to underscore that virtues and vices are dispositions manifesting a person’s conception of the good not only in desires but, importantly, in action and feeling. He writes that ‘our choices to do good and bad actions, not our beliefs, form the characters we have’ (NE 1112a2–3, emphasis added). Susan Meyer explains this well (2011: 26): Aristotle thinks that the distinctive feature of moral agency is not simply the possession of a conception of happiness, or even the ability to form desires based on a conception of happiness, but rather the disposition to act in accordance with that conception. In calling a virtue or a vice a hexis prohairetike-, Aristotle means that it is a disposition in which one’s capacities for feeling and doing are disposed to be exercised in a way that expresses one’s conception of happiness. The distinctive feature of a moral agent, on Aristotle’s view, is that he acts for the sake of his happiness. Now unlike the akratic who, overpowered by appetite, acts against what they know to be truly good, the wish, appetite, and choice of the vicious person are aligned, producing a remarkable psychological harmony. It plays out in precarious ways, and goes a long way in explaining the consistency of vice (‘For vice [mochthe-ria] resembles diseases such as dropsy or consumption, while incontinence is more like epilepsy; vice is a continuous bad condition, but incontinence is not, NE 1150b35– 35) and the unawareness of the vicious person (‘For the vicious [kakia] person does not recognise that he is vicious, whereas the incontinent person recognises that he is incontinent’, NE 1150b3–5). Nothing gives the vicious person pause, at least in the moment of action, for no conflict arises. This in turn makes the condition continuous; it is uninterrupted by conscience. Broadie writes that the akratic’s potential for reform is due to their ‘deplorable inconsistency’ (2009: 158). The presence of conflict is still indicative of a weak knowledge of what is right, burning gently within. The vicious, on the other hand, is very difficult to reform due in large part to their ‘deadly consistency’ (Broadie, 2009: 158).

VII But now a problem surfaces for our vicious person. The psychological harmony does not provide full inoculation from every possible trouble. Nielsen is correct in saying that Aristotle is not committed to ‘the view that the intemperate do not experience pain or regrets of any sort; all that is required for Aristotle’s taxonomy is that, if they regret their actions, this is not because they recognize a conflict between the acts that they naturally do and the acts recommended by their rational principles. Nothing Aristotle says precludes other types of pain and regret, for instance pain or regret stemming from their pursuit of bad ends’ (2017: 8). This is quite different from the ‘moral hangover’ experienced by the

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akratic (Nielsen, 2017: 10). The vicious person does not wake up at last thinking clearly. Rather, they regret that things are not going well for them. In this sense the remorse is largely instrumental rather than moral or principled. In a fascinating and fascinatingly underdeveloped essay by C. S. Lewis called, ‘First and Second Things’, he writes, ‘The man who makes alcohol his chief good loses not only his job but his palate and all power of enjoying the earlier (and only pleasurable) levels of intoxication’ (1970: 280). He suspects this is a universal law. ‘It may be stated as follows: every preference of a small good to a great, or a partial good to a total good, involves the loss of the small or partial good for which the sacrifice was made’ (1970: 280). The idea is not advanced much further, but presumably Lewis cannot mean that pursuit of any lesser good at any time will have disastrous consequences.17 If this was so, we would never be able to pour a glass of whisky or read a detective novel. Rather, the lesser good must be pursued in such a way that it is seen as the greater good. Because lesser goods cannot perform the role of the greater or greatest good, however, the person expecting a lesser good to deliver that which only proceeds from the greater good is pursuing an end that categorically cannot be fulfilled. The result is the loss of both the lesser and greater goods.18 Now, postulating a universal law is ambitious. But the idea is not something Aristotle himself shies away from, and the internal logic of the argument is fairly sound even if one finds the teleology doubtful. If there is in fact a human good (or goods) by nature, there will also, by extension, be those goods the pursuit of which does not constitute eudaimonia. Take, for example, the vicious agent choosing reputation over virtue and inculcating the vice of envy. Since, according to Aristotle (and common-sense), reputation is a lesser good, envious behaviour, even while it may provide a temporary gratification, will in the end fail to satisfy the motivational wish instilled by nature.19 Envy also fails to achieve its own, more immediate goal of self-esteem, protecting as it does an unhealthy self that is unwilling to examine the true causes of despondency. The greater good is forfeited for the lesser one, and the lesser good of reputation through envy turns out to be toxic. The vicious agent misses out twice. Or, consider the vicious agent choosing wealth and displaying the vice of stinginess or miserliness. Wealth is a lesser good even where it can make a person feel temporarily secure and powerful. Since there is no point in a person’s life where he can be completely immune from circumstance and misfortune, however, the person seeking such things from wealth, writes Taylor, ‘will always have to be on his guard against threats and incursions, constantly and obsessively concerned with keeping his hoard intact’ (2006: 37). The greater good is forfeited for the lesser one, and the lesser good of wealth in this case turns out to be an interminable rod for the miser’s back. Once again, the vicious agent misses out twice. The ends of the vicious person cannot by definition be satisfied. In the teleological order, lesser goods cannot take the place of greater ones. Pleasure, for instance, is not intrinsically bad, but it is not the human good on Aristotle’s view, and a person choosing it under this heading will not fulfil the motivational wish instilled by nature, stirring the very pursuit in which they are

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engaged. A second similarity with the Socratic spirit is on display here, I believe, in that a thing’s value is determined by the use made of it by virtue or vice (Annas, 1999: 42). Vicious people treat pleasure incorrectly, expecting it to do something for them which it cannot do, namely, function as the natural object of their desire for the good.

VIII All this is particularly damaging for the vicious person. Recall that the choice of the vicious person is desire in action, involving an expectation that their prohairesis will achieve the object of wish. Since pleasure, for example, is not the human good, the person who obtains pleasure expecting it to do what it cannot do will be disappointed, confused, and, ultimately, miserable. Within the destructive insulation afforded by a harmony between choice and appetite, the vicious person has no sense that their goals are problematic. ‘Carry on’, is the only instruction she has. And as she continues along a ruined path, she will become increasingly depressed that the good aimed for is not turning out to be as good as she believed it would be. Unlike the akratic, however, she has no true conception of the good to return to (nor could she hear it easily with such corrupted principles). And so she continues, attempting to cure the misery with the very same poison that is causing it.

IX Now, it may be asked, why does this constitute misery rather than, say, unhappiness or non-happiness? I need to now say something about misery itself and why I have chosen this word over something like ‘unhappiness’. In the Weak Unhappiness Thesis I argued that dispositional vice as a sustained and ingrained pattern of thinking, feeling, and acting will, because of its stability and pervasiveness, typically lead to instrumental and psychological problems. The path of the vicious person is torturous because of the self-serving and increasingly isolating nature of the vices themselves, and it will often be case that the pursuits of the vicious person come at great personal cost in the form of reproach and broken relationships. At this stage, as Howard Curzer has pointed out, they may very well blame this erosion of relationships on the friendships themselves, attributing their misfortune, drinking problems, and loneliness to someone else (Curzer, 2012: 373). Aristotle’s vicious person is subject to all this. But the unhappiness and non-flourishing in the case of Aristotle’s vicious person is also deep in a psychological sense that I think is better described as a state of misery. This terminology is not reliant on a formal definition of ‘misery’, but is a linguistic move designed to show that there is something stronger here than unhappiness or non-happiness. Here are three reasons why I think it is justified. First, Aristotle’s vicious person experiences the loss of a good they were expecting and suffers the destructive nature of this lesser good (where it is taken to be the greater good). The envious person misses out on the good they are expecting and ends up with an increasing inability to redress their lack of self-

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esteem and a cycle of depressing comparisons between themselves and the people around them. The miser misses out on the good they are expecting and ends up with the relentless task of trying to maintain a security that cannot be maintained with money in a world of changing fortunes. Not only are the ends of the vicious unattainable, they also produce toxic results. This is different from merely dispositional (non-Aristotelian) vice where toxic results are produced but the agent is not necessarily expecting the vice to attain a relatively overarching good for them. Second, because the failure of the vicious person is connected to their wish and choice pairing, it strikes directly at the heart of their governing view of the world,20 their engagement with it, and the justification of their goals. This is not to say that a vicious person can fully reckon with this, blinded as they are by corrupt principles. But instead of a more compartmentalised failure like a party going badly, the wish-choice pairing of the vicious person is an umbrella governing all that sits underneath it, potentially infecting every aspect of life. Such a picture leads me to call it a holistic or existential misery. Third, where ordinary vices are in many cases due to negligence and often contain no special motives to behave in the relevant way,21 Aristotelian vice is pulled along by a view of the end or goal (however explicit this might be, see fn. 20). Because Aristotle’s vicious person is trying to achieve something with and expects a result from the vice in question, she is more committed than a person with a merely dispositional or negligent vice. As mentioned above, this commitment is not compartmentalised, based as it is on their view of the good, a relatively overarching project. Where the ends of the vicious are by definition unattainable, the vicious person, equipped with no other options, resolves to continue down this path, perhaps even doubling down on her efforts in order to guard against repeated failures. The spiral secures an ongoing misery, increasing as plans for attaining happiness or the good life fail time and again in a Sisyphean cycle of exhaustion. Furthermore, if the agent does decide to try even harder in an attempt to avoid a second or third disappointment, the external manifestations and psychological effects of the vice or vices can very easily become more severe.

X If for teleological or psychological reasons there is a human good or goods, allowing or even encouraging people to pursue vicious goals will see them miss out on the greater good or goods as well as the immediate and lesser good they are trying to attain. Aristotle explains that vice, ignorant of the true good, takes an agent further and further from eudaimonia even and especially where the vicious agent believes they are correct. Therefore, while the vicious agent may achieve a limited public benefit, the very vice that makes this possible is also the very vice that takes them further away from true happiness and towards misery. There is no true vice that comes at no cost to its possessor.

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Notes 1 We also read in ‘Rudyard Kipling’, ‘[Kipling] sees clearly that men can only be highly civilized while other men, inevitably less civilized, are there to guard and feed him’ (Orwell, 2000b: 206). 2 For a fascinating discussion on Mandeville and his critics see Welchman (2007). 3 Another way to read the above quotations is to consider ‘dirty hands’ cases where a person performs a bad act for the greater good and where the act is not in accordance with a vicious disposition (see, for example, Coady, 1991; Stocker, 2000). I do not discuss this possibility any further, though I recognise that this is another way people take bad actions to produce public good. 4 Thanks to Paul Formosa for helping with this terminology. 5 Even while Aristotle’s account of vice is compatible with the instrumental and psychological stories, it also goes beyond it. 6 I use the following translations for Aristotle’s work (Aristotle, 1999, 2011, 2016). 7 ‘[F]or in the part concerning reasoning there will be wishing, and in the irrational part wanting and passion’ (DA 3.9 423b5–6), and, ‘For wish is a desire, and when anyone is moved in accordance with reasoning, he is also moved in accordance with wish’ (DA 433a23–25). 8 This comes out clearly in the anonymous paraphrase of the Nicomachean Ethics, 193.33–37 (Konstan, 2001). 9 Relatedly, Aristotle distinguishes between that which is good without qualification and that which is good for a certain person (NE 1152b26–27). 10 Perhaps it is less controversial to speak of the ‘need’ or ‘urge’ of the rational part of the soul rather than intentional desire. 11 For a defence of this translation see Grönroos (2016) 12 For a similar suggestion see Dahl (1984: 48). John Cooper also writes, ‘Thus something could appear good to someone, because he enjoys it, while yet it would not be good for him, much less absolutely and without qualification’ (1986: 128). 13 Enter the scholars. Inconsistency is very interesting to a philosopher, just as a murder is to a detective. And, as we might expect, philosophers—though far fewer than one might imagine for such an illustrious case as Aristotle—descend upon the scene trying to make sense of it (Annas, 1977: 553–554; Brickhouse, 2003; Gauthier & Jolif, 1970: 733–735; Irwin, 2001; Müller, 2015; Roochnik, 2007; Stewart, 1892: 364). 14 Grönroos, to the contrary, spends almost no time in Book 7 as he takes Book 9 to be Aristotle’s more ‘considered view’ (2015a: 150). 15 Or decision states. 16 This reflects Chamberlain’s reasonable suggestion that we translate prohairesis as ‘commitment’ (1984: 155). 17 Thanks to Jeanette Kennett for helping to clarify this point. 18 One might plausibly wonder if it would not be better to care nothing about the good rather than to chase a mistaken conception of it and face the resultant consequences. 19 The vicious will very rarely (if ever) value their pursuit under the explicit heading of envy. They are not Milton’s Satan in this way. Vice will be justified with other language; the racist sees himself as a patriot and Eichmann viewed himself as loyal, etc. 20 Whether or not this conception of the good is as detailed as a perfectly detailed blueprint is at least questionable. Broadie argues against the notion that the virtuous and vicious agent works from ‘an explicit, comprehensive, substantial vision of that good, a vision invested with a content different from what would be aimed at by morally inferior natures’ (1991: 198). Kraut makes a substantive case for the

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opposing view (1993). In a stunning essay on deliberation and choice, Heda Segvic writes: ‘A conception of the good life, which is the starting point of ethical deliberation, is a set of evaluative attitudes—from simple desires to more complex evaluative attitudes which involve a desiderative component, such as choices, practical concerns, commitments, and so on—which, if their content were fully spelled out, would jointly amount to some specific picture of how one should live one’s life. An ordinary person’s conception of eudaimonia is to a large degree implicit; it is also usually vague and full of gaps in parts, not well integrated, and, more often than not, inconsistent. Nonetheless, it is Aristotle’s view that most human adults have evaluative attitudes which involve substantive valuations and which jointly amount to an evaluative outlook on the manner in which they should conduct their life’ (2011: 173). 21 Julia Driver goes so far as to claim that moral vices have no connection to intentional action (2001: 107).

References Annas, J. (1977). Plato and Aristotle on Friendship and Altruism. Mind, New Series, 86 (344), 532–554. Annas, J. (1999). Platonic Ethics, Old and New. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Annas, J. (2011). Intelligent Virtue. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Aquinas, T. (1993). Commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (Litzinger, Trans.). Notre Dame: Dumb Ox Books. Aristotle (1999). Nicomachean Ethics (Irwin, Trans.). Indianapolis: Hackett. Aristotle (2011). Eudemian Ethics (Kenny, Trans.). New York: Oxford University Press. Aristotle (2016). De Anima (Shields, Trans.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Brickhouse, T. C. (2003). Does Aristotle Have a Consistent Account of Vice? The Review of Metaphysics, 57(1), 3–23. Broadie, S. (1991). Ethics with Aristotle. New York: Oxford University Press. Broadie, S. (2002). Philosophical Introduction and Commentary (Rowe, Trans.) Nicomachean Ethics (pp. 9–91, 261–452). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Broadie, S. (2009). Nicomachean Ethics VII. 8–9 (1151b22): Akrasia, enkrateia, and Look-Alikes. In Natali (Ed.), Aristotle: Nicomachean Ethics, VII, Symposium Aristotelicum (pp. 157–172). New York: Oxford University Press. Chamberlain, C. (1984). The Meaning of Prohairesis in Aristotle’s Ethics. Transactions of the American Philological Association, 114, 147–157. Coady, C. A. J. (1991). Politics and the Problem of Dirty Hands. In Singer (Ed.), A Companion to Ethics (pp. 373–383). Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Cooper, J. M. (1986). Reason and the Human Good in Aristotle. Indianapolis: Hackett. Curzer, H. J. (2012). Aristotle and the Virtues. New York: Oxford University Press. Dahl, N. O. (1984). Practical Reason, Aristotle, and Weakness of the Will. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota. Driver, J. (2001). Uneasy Virtue. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gauthier, R., & Jolif, J. (1970). L’Éthique à la Nicomaque: Introduction, Traduction et Commentaire (2nd ed. Vol. 2.2). Louvain: Publications Universitaires. Grönroos, G. (2015a). ‘Why Is Aristotle’s Vicious Person Miserable?’ In Rabbås, Emilsson, Fossheim, & Tuominen (Eds.), The Quest for the Good Life: Ancient Philosophers on Happiness (pp. 146–163). Oxford: Oxford University Press.

62 Jonny Robinson Grönroos, G. (2015b). Wish, Motivation and the Human Good in Aristotle. Phronesis, 60, 60–87. Grönroos, G. (2016). Notes on Nicomachean Ethics 1173a2–5. Classical Quarterly, 66(2), 484–490. Irwin, T. (2001). Vice and Reason. The Journal of Ethics, 5, 73–97. Konstan, D. (2001). Aspasius, Anoymous, Michael of Ephesus: On Aristotle Nicomachean Ethics 8–9 (Konstan, Trans.). London and New York: Bloomsbury. Kraut, R. (1993). In Defense of the Grand End. Ethics, 103, 361–374. Lewis, C. S. (1970). ‘First and Second Things’. In Hooper (Ed.), God in the Dock: Essays on Theology and Ethics (pp. 278–281). Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans. Mandeville, B. (1924). The Fable of the Bees: Or, Private Vices, Public Benefits (Kaye Ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Meyer, S. S. (2011). Aristotle on Moral Responsibility: Character and Cause. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Müller, J. (2015). Aristotle on Vice. British Journal for the History of Philosophy, 23(3), 459–477. Nielsen, K. M. (2017). Vice in the Nicomachean Ethics. Phronesis, 62, 1–25. Orwell, G. (2000a). Notes on Nationalism. In Essays (pp. 300–317). London: Penguin. Orwell, G. (2000b). Rudyard Kipling. In Essays (pp. 203–215). London: Penguin. Roochnik, D. (2007). Aristotle’s Account of the Vicious: A Forgivable Inconsistency. History of Philosophy Quarterly, 24(3), 207–220. Segvic, H. (2011). ‘Deliberation and Choice in Aristotle’. In Pakaluk & Pearson (Eds.), Moral Psychology and Human Action in Aristotle (pp. 159–186). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stewart, J. A. (1892). Notes on the Nicomachean Ethics (Vol. 2). Oxford: Clarendon Press. Stocker, M. (2000). ‘Dirty Hands and Ordinary Life’. In Rynard & Shugarman (Eds.), Cruelty and Deception: The Controversy over Dirty Hands in Politics (pp. 27–42). Peterborough: Broadview Press. Stone, O. and Pressman, E. R. (1987). Wall Street. United States: American Entertainment Partners. Suetonius. (2007). The Twelve Caesars (Graves, Trans.). London: Penguin. Taylor, G. (1994). Vices and the Self. Royal Institute of Philosophy Supplement, 37, 145–157. Taylor, G. (2006). Deadly Vices. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Welchman, J. (2007). Who Rebutted Bernard Mandeville? History of Philosophy Quarterly, 24(1), 57–74. Williams, B. (2014). ‘Lying: Moral Choice in Public and Private Life’ by Sissela Bok, Book Review, Essays and Reviews 1959–2002 (pp. 161–165). Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press.

Chapter 5

Patience, temperance, and politics Kathryn Phillips

Introduction There is widespread agreement among political scientists that political parties are essential to large democracies. Parties are important because party affiliation provides some information for voters in otherwise low-information elections such as those for local offices (McAvoy, 2015), they provide the means to solve collective action problems (Fitts, 1988), and because the freedom of multiple parties to vie for electoral success is one of several vital elements of democracy. Despite the importance of political parties, we are currently witnessing a particularly dramatic lack of trust and growing disdain for political parties in the United States (Hetherington and Rudolph, 2015). This reflects broader patterns of growing distrust in long-term, stable democracies over the last 40–50 years between electorates and their institutions including political parties, the government, and the media (Nye, Zelikow, and King, 1997; Diamond and Gunther, 2001; Foa and Mounk, 2017).1 Given the importance of healthy political parties for a functional democracy, we should investigate what it means for a political party to flourish in order to better understand 1) if and how parties are failing to flourish, and 2) what sort of structural or other barriers are impeding their flourishing. The purpose of this paper is to use an Aristotelian framework to explore what it means for a political party to flourish from a eudaimonic perspective. I begin investigating the nature of parties by giving an account of their central functions, followed by an argument that patience and temperance are fundamentally important for political parties to fulfill their nature and function well. Patience and temperance are central because of their role balancing competing interests in democracies.

What is a political party? Broadly speaking, political parties are central actors in pluralistic democratic societies. In order to understand their nature as central democratic actors, we should start by investigating the environment political parties exist in: democracies. By developing a

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basic understanding of the environment that parties operate within, we can better understand what ideals they should aspire to in order to function well. The participation of government actors and citizens are jointly necessary for a strong democracy. Politicians, as well as voters making choices about who they want to represent them and how those representatives should govern, must cultivate rational, critical and open dialogue to make felicitous group decisions together. For John Rawls, this requires public reason. According to Rawls (1997), government actors ought to work towards the ideal of public reason in order to fulfill their duty of civility and citizens ought to hold government actors accountable to the ideals of public reason. More specifically, one: engages in public reason … when he or she deliberates within a framework of what he or she sincerely regards as the most reasonable political conception of justice, a conception that expresses political values that others, as free and equal citizens might also reasonably be expected reasonably to endorse. (Rawls 1997, p. 773) Public reason is necessary for democracy, because a basic feature of democracy is reasonable pluralism: The form and content of this reason—the way it is understood by citizens and how it interprets their political relationship—is part of the idea of democracy itself. This is because a basic feature of democracy is the fact of reasonable pluralism—the fact that a plurality of conflicting reasonable comprehensive doctrines, religious, philosophical, and moral, is the normal result of its culture of free institutions. Citizens realize they cannot reach agreement or even approach mutual understanding on the basis of their irreconcilable comprehensive doctrines. In view of this, they need to consider what kinds of reasons they may reasonably give one another when fundamental political questions are at stake. I propose that in public reason comprehensive doctrines of truth or right be replaced by an idea of the politically reasonable addressed to citizens as citizens. (Rawls 1997, p. 765–766) Reasonable pluralism is an anti-perfectionist political theory that depends on “a purely political conception of justice (one that does not depend on the acceptance of a particular comprehensive doctrine) and the likelihood that such a conception of justice can be the focus of an overlapping consensus of reasonable comprehensive doctrines” (Hartley and Watson, 2014, p. 421). Anti-perfectionist theories are contrasted with perfectionism, the position that the state ought to promote a comprehensive and objective account of the good human life. In order to better understand the nature of a political party, we can explore the functional role of political parties within democracies. One of the most general functional accounts of political parties is that political parties are organizations

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within democracies that aggregate interests and create compromise across interests, support candidates for election, and when winning elections, govern (Diamond and Gunther, 2001). This means that political parties are fundamentally aimed at training and supporting the individuals who will govern in democracies. Bartolini and Mair suggest a finer grain by identifying two main categories of function: “[P] arties may be seen to perform a variety of representative functions, including interest articulation, aggregation and policy formulation. On the other hand, they also perform a variety of procedural or institutional functions, including the recruitment of political leaders and the organization of parliament and government” (2001, p. 332). Others attempt to define political parties through a central purpose such as struggling for or gaining power (Rye, 2015). An important challenge for functional definitions of parties is the issue of whether parties have a multiplicity of potentially competing functions or if we ought to understand parties as having a unified central principle that their other functions reduce to, such as the struggle for power. This is brought into further relief by potential tensions between theoretical perspectives on political parties, which might be more optimistic about their purported functions, versus descriptive accounts that rely on empirical information to describe how parties actually function.2 Speaking from a theoretical perspective and assuming the practical ramifications on democratic systems will be motivating to the actors that make up political parties in democracies, an important reason to think that the functions of political parties cannot be reduced to the pursuit of power alone is because of the centrality democracy itself has in political party functioning. Democratic political systems are the environment in which parties exist as agents of collective choice—as democracy recedes, so will the wellbeing of the party and the more it recedes, the more likely the party will cease to exist. Collectives that call themselves political parties but indulge in illiberal or anti-democratic means of pursuing power threaten their own existence, or are parties in name only.3 If parties pursue power alone regardless of the means, leading to elections that no longer function as a means of real choice, then political parties will be replaced with a regime that rules. Given that the nature of political parties is to function as collective actors in a realm of choice, the more coercive a system, the less political parties will be able to function in their roles of aggregating interests, providing options for governance and so on in an open election. Put another way, a political party that is too concerned with its own power risks eroding democratic norms and devolving its political environment into authoritarianism and not just failing to flourish, but destroying itself. Given that the pursuit of power alone is self-defeating for political parties, we ought to use a pluralistic functional definition—political parties provide electoral choices, strive to govern effectively, and provide a means to develop compromise across a variety of interests as a means of working towards the common good in a democracy. This suggests that political parties flourish when they are functioning well, that is, they flourish when they are sustaining or increasing membership; supporting candidates; motivating, engaging with and

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informing the electorate; and collectively working towards the common good. If we accept that these are the appropriate ends of political parties understood through the democratic ideals of public reason and reasonable pluralism, we might start by asking which virtues political parties could develop to facilitate public dialogue and mutual understanding among diverse groups of people with a variety of interests, and how political parties can temper their own desire for power. More specifically, we might ask which virtues allow political parties to fulfill their basic nature in part by orienting parties towards the social goods of public reason and justice in pluralistic societies.

Patience and temperance Before developing an argument about which virtues are fundamental to the wellbeing of political parties, it is worth saying a bit more about the nature of collective virtue. Byerly and Byerly (2016) recently developed a dispositionalist neo-Aristotelian account of collective virtue, where virtue is irreducible to the particular members of the collective. According to these authors, collective virtues are dispositions to believe and behave in characteristically virtuous ways, where the particular beliefs and actions are appropriately responsive to the specific circumstances. They offer two formulations for collective virtues, both focusing more on the behavioral component of the disposition than in traditional individualistic virtue ethics, thus avoiding to some extent contentious debates about the nature of collective minds. The first formulation, “(DCV) A collective C has a virtue V to the extent that C is disposed to behave in ways characteristic of V under appropriate circumstances” (Byerly and Byerly, 2016, p. 43) seems like it could still potentially depend on the collective having a mind of some sort, so they also offer up an alternative formulation where virtues bottom out in individuals with group-dependent properties: “(DCV*) A collective C has a virtue V to the extent that the members of C are disposed, qua members of C, to behave in ways characteristic of V under appropriate circumstances” (Byerly and Byerly, 2016, p. 43). Using either DCV, or DCV*, for the purposes of this paper we can understand collective virtues as neoAristotelian and behaviorally focused dispositions of groups. In order to successfully cultivate candidates, govern, and work towards the common good in a pluralistic democratic society, political parties need to develop virtues that create substantive and meaningful dialogue where individuals and groups can freely express interests and balance conflicting needs. Given the nature of political parties, it is of utmost importance that in assessing and balancing interests they do not become overly concerned about their own interests and the pursuit of power. In addition to eroding their democratic environments, discussed earlier, another reason too much focus on power would be problematic can be understood by analogy. Consider individual persons who pursue only basic, hedonic bodily pleasures such as Susan Wolf’s Blob. We intuitively think the Blob is failing to flourish because they are not

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fully functioning as a human since the Blob is failing to pursue important human functions such as cultivating relationships, engaging their rational faculties, pursuing projects of value, etc. (Wolf, 2007). This lesson can be extended to the political party that pursues its own power and interests alone—such a party is anemic and fails to flourish because it is failing to pursue important functions such as responsibly aggregating interests and working towards the common good to maintain democratic order. Like the Blob and their overly indulgent hedonic proclivities, “[t]he greatest vices of popular governments are the propensity to gratify short-term desires at the expense of long-term interests” (Galston 1988, p. 1283), which is especially true as wealth and power concentrate: “Affluence breeds impatience, and impatience undermines well-being” (Offer, 2006, p. 1). In order to understand how parties can fully flourish, we can look to two understudied virtues that are fundamental to political party flourishing: patience, which gives parties the room to hear each other and be heard, and temperance, which when applied to political parties relates directly to moderation of the pursuit of power. In a society where reasonable pluralism is the ideal and compromise is necessary, these virtues facilitate communication, and understanding—making compromise possible—while simultaneously cultivating the practice of acknowledging and limiting of the power of particular interests. These virtues are necessary for parties to avoid engaging in practices that are short-sighted, self-defeating and at odds with the people parties are representing or hoping to represent. Aristotelian virtues are often defined through the doctrine of the mean, according to which the virtues are excellences situated between two extremes of excess and deficiency relative to some domain. Patience has been defined with respect to the domains of time and frustration—these conceptions are related, and both are relevant to how a political party can and should function well. Kupfer’s account of individual patience is understood in part by acknowledging imperfections in ourselves and others, and the limits of our own desires. Similarly, according to Callan (1993) one aspect of human nature that underwrites patience is human imperfection. Patience is fundamentally about recognizing one’s imperfect nature and responding to challenges by taking the appropriate amount of time and cultivating a broad perspective. Furthermore, Callan explicitly mentions the importance of patience in politics: So long as our civic life is fraught with hopes that are commonly disappointed, ideals compromised and diluted in the process of realization, so long, that is, as our politics are not utopian, a patience will be needed to carry on that is grounded in a sense of the good of public life as objects of service rather than brute appropriation. (Callan, 1993, p. 539) This relates directly to Rawls’ conception of reasonable pluralism, where public reason is needed to address conflicting comprehensive doctrines and establish

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mutually agreeable compromises and foster tolerance. To cultivate public reason and compromise, parties need to have clear agendas that represent relevant interests, but also recognize the limits of these interests. This suggests that patient parties acknowledge that they do not represent everyone’s interests, and that they cannot rush their agendas if doing so wasn’t called for by relevant circumstances. Some evidence that we should look for to identify patient parties is when party members consistently work with colleagues regardless of their party, learn from experts, and engage in dialogue with constituents rather than set a particular agenda and pursue it regardless of the costs. One important potential objection to patience as a fundamental virtue for political parties is the worry that patience is often associated with waiting regardless of what one is waiting for. A serious worry is that this might suggest that people who are oppressed or abused must merely wait while gradual improvement takes place. However, such objections depend on a colloquial definition of patience, rather than understanding patience as a virtue, that is, as an excellence that is situationally sensitive and when cultivated allows actors to respond appropriately with respect to time and temperament. One way to ease fears about this objection is to look at the extremes that constitute patience’s vices. Kupfer argues that the obvious vice is the deficiency: impatience, but also compellingly argues that there is an associated excess: sluggishness or over-waiting. For political parties, this means that patience requires acting quickly in emergency situations while overly slow responses, such as the federal response in the United States to the Hurricane Katrina disaster, are instances of the vice of sluggishness. While we may often be most concerned with the vice of sluggishness for parties, especially in the United States where there is rising discontent with the inability of major parties to get much done, political parties must also avoid developing impatience. This is especially true with respect to issues that require significant consideration and debate such as the passage of major legislation. While impatience can be dangerous, it is worth reiterating that depending on what is called for given the circumstances, the patient actions could be executed quite speedily. Another virtue that is fundamentally important to maintaining appropriate perspective on a particular group’s own importance is temperance, which is related to the domain of appetites and situated as the mean between abstinence and overindulgence. When applied to political parties, temperance is best understood as a check on overindulgence of political power. As we saw, political parties are collectives within a democracy whose functions are to develop candidates and support political actors who can work towards the common good and solve collection action problems. If a party does not seek power and governing majorities or coalitions, it risks not getting anything done,4 but if a party seeks power without restraint it risks fracturing the very system that sustains it. Without temperance, political parties risk being self-defeating by obstructing the democratic thereby endangering the very political environment that parties flourish in: democracies.

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Several recent examples from American politics illustrate how the absence of patience and temperance and the presence of their associated vices have negatively affected political parties. We might first look at the ongoing stalemate regarding how to move forward with health care policy in the United States in a way that is sustainable and mutually agreeable. John Cannan, who develops a thorough account of the complicated history of President Barack Obama’s signature health care legislation, popularly known as the Affordable Care Act (ACA) or Obamacare, argues that “‘hyper-partisanship,’ the intense scrutiny of the 24-hour news cycle, deficits, the demands of campaign finance, and social media” (2013, p. 131) are shaping the modern legislative landscape. The influence of these phenomena force legislators to use new procedures, often marked by haste and opacity, in order to pass laws. The complicated legislative history of the ACA, which is actually two laws that were passed as a means of creating compromise between the House and Senate after Ted Kennedy unexpectedly passed away and the Democrats lost their supermajority needed to pass the legislation, suggests impatience and intemperance in the Democratic Party, while others have defended the process as sufficiently bipartisan.5 Proponents of the ACA have been accused of overstating the bipartisan nature of the ACA, but they did accept hundreds of Republican amendments, though many technical in nature and uncontested, public hearings were also held for the ACA. By contrast when Republicans took control in 2017 and began attempts to quickly repeal the ACA, there were no public hearings and no Democratic Amendments were considered (Healy, 2017; Kasprak, 2017). While Republicans managed to narrowly pass a bill that would leave 23 million more people under the age of 65 uninsured by 2026, and reduce the federal deficit over the same time period by $119 billion (Congressional Budget Office AHCA), the bill never got serious support in the Senate. Republican Senators considered and voted on a variety of their own bills that were all projected to leave millions fewer uninsured (Congressional Budget Office BCRA). Perhaps most extremely, the Senate very nearly passed a bill dubbed “skinny repeal” that three Senators reportedly agreed they would vote “yes” on only with assurances that the bill would not become law—the goal was reportedly to trigger a conference with the House of Representatives and agree upon health care legislation there (Berman, 2017). Though the legislation ultimately did not pass, the process was roundly criticized for both its speed and secrecy. One might argue that these legislative processes were not particularly vicious, but rather necessary given the incredible importance of health care and structural barriers to achieving these policies through other means. For instance, perhaps Democratic actions were courageous and timely (see for instance Beaussier, 2012) because though the legislation was unorthodox, access to basic medical care has been substantially expanded. With respect to passage of the ACA it is challenging to sort out to what extent the Democratic Party was impatient, or if obstruction from the Republican Party in the minority necessitated an unorthodox process. When Republicans took control of Congress, we can also see potentially virtuous

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aspects of the actions, for instance their attempts to change the legislation also was an attempt to fulfill promises to voters, and likely seen by many lawmakers as working towards the common good. In each case above, the legislative efforts are not transparently vicious, nor do they alone suggest an overall pattern of impatience and intemperance, which would be necessary to demonstrate a vicious disposition. In order to demonstrate the habitual kind of action that constitutes the vices associated with patience, we can look at general legislative patterns and see a trend to towards, rushed, secretive unorthodox legislation. The increasing use of unorthodox legislation overall (Sinclair, 2017) suggests both parties are becoming more impatient and intemperate. The lack of temperance is suggested especially by the apparent unwillingness to work with legislators in another party. Party members in Congress are obviously suffering from voter frustration given their inability to get things done (Sinclair, 2006), and party obstruction of normal governing processes for particular legislative agendas pushed through with the use of threat, such as misuses of the debt ceiling, is increasingly becoming the norm (Mann and Ornstein, 2012). Furthermore, intemperate attitudes in politics seem to be motivated largely by two factors: attempts to gain and maintain power, as well as acrimony towards the other side. Unorthodox legislation and obstruction taken together seem to be forging the vicious dispositions. Beyond the domain of legislation, there are other realms in which patience and temperance would clearly serve the interests, especially long-term, of political parties and the people they represent. Impatience and intemperance developed from the desire to maintain power are pernicious factors in supporting politicians implicated in allegations of sexual harassment and assault. Presidents Bill Clinton and Donald Trump are two of the first people that come to mind in American politics regarding accusations of sexual assault and abuse of power. Clinton is most famous for his affair with Monica Lewinsky, a Whitehouse intern, but also accused of harassment by multiple women, and accused of rape in 1978 while he was running for governor of Arkansas (Flanagan, 2017). The reaction at the time, especially on the American left, was to give Clinton a pass, even, in some cases, in the name of feminism (Flanagan, 2017). Even 20 years later, few Democratic leaders feel comfortable questioning the outcome of the Clinton investigation and impeachment hearings or facing the accusations directly (Steinhauer, 2017). In 2017 there was a return to the public litigation of Clinton’s behavior catalyzed by sexual misconduct scandals in both parties including Representative John Conyers, Senator Al Franken, Senatorial Candidate Roy Moore, and President Donald Trump. However, the public and political assessments and reactions to various accusations have a familiar partisan tone. In the parties that support these men we have seen the vices of impatience and intemperance because of the tendency to protect those within the party—this is especially true given the political calculus apparent from the reaction to accusations of sexual misconduct at the expense of the victims. John Conyers and Al Franken are both Democrats and the

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Democratic party currently lacks a majority in either chamber of Congress, which likely slowed the party’s response and, at least initially, suggested the party would choose political power over basic respect for women and the rights of women. Candidate Roy Moore and Donald Trump provide an even more disturbing example of choosing political power over women’s rights. The Republican party as a whole has generally embraced these candidates (and now President) despite, in the case of Trump, having been accused of rape by his former wife Ivana, an Access Hollywood tape being released in which Trump apparently brags about sexual assault, and the many other women who came forward to give their accounts of Trump’s sexual misconduct prior to the 2016 election (Tolentino, 2017). While some lawmakers stepped away from Trump after the release of the Access Hollywood tape, the party stood by him and has embraced him, apparently for the ease with which he was brought into line with major political priorities such as the (unsuccessful) repeal of the ACA and new tax legislation. Roy Moore also stands accused of sexual assault of minors while in his 30s, but came extremely close to winning the Senate seat in Alabama (Enten, 2017). Again, while it’s true that some of the party members seemed to distance themselves from the candidate, Trump continued to endorse Moore, the Republican National Convention continued funding Moore towards the end of the election. The party as a whole seemed to be more concerned about the possibility of losing Moore’s vote for things like Supreme Court Justices (Bump, 2017).6 In these cases it seems obvious that parties are acting intemperately because a desire for power is overriding belief in the victims or justice for them. This shielding of alleged predators by parties is cowardly and intemperate as we can see from the concerns voiced while these men are candidates being quickly forgotten if the candidates are elected. Supporting sexually predatory party members is also impatient in that it presents an inflated sense of the importance of the party’s goals and timeline. Recall that according to Kupfer patience is in part a recognition of mutual imperfection and the limits of one’s own desires—shielding the wrongdoing of politicians fails to appropriately balance the desires of the party in terms of legislative priority and power versus the rights of victims and the rights of women. This is of course relevant in other domains and various corrupt practices political figures might participate in. If parties had the patience, temperance and also courage to hold their own members accountable for their actions, the parties could become more just, and more able to fulfill their function of working towards the common good.

Contemporary, structural barriers to flourishing I have argued that the vices of impatience and intemperance threaten the well-being of political parties while the virtues of patience and temperance are fundamental to political parties flourishing. Several concerns about this

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account, however, remain. As Bommarito (2014) rightly points out, an initial and important worry about patience is that one might expect those in unjust circumstances to patiently wait while they are taken advantage of or otherwise abused. Several authors have argued that while both major political parties in the United States are indulging in unorthodox legislation and obstructionism, the Republican Party is really the more egregious actor (Mann and Ornstein, 2012). If this is the case, one might worry that even if Democrats regained control of Congress and won the next presidency, if they tried very hard to work patiently with Republicans nothing would get done and the American public’s estimation of Congress and the major parties would continue to decline. Some might even argue that the mistake the Democrats made in the legislative process that led to the passage of the ACA was trying too hard to work with Republicans, thereby giving the Republicans time to further develop obstructionist tactics. There are similar concerns with respect to Gerrymandering and a generally unfair political playing field given the two presidential elections in which the Democratic Candidate won the popular vote but lost the election. While these are serious practical concerns, a larger objection to patience as complicit with oppression and abuse is misguided and depends on a colloquial understanding of patience rather than the Aristotelian conception that identifies patience as aimed at the mean between two extremes. As discussed earlier, patience does not require that an individual or a collective merely wait for their oppressor to back down, and it does not require a political party to stand idly by while another party obstructs its work. That said, given the current climate of American politics, each party seems to be repaying the other in kind with intemperate, rushed processes and scathing rhetoric rather than attempts to pass legislation through deliberative processes marked by debate and compromise. This leads to the next potential objection, which is the concern that the current climate presents daunting structural obstacles to major political parties cultivating patience and temperance such that they can flourish. A variety of factors that Cannan mentions, such as the speed of communication through social media and online journalism, as well as the potential for self-isolating in political and informational bubbles, complicates how Americans get information. This means a less patient public, which creates new tension with respect to the balance elected officials must attempt to meet their commitments of responsiveness versus responsibility. There is also increasingly not just disagreement but extremely negative feelings towards members of different parties, which creates new challenges for cultivating virtue (Heatherington and Rudolph, 2015). In addition, particular political systems, such as the two party system in the United States, and the structures of campaign financing deeply affect the ability of parties to cultivate virtue. These concerns and others raise new questions about what systematic changes we can make so that parties can be more virtuous. They also force us to ask what individual changes we can

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embark upon to create that systematic change as well as individually embodying the virtues that enable us to more effectively and responsibly work together.

Notes 1 Throughout this paper the focus will be on political parties in the United States in order to give the investigation a concrete focus. With this caveat in mind, the broader functions outlined that give shape to political parties will tend to be shared across democracies, and the fundamental tension between parties’ desire for governing power and a need to govern responsibly and attentively to many interests are likely is shared across different forms of democratic political systems. 2 A third, slightly more distinct, complication is that different forms of political parties that potentially have much different purposes—in the United States a good example is smaller third parties in addition to the two primary major political parties. Minor parties such as the Green or Libertarian parties in the United States are thought to function more as protest parties attempting to influence the major positions of the major parties without any real hope of electoral victory or broad governance. 3 There is evidence that in authoritarian regimes pro forma elections are used to maintain power and as a mechanism of control—this is an example of a political party in name only (Gandhi and Lust-Okar, 2009). 4 It is worth noting again that this account is complicated by third parties and other party structures whose main interests are not governing, but shaping policy or platforms. 5 A quick reference on US lawmaking: www.usa.gov/how-laws-are-made, and an excellent resource for evolving lawmaking practices can be found in Sinclair (2017). 6 There is also much to be said about the many other forms of prejudice and bigotry beyond their misogyny these men publicly pronounce. Trump for instance famously called for banning all Muslim immigration to the United States, while Moore has argued that Muslims should not be allowed to serve in the United States government (www.snopes.com/roy-moore-muslims-serve-congress/).

References Bartolini, S., & Mair, P. (2001). ‘Challenges to contemporary political parties’. In L. Diamond, & R. Gunther (Eds.), Political parties and democracy (pp. 327–344). Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Beaussier, A. (2012). The patient protection and affordable care act: The victory of unorthodox lawmaking. Journal of Health Politics, Policy and Law, 37(5), 741–778. doi:10.1215/03616878-1672709 Berman, R. (2017, July 27). The Senate’s blind vote on ‘skinny repeal’. The Atlantic. Bommarito, N. (2014). Patience and perspective. Philosophy East and West, 64(2), 269–286. Bump, P. (2017). The Supreme Court has emerged as a critical partisan lever for Trump and Moore. The Washington Post, 19 November. Byerly, T. R., & Byerly, M. (2016; 2015). Collective virtue. The Journal of Value Inquiry, 50(1), 33–50. doi:10.1007/s10790-015-9484-y

74 Kathryn Phillips Callan, E. (1993). Patience and courage. Philosophy, 68(266), 523–539. doi:10.1017/ S0031819100041875 Cannan, John. (2013, July 2) A legislative history of the Affordable Care Act: How legislative procedure shapes legislative history. Law Library Journal, 105:2(2013–7); Drexel University Thomas R. Kline School of Law Research Paper No. 2013-A-08. Available at SSRN: https://ssrn.com/abstract=2773827 Congressional Budget Office. H.R. 1628, American Health Care Act of 2017. (Online). May 2017. Available: www.cbo.gov/publication/52752. Referenced December 1, 2017. Congressional Budget Office. H.R. 1628, Better Care Reconciliation Act of 2017. (Online). June 2017. Available: www.cbo.gov/publication/52849. Referenced December 1, 2017. Diamond, L. J., & Gunther, R. (2001). Political parties and democracy. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Enten, H. (2017). ‘Why is Roy Moore back in front? Time and Trump are probably helping’. Fivethirtyeight, 29 November. Fitts, M. A. (1988). The vices of virtue: A political party perspective on civic virtue reforms of the legislative process. University of Pennsylvania Law Review, 136(6), 1567–1645. Flanagan, C. (2017). ‘Bill Clinton: A reckoning’. The Atlantic. 13 November. www.thea tlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2017/11/reckoning-with-bill-clintons-sex-crim es/545729/ Foa, R. S., & Mounk, Y. (2017). The signs of deconsolidation. Journal of Democracy, 28 (1), 5–15. doi:10.1353/jod.2017.0000 Galston, W. A. (1988). Liberal virtues. The American Political Science Review, 82(4), 1277– 1290. Gandhi, J., & Lust-Okar, E. (2009). Elections under authoritarianism. Annual Review of Political Science, 12(1), 403–422. doi:10.1146/annurev.polisci.11.060106.095434 Hartley, C., & Watson, L. (2014). Virtue in political thought: On civic virtue in political liberalism. In K. Timpe, & C. A. Boyd (Eds.), Virtues and their vices (pp. 415– 433). New York: Oxford University Press. Healy, G. (2017, March 16). Gutierrez says ‘hundreds of republican amendments’ were a part of Obamacare. Politifact Hetherington, M. J., & Rudolph, T. J. (2015). Why Washington won’t work: Polarization, political trust, and the governing crisis. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Kasprak, A. (2017, June 20). Was the passage of Obamacare just as secretive as GOP efforts to repeal it? Retrieved from www.snopes.com/aca-versus-ahca/ Kupfer, J. H. (2007). When waiting is weightless: The virtue of patience. The Journal of Value Inquiry, 41(2), 265–280. doi:10.1007/s10790-007-9076-6 Mann, T. E., & Ornstein, N. J. (2012). It’s even worse than it looks: How the American constitutional system collided with the new politics of extremism. New York: Basic Books. McAvoy, G. E. (2015). Collective political rationality: Partisan thinking and why it’s not all bad. New York: Routledge. Nye, J. S., Zelikow, P., & King, D. C. (1997). Why people don’t trust government. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Offer, A. (2006; 2007). The challenge of affluence: Self-control and well-being in the United States and Britain since 1950. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press.

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Rawls, J. (1997). The idea of public reason revisited. The University of Chicago Law Review, 64(3), 765–807. Rye, D. (2015). Political parties and power: A new framework for analysis. Political Studies, 63(5), 1052–1069. doi:10.1111/1467–9248.12143 Sinclair, B. (2006). Party wars: Polarization and the politics of national policy making. (No. 10). Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press. Sinclair, B. (2017). Unorthodox lawmaking: New legislative processes in the U.S. congress (5th ed.). Thousand Oaks, CA: CQ Press. Steinhauer, J. (2017). Bill Clinton should have resigned over Lewinsky affair, Kirsten Gillibrand says. New York Times (Online). Timpe, K., & Boyd, C. A. (2014). Virtues and their vices (1st ed.). Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199645541.001.0001 Tolentino, J. (2017, November 9). Listening to what Trump’s accusers have told us. New Yorker. Wolf, S. (2007). The Meanings of Lives. In Perry, Bratman, Fischer, (Eds.), Introduction to Philosophy: Classical and Contemporary Readings (pp. 62–73). New York: Oxford University Press.

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Section 2

Civic friendship and virtue

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Chapter 6

Is there a plausible moral psychology for civic friendship? Blaine J. Fowers

The fragmented body politics in many Western democracies call for serious efforts to reclaim cohesion and cooperation. The Aristotelian concept of civic friendship is a promising, albeit controversial, pathway to this goal. Civic friendship (CF) is the common translation of Aristotle’s (1984) term politike- philia. One of the challenges of this topic is that Aristotle used this term quite sparingly, leaving relatively wide latitude for interpreting it. Nevertheless, it is striking how often he referred to politics and philia in the same sentence or paragraph. The frequent coincidence of these terms clarifies that he saw philia (affectionate relations) as a central feature in any successful polity. He believed that the like-mindedness, community, and justice necessary for good politics depend on philia. This connection shows up in the Nicomachean Ethics, the Eudemian Ethics, the Politics, and the Rhetoric. I begin with a moderate version of CF that can be appropriated into modern politics and includes three elements: goodwill toward one’s fellow citizens for their own sakes, reciprocity, and mutual awareness of the goodwill and reciprocity (Irerra, 2005). A strong version of CF requires a significant core of personal relationships and a “thick” community in which there is substantial agreement about the common good. These two characteristics of a strong version of CF are difficult to envision in contemporary liberal nation-states, making the strong version implausible in today’s politics. I do not argue directly even for the moderate version of CF here. Rather, I focus on increasing the plausibility of CF by exploring a realistic moral psychology for CF. I aim to identify and document a set of natural human psychological features that make CF possible. If I can do so, then it is reasonable to believe that a moderate version of CF can be cultivated in many human societies, even those that do not resemble Aristotle’s polis. I proceed on the premise that the science supporting this moral psychology identifies features that partly define human nature. This view provides a strong basis for psychological realism, but I recognize that some see the very idea of a single basic human nature as erroneous (e.g., Dreyfus, 1987; Gergen, 2011). In contrast, many authors have argued for an evolved human nature that has underwritten a significant proportion of human activity throughout our species’ existence (Arnhart, 1998; Cosmides & Tooby, 1992; Fowers, 2015; Okrent, 2007). I rely on the latter arguments without rehearsing them here.

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I also recognize that the claims I make about one feature or another of this presumed shared human nature are theoretically and empirically defeasible. So, I am going out on a somewhat slender limb, but I hope that CF is sufficiently interesting and compelling to make that risk worthwhile. I believe the payoff is substantial because the better we understand the moral psychology of CF, the more robustly we can work toward a better form of politics. I address five features of human psychology (prosociality, ingroup favoritism, cooperation, norm responsiveness, and shared intentionality) that can scaffold CF. All five features are well-documented empirically. Before I discuss this potential moral psychology, I must address four important obstacles to it. First, the features of this moral psychology are virtually always portrayed in amoral terms in the scientific literature. This follows from the traditional fact-value dichotomy so prevalent in psychology and other social sciences. Although I cannot argue it here, I see this as a false dichotomy and point the skeptical reader to arguments against the fact-value dichotomy by well-regarded philosophers and psychologists (Bruner, 1990; Cushman, 1990; Dewey, 1926; Fowers, 2015; MacIntyre, 1959; Putnam, 2004; Taylor, 1985; Searle, 1964). The breadth and quality of the scholarship questioning the fact-value dichotomy indicates that it is quite defeasible and far short of an insurmountable obstacle. If we accept the idea that human psychology has an inherent moral dimension that can be intentionally and systematically directed toward the social good, a second difficulty arises. All five features I describe have the potential to improve individual lives and foster a better social world, but they can also lead to deleterious outcomes individually and socially. That is, the features of this moral psychology can be activated for good ends (community enhancing, humanity expanding) or bad ends (domination, exploitation, needless violence). Indeed, one reason that contemporary politics is so fraught is that these features of human nature have been recruited for bad ends. I recognize that defining good and bad ends is far from simple, but I focus on what seem to be clear examples of worthwhile and destructive ends to clarify the alternatives. The more difficult cases must be addressed elsewhere. The third obstacle to my project is that it is vulnerable to being or becoming moralistic. The primary argument against this worry is that the ethic I am describing is not based on imperatives, and it is open-ended rather than absolute. Aristotelian ethics, as I understand it, focuses on how to live well by acting in the best possible ways rather than following a set of rules or obligations. Therefore, when people act in ways that undermine the quality of their own lives, this may be a matter of concern, but it is not an invitation for a judgmental or self-righteous response. My view is that judgmental and self-righteous stances undermine one’s own welfare and are therefore undesirable (Fowers, 2005). In contrast, when someone acts harmfully toward others, this harm should be minimized and, in serious cases, punished. On most accounts, however, the problem of moralism does not apply to harmful actions.

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Finally, a morality built on scientifically documented features of human nature runs the risk of reducing morality to deterministic processes that can be traced ultimately to genetic and environmental forces. I have argued at length elsewhere that deterministic reductionism is neither desirable nor possible for human morality (Fowers, 2015), so I will not repeat that argument here.

A moderate version of civic friendship The first point to make about CF is to reconsider Aristotle’s term philia, which is typically, but misleadingly translated as friendship. The historian Konstan (1997) clarified that the verb philein “signifies various kinds of love and affection, and the abstract noun philia … has much the same scope as the verb” (p. 56). In contrast, the term philos signifies friend. If we think of philia as loving or affectionate relationships, then that term can be broad enough to encompass family members and fellow citizens. Of course, most of us can think of fellow citizens for whom we hold no affection and might even consider enemies or anathema to a society. So, thinking of affectionate relationships with fellow citizens is, at best, an ideal, but it is conceivable. One argument against CF is that it is absurd to think of having real personal friendships with everyone in a contemporary nation-state or large city. A moderate form of CF dials back the required level of emotional connection between fellow citizens to a mild affection, which makes CF much more psychologically realistic. Aristotle (1984) speaks of CF in the context of homonoia (like-mindedness), the common good and civic justice (1167b 2–4, 1242a 7–13). He famously sees humans as political animals who come together with those “akin” to them. Therefore, the substance and aim of CF is the cultivation of community and civic justice rather than deep friendship. Terms like trust, cooperation, respect, reciprocal reliability, and common good describe the workings of CF. CF cannot be conflated with virtue friendship because civic associations inevitably include people with a wide range of character. Some citizens will be virtuous, and they will undoubtedly participate in the community in more worthy ways than citizens with more dubious characters. Some degree of moral excellence in the community is necessary to pursue justice and other common purposes. Moreover, if vice is widespread or highly influential, it is destructive of community. So, there is a tension between the character heterogeneity of any sizable polity and its capacity to foster just relations and common ends. CF does not require the deeply personal connections of intimate knowledge and emotional closeness considered essential to contemporary friendship (Schwarzenbach, 1996). Therefore, CF is more about recognizing one’s membership in a large group that affects every member’s prospects and in which everyone has common interests. Membership in the group entails following basic norms and expectations that make communal life possible. The connection among citizens requires only general concern for one another’s welfare rather than personal closeness or intimate involvement in that welfare.

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There are three central features of CF: well-wishing, reciprocity, and mutual awareness of goodwill and reciprocity (Irerra, 2005). The common interest in a well-functioning polity is an important basis for the first feature of CF; wellwishing. Fellow citizens wish one another well in many ways, such as in health, prosperity, and safety. Fellow citizens can be expected to make common cause to increase the overall welfare of the community and to support societal and political efforts to ameliorate harms or misfortunes for their fellows. This well-wishing and acting on others’ behalf is reciprocal. Finally, the mutual awareness of this good will and reciprocity is necessary to see one another as fellow citizens and to recognize the common ground shared in the polity.

A moral psychology for civic friendship I can now explore the possibility of a credible moral psychology for CF. I indicate how five aspects of human psychology underwrite the three features of CF: goodwill (prosociality and ingroup favoritism), reciprocity (cooperation), and mutual awareness (social norms). Following this discussion, I add a fourth feature of CF focused on shared goals, which is built on the human capacity for shared intentionality. If natural human inclinations support these aspects of CF, then it is a psychologically realistic possibility, and this moral psychology can indicate how these psychological features can be marshalled to improve the fragmented politics of Western nations. Goodwill It is important to remember that goodwill includes both well-wishing and well-doing on others’ behalf. Despite the inordinately consistent theorizing of a fundamental egocentricity by psychologists for at least the last century, it is obvious that people exercise goodwill toward family members, friends, and others with whom they have personal relationships. This presumed egocentricity has been repeatedly challenged in laboratory and field experiments (e.g., Dunn, Aknin, & Norton, 2008; Warneken & Tomasello, 2006), as well as in single timepoint (e.g., Le et al. 2013), longitudinal (e.g., Crocker, Canevello, Breines, & Flynn, 2010), and international survey studies (e.g., Aknin et al., 2013). These literatures have inspired several excellent theoretical syntheses suggesting that humans are instinctually prosocial (Keltner, Kogan, Piff, & Saturn, 2014; Mikulincer & Snyder, 2010) or have “otherish motivation” (Crocker, Canevello, & Brown, 2017). No one denies that some behavior is egocentrically motivated. There is very good evidence, however, that there are at least two generic forms of motivation and that other-benefit may be as common a motivator as self-benefit. It is even beyond reasonable doubt that individuals are likely to provide at least mildly costly benefits to strangers in one-time interactions. So, the reach of prosociality is very broad.

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Nevertheless, benefiting strangers in one-time interactions is tenuous because relatively minor environmental factors or aspects of the stranger can strengthen or reduce the likelihood of a prosocial response. This tenuousness is to be expected with strangers. However, stronger relationship ties support more reliable and extensive other-benefiting behavior, and weaker connections are more vulnerable to disruption (Crocker et al., 2017). Human prosociality clarifies that goodwill is a genuine possibility, with stronger ties and clearer environmental supports eliciting more goodwill. The vulnerability of prosocial behavior outside close relationships places a limit on goodwill, but environmental factors can also be recruited to enhance goodwill within a polity. The experimental literature on helping behavior identifies many situational factors that can be recruited to increase prosocial behavior, such as good mood, feelings of gratitude, and the gravity of the situation (Lefevor, Fowers, Ahn, Lang, & Cohen, 2017). A major factor influencing goodwill is whether the other person is seen as a member of the ingroup or an outgroup. As Hogg (2004) stated, “social categorization … produces ingroup identification, a sense of belonging, self-definition in group terms, and ingroup loyalty and favoritism” (p. 209). Social categorization is an automatic, fast, and repetitive division of the social world into ingroups and outgroups. Ingroup favoritism includes a positive disposition toward ingroup members, engendering trust, liking, empathy, and cooperative inclinations. In contrast, people approach outgroup members with wariness (Brewer & Yuki, 2007). These effects are evident in scores of studies that use the “minimal group paradigm,” in which participants are cued to social groupings that are often extremely minor (having the same college major) or arbitrary (told they like the same kind of paintings as another person). Social categorization is, in some ways, a major impediment to CF. Accordingly, a common political strategy is to use “wedge issues” to divide a polity in ways favorable to a politician or political party. “Identity politics” can also divide individuals, as can immigration-related rhetoric and policies. Polities can be subdivided in many ways, creating ingroup cohesion and favoritism as well as outgroup suspicion. A common misperception holds that outgroups automatically activate hostility and conflict (e.g., Kurzban & Leary, 2001), but two large meta-analyses suggest that simple contact reduces intergroup wariness and distrust (Pettigrew & Tropp, 2006), and that intergroup friendships render attitudes and emotions toward outgroups more positive (Davies, Tropp, Aron, Pettigrew, & Wright, 2011). In addition, Stürmer and Snyder (2010) conducted a series of studies indicating that although individuals helped ingroup members more, they were willing to help outgroup members if it was also beneficial to the actor. If hostility and conflict are not automatic in outgroup relations, how does ordinary wariness escalate to hostilities? When the outgroup is seen as a rival for important resources, conflict and even violence become much more likely (Cikara, Botvinick, & Fiske, 2011; Leach et al., 2003). In extreme cases, typical prohibitions against

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ingroup aggression may be de-activated in intergroup competition. At such times, aggression may be encouraged, rewarded, and even required by the ingroup to defend the group’s interests (Cohen, Montoya, & Insko, 2006). The dangers of categorizing other members of a polity as outgroup members and of treating them as rivals toward whom hostility and aggression make sense are ever present. This possibility is frequently exploited by politicians, particularly demagogues. Counteracting divisive messaging is difficult and requires ongoing efforts at knitting groups together under a common cause and shared humanity. The good news is that counteracting factionalization is possible because human evolution did not specify where the ingroup/outgroup boundary must be drawn. The placement of the boundary is determined through social interactions and decisions that identify what it means to belong to the group. The ingroup could be one’s clan, city, region, nation, or continent or one can even identify with humanity as a whole. By defining the ingroup to include an entire polity, CF can be fostered, which can be accomplished through intelligent policy and strong citizenship. Common aims can partly define a polity, including both material goals and abstract or symbolic aims (e.g., equal treatment before the law). Thus, we can be inspired to common action by visionary leaders, but problematic visions can also sway a community. I say more about common aims in the last section. Reciprocity Humans have very strong species-specific inclinations toward reciprocity and cooperation (Canevello & Crocker, 2010; Gray, Ward, & Norton, 2014). Cooperation is one of the most well-established human adaptations, and our species is, in some respects, the most cooperative on the planet. Extensive research documents human cooperation (e.g., Wedekind & Milinski, 2000; West, Griffin, & Gardner, 2007), which occurs over significant timespans because humans can track benefits given and received temporally. People cooperate in small and large groups. Within ingroups, cooperation is more common than competition because cooperation tends to benefit everyone involved and provide goods that are unavailable otherwise. For example, trading goods is beneficial because individuals can obtain something they do not have in exchange for something they have in excess. Cooperation is also necessary for large-scale projects and for mutual defense and security. Cooperation is so pervasive in human society that it is easily overlooked, but, on reflection, virtually everything a person does involves extensive cooperation (e.g., language use, traffic, and market transactions). The downside of cooperation is that it can be exploited. The simplest model of cooperation is that A provides a benefit to B with the understanding that B will benefit A later. The time frame for this exchange varies, of course, but even in a relatively immediate exchange, B can refuse to reciprocate. Therefore, the evolution of cooperation included a cheater detection capacity to identify who is likely to cooperate and who is likely to cheat (Cosmides &

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Tooby, 1992). It is not perfect, but it helps to protect individuals from exploitation (Wedekind & Milinski, 2000). Cheaters can be identified through directly observing someone’s untrustworthiness or through an untrustworthy reputation. Research suggests that the majority of humans tend toward cooperation, with a minority that is either opportunistically or dispositionally exploitive (e.g., Brunell et al., 2013; Van Lange, 1999). Thus, reciprocity and cooperation are baseline proclivities for most people. The willingness to benefit others reciprocally is moderated by social categorization and trust. Cooperation is less likely with outgroup members, but it still occurs if it appears beneficial, whereas cooperation is the default mode in the ingroup. In addition, distrust can be sown in a group such that genuine cooperation seems unlikely. The presence of many exploiters or high profile exploitation can encourage distrust. Distrust can also be cultivated by influential sources such as the media, politicians, scientists, or other professionals who claim that humans are naturally egocentric, competitive, and untrustworthy. For example, the prevalent ideology of individualism in psychology and other social sciences encourages this desultory perception of humans and undermines the well-established proclivity toward cooperation (Richardson, Fowers, & Guignon, 1999). As Crocker et al. (2017) noted, “research plumbing [questioning] selfish motivations is far scarcer than research plumbing motivations for giving” (p. 313). Just because cooperation is often beneficial does not mean that cooperation is always recruited for good ends. Criminals, slavers, and hate-mongers often cooperate to further their ends. Unwitting or inattentive citizens are frequently induced to cooperate with problematic ends by their leaders or governments as well. Thus, cooperation and reciprocity are good if they serve good ends, but not when they promote bad ends. Mutual awareness The third aspect of CF is the mutual awareness of the goodwill and reciprocity that they and the other citizens enact. That is, goodwill and reciprocity are often intentionally and consciously performed. The evolved characteristic that enables this awareness is the exquisite human capacity to recognize and follow social norms. Humans are extremely sensitive to the norms that govern social interactions and demonstrate strong tendencies to conform to norms (e.g., Henrich & Henrich, 2007). The responsiveness to norms is a key aspect of the human need to belong to a group. Norm vigilance keeps the individual in others’ social graces sufficiently to engender inclusion and approval (Heatherton, 2010; Williams, 2007). Goodwill and reciprocity are frequently embedded in social norms, both in conventional etiquette and in formal rules and laws. Social norms are maintained through interpersonal surveillance and enforcement (Henrich & Henrich, 2007; Schmidt, Rakoczy, & Tomasello, 2011). Social groups attend closely to individuals’ actions and to norm adherence. Two enforcement procedures exemplify this. First, reputation is extremely important as

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social rewards, especially status rewards, are strongly conditioned by one’s reputation (McAndrew, 2002). In addition to direct observation, reputation is influenced strongly by gossip, a universal human practice (Boehm, 2000). Group members discuss third parties’ actions frequently to keep up to date about one another’s behavior and standing in the group. This gossip includes both reputation enhancing and detracting information. Gossip often guides decisions about cooperation and this helps individuals to exclude someone from cooperation based on an exploitive reputation. The second enforcement practice is third-party punishment. Individuals who violate social expectations can be sanctioned directly by the person whom they offend, but they are also often punished by third parties, even if that third party has no direct stake in the offense. Ample experimental evidence demonstrates third party punishment (Bernhard, Fischbacher, & Fehr, 2006; Fehr & Fischbacher, 2004; Fehr & Gaechter, 2002). Additional evidence comes from contemporary hunter-gatherer groups. One of the most common norms in these groups is an egalitarian social hierarchy (Boehm, 2000). That is, no one can give orders to individuals or the group. All activity is voluntary, and collective activity is arranged through consensus rather than directive leadership. When someone violates this norm by giving orders, members of the band punish that person to terminate the hierarchical behavior (Weissner, 2005). Punishment is generally delivered by multiple band members, generally including individuals whom the transgressor did not attempt to dominate. Punishment is usually mild, beginning with humor or verbal criticism, but it can escalate to violence if the transgressor persists in dominance behavior (Weissner, 2005). The power of social norms to shape behavior and elicit conformity can also be problematic. Social norm compliance can stultify a group and reduce its ability to adopt useful innovations and adjust to changed circumstances. Additionally, the norms themselves can be problematic. Having established social expectations does not mean that those norms are beneficial. Finally, because violating established norms creates tension and discomfort in the group, norm violation can lead to exclusion even if the refusal to conform was appropriate or even salutary. This can lead to excluding individuals and subgroups from a polity, thereby reducing solidarity and CF.

An expanded theory of civic friendship In this chapter, I have discussed a set of well-established, evolved human characteristics that I believe constitute a moral psychology of CF. I have followed Schwarzenbach (1996) and Irerra’s (2005) interpretation of Aristotle by defining the features of CF as goodwill, reciprocity, and mutual awareness of those processes. General human prosociality and ingroup favoritism underwrite the well-wishing and well-doing on behalf of others in a polity. This prosociality is frequently impersonal because it does not depend on a prior personal relationship or obligation. Prosociality is often a response to demonstrated need

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or vulnerability (Penner, Dovidio, Piliavin, & Schroeder, 2005) or to stereotypical features of ingroup membership (Brewer, 2008). Humans are strongly inclined toward cooperation and reciprocal relations. Most individuals respond positively toward someone who benefits them. The cheater detection system evolved to prevent cooperators from rampant exploitation by individuals willing to cheat others. Finally, awareness of goodwill and reciprocity processes is a clear human characteristic, as seen in ubiquitous social norm maintenance through mutual surveillance and accountability. I have also described how these features of human moral psychology can go awry, clarifying that they do not guarantee CF in any group. Yet these proclivities can be recruited to develop strong social solidarity and an awareness of common ground. But this raises the question of why any individuals or groups would recruit this set of political inclinations in the service of CF. Why would anyone choose to pursue CF instead of individual or factional advantage, both of which are also possible given the moral psychology I have described? I believe the answer to this question requires adding a fourth feature to the definition of CF that highlights the vital human capacity for pursuing shared goals. It is abundantly clear that human beings are goal seeking creatures (Eccles & Wigfield, 2002), but discussions of goal pursuit are too often limited to portrayals of individual goal seeking. Humans also frequently pursue joint goals and shared goals (Fowers, 2005). A joint goal is one that an individual could, in principle, pursue as a separate individual, but they believe that they will be more successful if they seek it jointly with others. Some examples include business partnerships and parental cooperation to raise children. Pursuing these goals as joint projects frequently increases success even though a sole proprietorship or a single parent can also successfully achieve those goals. Well-functioning partnerships can accelerate or enrich goal achievement, but when the individuals cannot work well together, pursuing the end as an individual goal may be a better option. Shared goals are different because they cannot be pursued or achieved by any individual (Fowers, 2005). There are many prominent and vital shared goals, including friendship, justice, and democracy. One can only achieve a friendship through acting in concert with friends because friendships emerge in the interactions of individuals over time. Similarly, justice and democracy are group-level phenomena that are emergent features of a group rather than individual possessions. No one can have any of these shared goals independently. Moreover, this kind of goal is defined such that one person cannot have more friendship, justice, or democracy than the other participants. Shared goals only exist to the degrees that are fully shared. The moral psychology for shared goals begins in the capacity of infants to share attention toward objects and events with others (Feldman, 2007; Moll & Tomasello, 2004). This shared attention develops into shared intentionality (Burkart, Hrdy, & van Schaik, 2009; Tomasello, Carpenter, Call, Behne, & Moll, 2005) as toddlers develop the ability to coordinate their actions with others to pursue various goals, from shared play (Warneken & Tomasello, 2006) to

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coordinated manipulation of objects (Warneken, Chen, & Tomasello, 2006) to pursuit of longer-term, more complex goals (Fowers, 2015; Tomasello et al., 2005). The capacity for pursuing complex, shared goals is evident in human endeavors in the material realm, such as building Stonehenge or sending probes to Mars and in more abstract pursuits such as cultivating a just society. Human beings can imagine and pursue goals that transcend the capacity of any individual and coordinate our actions in teamwork that can encompass very large groups of people. Of course, the awareness of goodwill and reciprocity take us part of the way to the concept of CF as a shared goal, but awareness of the processes that help to constitute the overall project of CF is not the same thing as an awareness of the overall project itself or of its inherent worth. Mutual knowledge and valuing of CF is necessary to properly recruit the characteristics of human moral psychology that enable the development of the social solidarity and common purposes that fully constitute CF. It is important to recognize, however, that the fact that a goal is shared does not make the goal good. History is replete with examples of shared goals that are manifestly bad, including fraud, genocides, and the social practices of slavery. This means that reflection on what is taken to be good is also a necessary activity because there is no determinate, ultimate good for human beings. That makes the process of cultivating and maintaining CF open-ended because its guiding aims are never finally defined or achieved. This open-endedness can be disconcerting, but it clarifies a basic reason that human politics can never be reduced to a causally deterministic set of laws. The guiding ends of CF are a product of deliberative agents who live and act in complex systems that defy reductionism. Therefore, I am suggesting that CF can and should be an intentional and conscious goal for people in free societies. By making this an explicit goal and indicating how humans are, to some degree, naturally inclined toward this end, I am suggesting that CF is a natural good for humans. It is a precarious good, one that must be consistently and self-consciously pursued and protected from the many ways that polities can go wrong. But it is a beautiful good that can inspire a polity to greatness.

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Moral psychology and civic friendship 91 Putnam, H. (2004). The collapse of the fact/value dichotomy and other essays. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Richardson, F. C., Fowers, B. J., & Guignon, C. (1999). Re-envisioning psychology: Moral dimensions of theory and practice. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Schmidt, F. M. H., Rakoczy, H., & Tomasello, M. (2011). ‘Young children attribute normativity to novel actions without pedagogy or normative language’. Developmental Science, 14, 530–539. Schwarzenbach, S. A. (1996). ‘On civic friendship’. Ethics, 107, 97–128. Searle, J. (1964). ‘How to derive “ought” from “is”’. The Philosophical Review, 73, 43–58. Stürmer, S., & Snyder, M. (2010). ‘Helping “us” versus “them”: Towards a group-level theory of helping and altruism within and across group boundaries’. In S. Stürmer & M. Snyder (Eds.), The psychology of prosocial behavior: Group process, intergroup relations, and helping. (pp. 33–58). New York: Wiley/Blackwell. Taylor, C. (1985). Philosophy and the human sciences: Philosophical papers, (Vol. 2). Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Tomasello, M., Carpenter, M., Call, J., Behne, T., & Moll, H. (2005). ‘Understanding and sharing intentions: The origins of cultural cognition’. Behavioral and Brain Sciences, 28, 675–735. Van Lange, P. A. M. (1999). ‘The pursuit of joint outcomes and equality in outcomes: An integrative model of social value orientation’. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 77(2), 337–349. doi:10.1037/0022-3514.77.2.337 Warneken, F., Chen, F., & Tomasello, M. (2006). ‘Cooperative activities in young children and chimpanzees’. Child Development, 77, 640–643. Warneken, F., & Tomasello, M. (2006). ‘Altruistic helping in human infants and young chimpanzees’. Science, 311, 1301–1303. Wedekind, C., & Milinski, M. (2000). ‘Cooperation through image scoring in humans’. Science, 288, 850–852. Weissner, P. (2005). ‘Norm enforcement among the Ju/’hoansi Bushmen’. Human Nature, 16, 115–145. West, S. A., Griffin, A. S., & Gardner, A. (2007). ‘Evolutionary explanations for cooperation’. Current Biology, 17, R661–R672. Williams, K. D. (2007). ‘Ostracism’. Annual Review of Psychology, 58, 425–452.

Chapter 7

Populism and the fate of civic friendship Randall Curren

The theme of this volume invites a virtue-focused response to the crises of liberal democracy that are evident in the electoral success of radical right populist movements and in the wider erosion of norms of civic friendship on both sides of the Atlantic. Populism is a polarizing form of politics that plays a pure, deserving, hard-working “people” off against “corrupt elites,” and the analysis of many political sociologists and observers suggests that it is unlikely to gain much following in the absence of prior institutional and ethical failures (Adida, Laitin, and Valfort, 2016; Gest, 2016; Goodhart, 2017; Ignatieff, 2017; Judis, 2016; Laurence, 2012; Levitsky and Ziblatt, 2018; Luce, 2017; Mudde, 2017; Müller, 2016; Saunders, 2012; Social Mobility Commission, 2017; The Economist, 2017; Vigdor, 2011). In its most troubling forms, populism invokes a mythology of a homogenous “people” who only have a political voice through a “strong” leader who must vanquish the corrupt elites, expel those who are not the true people, and disable the institutions and norms of constitutional democracy that limit the leader’s ability to enact the people’s “will.” It delegitimizes the voices and claims of those who do not belong to – or accede to the unfettered “will” of – the mythologized true people, maligning opponents as unpatriotic enemies of the people and country. It is hostile to wide civic friendship, not incidentally but by design. In the European context, the terms “populist” and “demagogue” are used interchangeably in referring to leaders (Müller, 2016, p. 11), and scholarship on populism sometimes reflects this by invoking classical Greek understandings of demagoguery and the associated descent of democracies into tyranny (Lukacs, 2005, pp. 10–11, 24). Aristotle captures aspects of this understanding in Book V of his Politics, observing that “a tyrant is chosen from the people to be their protector against the notables, and in order to prevent them from being injured. History shows that almost all tyrants have been demagogues who gained the favor of the people by their accusation of the notables” (Barnes, 1984, pp. 2080–2081 [Pol. V.10 1310b11–16]). So understood, populism invites an abandonment of democracy in the name of democracy – an abandonment of the protections of individual rights and division of authority essential to a “constitutional” polity or, in modern terms, a “liberal” democracy. It is first and foremost an assault on the

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rule of law, and it is no coincidence that it is also a vicious and demoralizing style of leadership masked by a highly moralized and divisive vision of society, a style of leadership that divides, enfeebles, and corrupts in ways that undermine a public’s ability to live well together. It is liable to take root in societies in which polarization has already weakened norms of civic friendship, and its effect is to weaken those norms even further. Wide civic friendship is a virtue essential to a public’s well-being, and one that is both essential to institutions functioning well and more prevalent in the presence of good institutions. As Aristotle understands it, civic friendship is simply the goodwill one should have toward the members of the communities to which one belongs and the friendly feeling one should normally experience and exhibit in face-to-face encounters within those communities (Curren, 2000, pp. 131–139). It is a cognitive, emotional, and behavioral disposition to affirm the value and act for the good of the members of one’s communities, in the policies one favors and in face-to-face encounters, together with a tendency to experience the successes, failures, and afflictions of the community as one’s own. It involves the experience of positive relatedness or membership in a civic world where one belongs, and it is a central feature of civic virtue or appropriate responsiveness to the value of one’s society (Curren and Dorn, 2018, pp. 99–119). In these respects, civic friendship is both an aspect of individual flourishing and an essential foundation for civic cooperation that prudently draws on the collective wisdom and problem-solving capacity of a democratic public. The goodwill and friendly feeling characteristic of civic friendship in face-to-face encounters are not properly limited to compatriots and they may be manifested in ways that exhibit a variety of allied virtues that are essential to the cooperative social worlds that people need, seek, and create. These virtues of social cooperation are more frequently exhibited in settings shaped by good institutions, and a measure of good leadership is that it exhibits and facilitates a flourishing of these virtues. People “share a common desire … for moral order,” writes Michael Ignatieff, and by and large they create such order through ordinary virtues of tolerance, kindness, trust, hospitality, honesty, respect, forbearance, forgiveness, reconciliation, cooperation, non-violence, resilience, vigilance, and endurance (Ignatieff, 2017, pp. 69, 202). Nevertheless, “we are living a genuine crisis of the universal amidst a return to the sovereign,” as everywhere states push back against obligations of international justice, “whether it be the refugee convention, the laws of war, or the human rights covenants” (p. 216). A lesson of Ignatieff’s global field work on virtues and rights is that states should instead do everything in their power to dispense justice without discrimination in employment, housing, policing, and government accountability. They must vigorously defend the liberal institutions and norms of justice that are threatened by nationalist and authoritarian movements, while providing the security and opportunity essential to persuading their citizens that they are not threatened by immigrants. “The core problem of modern politics” is to control globalization “so that it creates jobs rather than killing them, sustains communities instead of wiping

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them out, protects the environment instead of wrecking it,” writes Ignatieff (2017, pp. 70–71). His case studies in Brazil, Bosnia, and South Africa illustrate the ways in which liberal democratic constitutions can be corrupted by cultures of entitlement, self-dealing, collusion in oligopolistic domination of markets, and autocratic impulses. From New York and Los Angeles to Rio and Pretoria, he also documents the toxic effects of brutally discriminatory policing, as well as the role of good policing in enabling neighborhoods to rebuild a sense of community. If Ignatieff is right, then civic friendship and related virtues of public life will not flourish through educational efforts alone. They are most likely to flourish in contexts shaped by the institutions of liberal or rights-protecting democracy that descend from the “mixed constitutions” of Greek and Roman antiquity – institutions that grant equal citizenship and protection of the law and provide fair access to education, employment, reliable information, and other necessities. Liberal democracies are constitutional systems designed to protect the interests of every member of the society, and – accordingly – to ensure that no one is above the law. A mixed constitution incorporates a variety of forms of participation and representation in governing to ensure that no class of citizens is without political means to protect its interests. Aristotle’s view of such constitutions was that they are most stable and successful in enabling the members of a society to flourish when they are also “middle constitutions” or dominated by a large middle class (Curren, 2000, pp. 75, 103–104). Friendship is only possible among those who perceive each other as equals, he holds, and a society polarized by wealth and poverty is not one in which citizens can perceive themselves as civic equals who share a common good, or believe in impartial justice, or cooperate in governing. “Nothing can be more fatal to friendship” in societies than polarization of this kind, he writes (Barnes, 1984, pp. 2056– 2057 [Pol. IV.11 1295b14–24]). Aristotle’s Politics offers both a broad diagnosis of the hazards of contemporary populism and a broad characterization of actionable remedies, and it does so in conjunction with an ideal of political societies as proper partnerships in living well, characterized by voluntary cooperation, mutual advantage, and civic friendship (Curren, 2000, 2013).1 The task of this chapter is to explain the diagnosis, remedies, and ideals more fully and to illustrate their currency and value in contemporary political analysis. The three sections that follow will address Aristotle’s views on demagogues and civic friendship, the nature and circumstances of populism in the U.S., and the Aristotelian remedies that may be helpful in strengthening civic friendship today.

Aristotle on demagogues, civic friendship, and reform Starvation was an ever present danger in Aristotle’s world, and the patterns of crop failure and lending secured by land-holdings led to increasing inequality between large land owners and the small farmers and dispossessed. The arc of the Attic universe bent away from justice, in short, and the desperation this

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engendered made debt bondage and land hunger perennial matters of political contention. In these circumstances, the polarization of rich and poor created both social tensions and political instability, resulting in the frequent replacement of oligarchies by democracies and vice versa. It was in this context that Aristotle identified oligarchy as a political system in which a few rich people impose rule on the numerous poor, doing so in their own interest and through force, and democracy as a political system in which the numerous poor impose rule on the rich minority, doing so in their own interest and though force (Barnes, 1984, pp. 2025, 2029, 2030 [Pol. III.3 1276a 12–17; III.6 1279a17–22; III.7 1279a28-b10]). Both oligarchy and democracy are destroyed by disproportion, or the unwillingness of those in power to allow members of other classes a proportional share in governing (p. 2079 [V.9 1309b18–24]). “Neither the one nor the other [form of constitution] can exist or continue to exist unless both rich and poor are included in it” or allowed a just share in governing, Aristotle warns (pp. 2079–2080 [1309b38–40]). By contrast, just governments aim at the common good, they govern as much as possible through reasoned and truthful persuasion and consent, and they embody a constitutional rule of law to which everyone, whatever their status, is answerable. Moreover, a just constitutional system is one in which the laws themselves are just, in the sense that they embody and communicate truths about how members of the society can live well together. They are impartial in their responsiveness to what people actually need to live well. Faced with the instability and injustice of existing governments, Aristotle identifies a legitimate form of constitutional system that he says is widely attainable and he prescribes reforms that would nudge democracies, oligarchies, and tyrannies closer to it. His term for this imperfectly just but attainable system is “polity” (politeia, the generic term for “constitution”; p. 2030 [III.6 1279a38–40]), and he describes it as in one sense a “mixed” constitution and in another sense a “middle” constitution. These terms pertain to a constitution as an arrangement of offices and as an arrangement of members of a state, respectively (pp. 2023, 2029 [III.1 1274a39; III.6 1278b9]). As a “mixed” constitution a polity has institutional structures that combine elements of democracy and oligarchy, or roles for both rich and poor, to ensure that the members of these different social classes are able to participate and exert political influence in defense of their interests. This gives the members of each class a reason to work within the system, prefer its survival, and accept the legitimacy of its laws and decisions. With respect to the members or social constitution of a state, a polity is a “middle” constitution in the sense that it is dominated by a large middle class. “A city [polis] ought to be composed, as far as possible, of equals and similar; and these are generally the middle classes,” Aristotle advises (p. 2057 [IV.11 1295b25–26]). Moderation in wealth is favorable to civic virtue and friendship, and in a state with a large middle class there is less chance of corrupt leaders destabilizing the constitution by playing off the poor against the rich.

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Tyranny is the most unjust of the three illegitimate forms of constitution named by Aristotle, and he identifies it as invariably a product of the poor vesting their trust in a demagogue who enlists their support in using extraconstitutional means to wrest power from the “notables” or “corrupt elites” who deny them their due. In the context of a constitutional system that was to some extent mixed, the rise of a demagogue who enlists the poor in removing the limitations to his own power has the effect of creating a tyranny or rule by one that is nominally in the interest of the demos or “people” but actually in his own interests. The tyrant “accumulates riches” and “has no regard to any public interest, except as conducive to his own private ends,” Aristotle writes (p. 2081 [V.10 1311a4–7]). Moreover, he governs – just as he came to power – through an art of division, which Aristotle frames as a list of imperatives that include: He must not allow common meals, clubs, education and the like; he must be upon his guard against anything which is likely to inspire either courage or confidence among his subjects; he must … take every means to prevent people from knowing one another (for acquaintance begets mutual confidence) … [and] sow quarrels among the citizens … And he should impoverish his subjects … [so that] the people, having to keep hard at work, are prevented from conspiring. (p. 2085 [V.11 1313a35-b25]) Aristotle summarizes the methods of tyrannical rule by saying that a tyrant’s practice is to humiliate his subjects, take away their power, and sow distrust (p. 2086 [1314a28–29]). “Tyrants are at war with the good … because [good people] will not be ruled despotically, and because they are loyal to one another” (p. 2086 [1314a16–21]). The practices of the demagogue and tyrant are thus profoundly at odds with the civic virtues and friendship essential to the members of a society living well together. Aristotle’s advice to the tyrant is that the better way to preserve his rule is to do “the very reverse of nearly everything that has been said” (p. 2087 [1314b37–38]). The tyrant should guard the public interest, be “virtuous, or at least half virtuous,” and enact reforms that move his government closer to being a polity (p. 2088 [1315a33-b10]).2 Oligarchic and democratic leaders should engage in reforms with the same goal. The point of Aristotle’s reference to “common meals, clubs, education and the like” is that these are institutions through which he envisions the diverse members of a society coming to know each other in ways favorable to unifying it through civic friendship. Aristotle’s account of civic or political friendship (philia) is not fully explained. There is clearly a role for institutional vehicles of civic unification, such as intermarriage, brotherhoods, common religious rites, festivals, common meals, and common day schools. Some but not all of these may be social institutions that would exist without political intervention, but this was not true of the common day schools, which did not yet exist, or common meals,

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which were created in Sparta as an egalitarian replacement for private drinking clubs that were segregated by class. More generally, Aristotle’s attention to publicly subsidizing the costs of participation in common meals and religious observances in Politics VII.10 suggests he saw a need for public intervention “to prevent any segregation of citizens into classes or groups which would not intermingle in a friendly way through these associations” (Curren, 2000, p. 138). The idea seems to be that if all the diverse members of a society are free to participate in such institutions on equal terms, then they would be known to each other and form some friendships that would have wider significance for unifying the society. The interpretation I have defended is that the promotion of virtue and friendly contact in these institutional settings could promote the formation of networks of substantial friendships that would ideally dispose everyone to feel goodwill toward all the disparate others to whom they are potentially connected through these networks (Curren, 2000, pp. 131–139). Attachments to specific others would associate friendly faces with social types that might not otherwise be known or trusted. The institutions must be egalitarian, in the sense that they must be open to everyone and treat all those who participate as equals, if they are to nurture real friendships that can propagate goodwill across every social divide. They must also be part of a wider experience of justice in the society. Consider, as an example, that intermarriage would do little to overcome racial tensions in a society that outlaws racial intermarriage – as many states in the U.S. did until 1967 (Whitman, 2017, p. 33). Nor would it do much to overcome racial tensions in a society in which racial intermarriage is legal but glaring racial disparities in the equal protection of the laws remain, such as in policing, prosecutorial discretion, and criminal sentencing policy (Alexander, 2010). Aristotle speaks directly to the role of justice in enabling civic friendship when he holds that friendship exists between the participants of every kind of community to “the extent to which justice exists between them” (Barnes, 1984, p. 1833 [NE VIII.9 1159b25–31]). I take him to mean by this that across many forms of interpersonal encounters, conformity with norms of justice entails an enactment of forms of mutual respect and regard for each other’s good, hence some measure of mutual recognition of mutual goodwill. This would suffice for friendship, given Aristotle’s claim that “goodwill when it is reciprocal” and recognized is friendship (p. 1826 [VIII.2 1155b33–35]). Because Aristotle regards the function of good law as communicating moral truths and forming character, he may think that repeated enactment of relationships of justice may constitute a form of habituation through which fleeting episodes of limited goodwill may yield something more psychically established and persisting. He describes friendship as “the greatest good of states and what best preserves them against revolutions” (Barnes, 1984, p. 2003 [Pol. II.4 1262b7–8]), however, and it may be objected that even a persisting mutual regard induced by compliance with every existing law would not guarantee the generalized and person-regarding mutual recognition of mutual goodwill that is required. Compliance with law might be limited to its letter and motivated by

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the utility of the transactions it facilitates, not by valuing the people with whom the transactions are conducted. The spirit of the law may be to commend such valuing. Understood as a valuing of people for their good character, it is characteristic of the best and most complete form of friendship identified by Aristotle. This friendship grounded in mutual valuing of the friend’s good character is evidently the only kind that could serve the unifying and stabilizing function that Aristotle associates with civic friendship. How could mere observance of the legal requirements of equal justice possibly overcome the devastating burden endured by members of a social class detested for no good reason? The need to be valued for oneself is so fundamental that it is hard to imagine an adequate form of civic friendship not being based on character, as well as utility and pleasure – the instrumental benefits of cooperation and pleasures of shared activities (Curren, 2000, p. 133). A true political community is not a mere alliance, but is concerned with virtue, Aristotle insists (Barnes, 1984, p. 2032 [Pol. III.9 1280b5–12]), and perceptions of virtue are intimately associated with both friendship and being a full civic equal. In light of this, the best answer to the objection that compliance with law may be instrumentally motivated is to respond that the habituation provided by good laws and institutions cannot guarantee that all the members of a society will exhibit mutual goodwill animated by mutual valuing of each other, but it is favorable to the formation and expression of such goodwill and valuing. The civic friendship that Aristotle hopes will arise though habituation shaped by just laws and egalitarian institutions would evidently be exhibited in support for policies that advance the well-being of every member of the society and in mutual goodwill that occurs when members of the society come in contact with each other. It is a form of goodwill or friendly willingness to act for the good of others in face-to-face civic transactions and the enactment and application of laws and policies. Demonstrated mutuality of such goodwill throughout a civic sphere would characterize a social and political condition of civic friendship – a condition in which attributes of civic virtue are not simply widespread in a population but actively shape the political culture. It would be manifested in widespread trust, civility, cooperation, and justified belief in a common good and impartial justice.

The genesis of populism in the U.S. We noted at the outset that populism is a polarizing form of politics that plays a deserving “people” off against corrupt “elites,” and that it is in this respect similar to the way ancient demagogues played the poor off against the “notables.” Populism and demagoguery are similar in using this ploy to obtain positions of leadership and to enlist popular support in consolidating unfettered executive power once those positions are obtained. They are equally corrupt, divisive, and likely to parade their vices and to humiliate and destroy those who get in their way. That said, a fuller understanding of the contemporary applicability of an

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Aristotelian analysis of the causes and remedies of descent into tyranny requires that we consider the nature and genesis of contemporary populism in more detail. The analysis that follows is informed by populist movements in a variety of countries but it will focus on the U.S. A central feature of populism in the U. S. is that the perceived corruption of the “elites” often concerns their alleged favoring of others who are not among the “true people.” The presumption is that the U.S. is properly white and Christian, that others are not true Americans, and that the “liberal elites” have betrayed the country itself by abandoning its true people. This is closely related to the assaults on norms of mutual tolerance, forbearance, and civic friendship unleashed in response to the election of Barack Obama (Coates, 2017a; Levitsky and Ziblatt, 2018). The rise of Sarah Palin and the anti-establishment Tea Party movement were predicated largely on allegations that Obama was not a “real American,” was a threat to democracy (rule by the “true people,” presumably), and was a socialist – a hyperbolic expression of fear that he would pursue policies favorable to black Americans. Eight years before Trump’s encouragement of violence at his presidential campaign rallies (Lopez, 2016; Corasaniti and Haberman, 2016), Sarah Palin’s “racially coded speeches [against Obama] elicited cries of “Treason!,” “Terrorist!,” and even “Kill him!” from crowds” (Levitsky and Ziblatt, 2018, p. 157). Jan-Werner Müller argues in What is Populism? that “The danger to democracies today … is populism – a degraded form of democracy that promises to make good on democracy’s highest ideals. (‘Let the people rule!’)” (Müller, 2016, p. 6). Rule by the “true” people who conceive themselves as not the 99 percent but the 100 percent could have no legitimate opposition, presumably, and in this exclusive claim to political representation lies the convergence of antipluralism and authoritarianism that defines true populism, as Müller conceives it (p. 3), or radical right populism (Mudde, 2017). Trump captured the spirit of populism when he tweeted about the day of his inauguration that, “January 20th, 2017 will be remembered as the day the people became the rulers of this nation again” (Estrepa, 2017), presenting himself as the one true voice of “the people” and as a ruler, rather than a leader. This claim to exclusive legitimacy was matched by corresponding denials of the legitimacy of Barack Obama’s presidency, Hillary Clinton’s candidacy, courts that contested the constitutionality of his executive orders, the findings of election officials and national intelligence services, journalists who are not part of his own propaganda apparatus, etc. (Coates, 2017a; Cole, 2017; Grynbaum, 2017; Landler and Parker, 2016). The characterization of political rivals, officers of independent agencies, and liberal institutions as “enemies” of the people or country is a hallmark of authoritarianism, but embraced by supporters who accept the premise that these elements of a “corrupt elite” or “rigged system” unjustly favor immigrants and other undeserving groups that “do not really work and live like parasites off the work of others” (Müller, 2016, p. 23). In the face of large-scale immigration it is reasonable to ask how many newcomers a country can properly accommodate, but populism is distinctive in promoting an apocalyptic vision of societies being destroyed from within by aliens who will never become truly American, or French, or Dutch.

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Müller identifies three patterns characteristic of populists in power. The first is “colonizing” or “occupying” the state, which refers to curtailing the independence of courts, nonpartisan agencies, and other government entities among which authority would normally be distributed in the interest of integrity in serving distinct public purposes and constituencies. This “occupation” of the state may be pursued by elevating loyalty above competence, as Trump has, or by appointing ardent opponents of the missions of agencies as their directors, as Trump has. A second characteristic pattern is self-serving corruption or mass “clientelism,” in which favors are exchanged for support, and a third is harassment and suppression of NGOs that put up resistance. Trump has engaged in such harassment, but it is in the sphere of corruption that his administration has applied itself with unmatched efficiency (Chait, Cay Johnston, Crane and Tabor, 2018). A related typology of indicators of authoritarianism is presented by political scientists Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt, as an aid to both diagnosis and remediation. Their four categories are “rejection of (or weak commitment to) democratic rules of the game”; “denial of the legitimacy of political opponents”; “toleration or encouragement of violence”; and “readiness to curtail civil liberties of opponents, including media” (Levitsky and Ziblatt, 2018, pp. 23–24). Based on their research on authoritarian leaders and movements in Europe and Latin America, they take behaviors in any one of these categories to be worrisome, and they document examples of Trump engaging in all four of these kinds of behaviors. They also document a wider trend in the U.S. of descent into “all-out political warfare” in such states as North Carolina, where Republicans have redrawn the boundaries of voting districts and pushed through other laws to lock in a permanent monopoly on power (pp. 208–212). “The Republican Party has remained almost entirely a party of whites” – a shrinking proportion of the U.S. population – as the Democratic party has “increasingly become a party of ethnic minorities,” and Levitsky and Ziblatt dryly observe that, “It is difficult to find examples of societies in which shrinking ethnic minorities gave up their dominant status without a fight” (pp. 171, 208). Having established Trump’s populist bona fides, what is needed now is a diagnosis of the conditions that made his election possible. These conditions include a weakening of political parties and their effectiveness as gatekeepers in denying unqualified candidates a credible place on the ballot (Levitsky and Ziblatt, 2018), an erosion of the cooperative norms of tolerance and forbearance that allow political institutions to function (Levitsky and Ziblatt, 2018), a sense of social displacement from the center of American life and associated economic and political marginalization among white Americans without a college education (Gest, 2016, p. 187; Judis, 2016; Luce, 2017), and a growing preference for “strong” authoritarian leadership over democratic politics associated with this perception that the communities of ordinary white Americans are threatened (Stenner, 2005; Taub, 2016). With respect to marginalization, Edward Luce has argued that, “The West is suffering from acute [economic and social] polarization,” manifested in the residential and regional

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segregation of those with and without college education, and a retreat from equal opportunity so profound that 50 to 65 percent of Americans now perceive opportunity as hereditary (Luce, 2017, pp. 41, 44; cf. Gest, 2016; Goodhart, 2017). He adds that, “The populist right only began to do really well at the ballot box after they began to steal the left’s clothes. In each case, including Donald Trump, populists broke with centre-right orthodoxy to argue in favour of a government safety net” (p. 101). A longer view of how a populist proto-authoritarian like Trump could be elected to high office in the U.S. must begin in the period of Reconstruction after the Civil War (1861–1865), and the ensuing interplay of institutional structures and norms of civic cooperation. Just as Israel faces the hard reality that it cannot be both a Jewish nation-state and a democracy while occupying the Palestinian territories, the U.S. faces the hard reality that it cannot be both a white nation-state and a democracy while having founded its southern economy on African slave labor. Its only conceivable path to a functional democracy is through wide civic friendship predicated on universal acceptance of the fact of the U.S. being a multiracial society in which political authority must be shared on a proportional basis. The institutional structures of proportional representation and separation of powers specified in the U.S. Constitution do not alone suffice for a functional democracy, in the absence of norms or virtues within the ambit of civic friendship. A distressing truth of U.S. history is that these norms have only been consistently observed in periods when the two major political parties cooperated in excluding blacks from governing. Levitsky and Ziblatt describe the establishment of authoritarian single-party rule across the U.S. South after the period of Reconstruction following the Civil war as “a product of brazenly antidemocratic constitutional engineering” (Levitsky and Ziblatt, 2018, p. 89). Under the 1867 Reconstruction Act and the Fifteenth Amendment … African Americans suddenly constituted a majority of the voting population in Mississippi, South Carolina, and Louisiana and a near-majority in Alabama, Florida, Georgia, and North Carolina. Federal troops oversaw the mass registration of black voters throughout the South … . More than two thousand southern freedman won elective office in the 1870s. (Levitsky and Ziblatt, 2018, pp. 89–90) Their alignment with the Republican Party of Abraham Lincoln led to heavy Democratic Party losses across the South, whereupon “all eleven post-Confederate states reformed their constitutions and electoral laws to disenfranchise African Americans” (p. 90). This was followed by a reign of racial-terror killings by white mobs and the establishment of a system of “Jim Crow” racial apartheid (Coates, 2017b; Landrieu 2017; Editorial Observers, 2018; Staples, 2017; Woodward, 1974), extinguishing democracy in the southern states and “locking in white supremacy and single-party rule for nearly a century” (Levitsky and Ziblatt, 2018, p. 92).

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The Compromise of 1877 inaugurated a long era of amicable cooperation between the Democratic and Republican parties, predicated on removing federal troops from the South and acquiescing in a political system that was brutally authoritarian in its denial of equal citizenship. It is an illustration of methods by which authoritarian power can be seized in the midst of democracy, and a chapter in the American struggle for multiracial democracy that is essential to understanding the present populist moment. The circumscribed but otherwise vital norms of political friendship that were established with the 1877 Compromise were shattered when the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s led to confrontations between federal and state leaders over the racial integration of schools. It was essentially from this point forward that the erosion of norms of mutual toleration, forbearance, and friendship in U.S. national politics has progressed to a point where the system is so dysfunctional that 30–40 percent of Americans are ready to give up on it. The “real America” is the “Great Anglo-Saxon Southland,” insisted George Wallace, in the 1963 inaugural address in which he denounced the Kennedy administration’s steps toward racial equality as “tyranny” and pledged himself to the preservation of racial segregation (Müller, 2016, p. 21). In his depiction of the nation’s history, these “real” Americans were the White Anglo-Saxon Protestants (WASPS) all across the country whom he regarded as allies in the southern white supremacist project. He marked himself as a populist with his pretense of being the true voice of this “native” true people, his frequent encouragement of violence, and his contempt for constitutional norms. “There is one thing more powerful than the Constitution … . That’s the will of the people,” he remarked (Levitsky and Ziblatt, 2018, p. 36). At the time of his first presidential bid in 1968, his appeals to the white working-class “sense of victimhood and economic anger” garnered a national approval rating almost identical to Trump’s in 2016, following much the same script (Levitsky and Ziblatt, 2018, pp. 36, 46–47). So while the intensifying of economic polarization since the 2008 financial collapse has arguably played an important role in the rise of populist movements and candidates, white racial entitlement has a long association with the success of populist candidates in the U.S. White supremacist, white identity, neo-Confederate, neo-Nazi, anti-Muslim, and antigovernment “Patriot” groups proliferated during the eight years of the Obama administration (Potock, 2017), while Obama’s right to be president was questioned on absurd grounds, notably by Trump. Similarly, the recent confrontations over the removal of monuments to Confederate “heroes” and the protesting of frequent police killings of black Americans can only be understood in the context of a long history of white resistance to honoring norms of equal citizenship (Boorstein, 2017; Coates, 2017a; Landrieu, 2017; Leonhardt, 2017; Potock, 2017). In this context, it should have been no surprise that members of white supremacist, neo-Nazi, and other radical right hate groups rallied against the removal of Confederate monuments in August 2017 in Charlottesville, Virginia, wielding torches and

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semiautomatic weapons, and drove a speeding car into counter-demonstrators, killing one and injuring 19 (McCausland, Saliba, and Donohue, 2017). Nor should it have been any surprise when Trump resorted to “blaming both sides for the deadly violence” (Shear and Haberman, 2017, p. A1). Many of Trump’s supporters were reportedly “ecstatic as they watched their president … declare that ‘very fine people’ were being besmirched for their involvement in the right wing demonstration” (Peters, Martin, and Healy, 2017, p. A1). The period since the 1960s has witnessed a tectonic shift in the membership of the Republican and Democratic parties. Prior to the 1964 Civil Rights Act and 1965 Voting Rights Act, the membership of both parties was heterogeneous with respect to liberal-conservative, religious, and lifestyle divides (Levitsky and Ziblatt, 2018, pp. 167–172). The passage of these acts enfranchised blacks, democratized the South, and fueled a realignment that has resulted in a distribution of ideological, racial, religious, spatial (i.e. urban v. not urban), and lifestyle groups into non-overlapping party affiliations. About half of Republicans and Democrats now report that they fear the other party, and partisan animosity saturates the media, which have themselves become more partisan since the demise of regulatory requirements of fairness in representing diverse viewpoints (Anderson, 2017). The circumscribed norms of political friendship that allowed the two parties to cooperate in governing after the 1877 Compromise have been challenged and increasingly discarded as the U.S. public has grown more polarized since the 1960s. Race has played a central role in this, but the assessments of Michael Ignatieff, Edward Luce, David Goodhart, Justin Gest, and others remain relevant. Ignatieff writes that, “Opportunity is a promise that simply must be kept,” if the ordinary virtues of tolerance, hospitality, and trust are to endure (Ignatieff, 2017, p. 46), and it has not been kept in the towns of Britain and the U.S. where the “smart people” who seem to control everything are resented even more than immigrants. Immigrant and rooted populations are both more likely to embrace extremist movements if they experience economic, social, or political marginalization (Gest, 2016, p. 186), and immigrants are more likely to integrate into their host country if educational, employment, and housing policies provide them with opportunities to do so (Adida, Laitin, and Valfort, 2016; Gest, 2016; Laurence, 2012; Saunders, 2012; Vigdor, 2011).

Aristotelian remedies The simple fact of the matter is that the world has never built a multiethnic democracy in which no particular ethnic group is in the majority and where political equality, social equality and economies that empower all have been achieved. We are engaged in a fight over whether to work together to build such a world … . This fight is different than our earlier ones because this time everyone begins from the psychological position of fearing to be a member of a vulnerable minority (Allen, 2017).

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A superficial reading of Aristotle’s Politics is that it offers no useful guidance in these matters, because his concern for civic friendship was limited to Greeks and it tolerated the exclusion of slaves and artisans from citizenship. There is no reason, however, why his observations concerning polarization, demagogues, tyranny, civic friendship, and virtue cannot be useful to us in understanding and addressing our own circumstances. The remedies suggested in contemporary analyses of populism and authoritarianism are indeed largely Aristotelian in nature. The first and most essential Aristotelian remedy for populist assaults on the norms of civic friendship is to recognize those assaults for what they are and not participate in them. This entails not displaying intolerance and not abandoning norms of forbearance by attempting to win at all costs – in short, not “fighting like Republicans” in the misguided belief that it could win us the society we need (Levitsky and Ziblatt, 2018, p. 215). It requires working through, not around, the channels of a mixed constitution (p. 217), and exemplifying all of the civic virtues associated with civic friendship. These include virtues of honest reasoned debate, cooperative problem solving, and coalition building with those who are open to constructive engagement. The modeling of virtue is an Aristotelian necessity of the leadership that must be widely shared, and it is essential to overcoming cynicism and campaigns to divide a public and persuade it that wide civic cooperation and trust are unthinkable. There is no question that such campaigns have been orchestrated in the U.S., Ukraine, Bosnia, and elsewhere for geopolitical gain and to enfeeble public resistance to corporate interests. To the extent that appropriate character education (Curren, 2017: Curren and Dorn, 2018) and regulation of new media can be helpful, such measures should be pursued. In the first instance, however, we must all recognize democracy as a joint and widely distributed enterprise and “be the change we want to see.” A second Aristotelian remedy is to reestablish contemporary counterparts of the common meals, clubs, religious observances, and schools championed by Aristotle. Partisan distrust and mutual demonization become more likely as opportunities for regular friendly contact between Democrats and Republicans are diminished by spatial, religious, ideological, and cultural polarization. Levitsky and Ziblatt recount the success of such strategies in Chile in the late 1970s and 1980s, undertaken through elite-level opening of channels of communication, casual dinners, and developing practices of “consensus politics” (Levitsky and Ziblatt, 2018, pp. 220–222). They think it unlikely that this could succeed as a strategy of party elites in the U.S., absent a reconstitution of the Republican Party (p. 223), but it may nevertheless be helpful at a grassroots level and in rethinking the contributions of various institutions to our civic culture. A third Aristotelian remedy is to defend rights of equal citizenship and the institutions of a mixed constitution or constitutional democracy through which shared governance can occur in ways that should assure every minority group that its interests will be recognized and advanced. This would be most likely to succeed and most conducive to promoting wide civic friendship if it were

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pursued through a broad coalition that is not limited to progressive activists and a few Democratic leaders (Levitsky and Ziblatt, 2018, pp. 218–219). A fourth Aristotelian remedy is to recognize that having a “middle” constitution is essential to a functional democracy. The institutions of a mixed constitution are not enough. This requires investment in rebuilding the American middle class through policies that reduce inequality, help families, and promote the fair equality of opportunity without which the civic virtues are unlikely to flourish (Levitsky and Ziblatt, 2018, pp. 227–230; Ignatieff, 2017). Two things have distinguished the most recent period of large-scale immigration in U.S. history from previous periods. One is that economic growth was much more robust in those earlier periods, and another is that support for public education that provided a common school experience was much stronger in those earlier periods than it is now (Curren and Dorn, 2018). Rebalancing the impact of economic growth that has overwhelmingly favored top earners is essential. One aspect of this is educational institutions that are more effective in promoting fair opportunity, while also promoting civic friendship by bringing diverse children together in cooperative learning that affirms their equal citizenship.

Notes 1 In saying this, it is not my intention to deny that Aristotle’s positions on women and slavery cannot be justified. They are associated with a functionalist doctrine and faulty empirical claims that should be rejected. My position is that his political theory is informed by an ethic that has progressive implications when it is teased apart from these other aspects of his theory. 2 For an examination of the interpretive challenges posed by Aristotle’s discussion of tyranny, see Curren, 2000, pp. 101–109.

References Adida, C. L., Laitin, D. D., and Valfort, M.-A. (2016) Why Muslim integration fails in Christian-heritage societies. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Alexander, M. (2010) The new Jim Crow: Mass incarceration in the age of colorblindness. New York: New Press. Allen, D. (2017) “Charlottesville is not the continuation of an old fight. It is something new” Washington Post, August 13, www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/charlottesvil le-is-not-the-continuation-of-an-old-fight-it-is-something-new/2017/08/13/971812f68029-11e7-b359-15a3617c767b_story.html?noredirect=on&utm_term=.2a124633433b. Anderson, K. (2017) “How America lost its mind.” The Atlantic 320(2) (Sept.): 76–91. Barnes, J., ed. (1984) The complete works of Aristotle, vol. II. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Boorstein, M. (2017) “Washington National Cathedral to remove stained glass windows honoring Robert E. Lee, Stonewall Jackson.” The Washington Post, September. 6: www.washingtonpost.com/news/acts-of-faith/wp/2017/09/06/wa shington-national-cathedral-to-remove-stained-glass-windows-honoring-robert-elee-stonewall-jackson/?utm_term=.db5e0f4dc6c6.

106 Randall Curren Chait, J., Cay Johnston, D., Crane, J. and Tabor, N. (2018) “The stench of it.” New York, April 2–15: 22–31. Coates, T.-N. (2017a) “The first white president.” The Atlantic 320(3) (October): 74–87. Coates, T.-N. (2017b) We were eight years in power: An American tragedy. New York: One World Publishing. Cole, D. (2017) “So-called ‘judges’ trump Trump”. The Washington Post, February 10: www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/so-called-judges-trump-trump/2017/02/10/ 573fd1c8-ef42-11e6-b4ff-ac2cf509efe5_story.html?utm_term=.44e996db3808 Corasaniti, N. and Haberman, M. (2016) “Donald Trump suggests ‘Second Amendment people’ could act against Hillary Clinton,” New York Times, August 9, www.nytimes. com/2016/08/10/us/politics/donald-trump-hillary-clinton.html. Curren, R. (2000) Aristotle on the necessity of public education. Lantham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Curren, R. (2013) “Aristotelian necessities.” The Good Society 22(2): 247–263. Curren, R. (2017) Why character education?, London: Wiley-Blackwell, Impact Series, http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/imp.2017.2017.issue-24/issuetoc. Curren, R. & Dorn, C. (2018) Patriotic education in a global age. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Editorial Observers (2018) “A rising in Alabama: So the South’s white terror will never be forgotten.” The New York Times, April 26: A26. Estrepa, J. (2017) “The first 100 days: What did Trump tweet?” USA Today—Democrat and Chronicle, April 30: 5B. Gest, J. (2016) The new minority: White working class politics in an age of immigration and inequality. New York: Oxford University Press. Goodhart, D. (2017) The road to somewhere: The new tribes shaping British politics. London: Penguin Books. Grynbaum, M. (2017) “Trump calls the news media the ‘enemy of the American people’.” The New York Times, February 17: www.nytimes.com/2017/02/17/busi ness/trump-calls-the-news-media-the-enemy-of-the-people.html. Ignatieff, M. (2017) The common virtues: Moral order in a divided world. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Judis, J. B. (2016) The populist explosion: How the Great Recession transformed American and European politics. New York: Columbia Global Reports. Landler, M., and Parker, A. (2016) “Stop ‘whining’ and trying to discredit the election, Obama tells Trump.” The New York Times, October 19: A12. Landrieu, M. (2017) Mayor of New Orleans’s speech (justifying the removal of Confederate War monuments), New Orleans, LA., May 23, www.youtube.com/watch? v=t0jQTHis3f4. Laurence, J. (2012) The emancipation of Europe’s Muslims: The state’s role in minority integration. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Levitsky, S., and Ziblatt, D. (2018) How democracies die. New York: Crown. Leonhardt, D. (2017) “Kneeling versus winning.” The New York Times, October 2: A23. Lopez, G. (2016) “Don’t believe Donald Trump has incited violence at rallies? Watch this video,” Vox, March 12, www.vox.com/2016/3/12/11211846/donald-trump-vio lence-rallies. Luce, E. (2017) The retreat of western liberalism. New York: Atlantic Monthly Press. Lukacs, J. (2005) Democracy and populism: Fear and hatred. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

Populism and the fate of civic friendship 107 McCausland, P., Saliba, E., and Donohue, M. (2017) “Charlottesville rally turns deadly: One killed after car strikes crowd.” NBC News, Aug. 13: www.nbcnews.com/news/ us-news/charlottesville-rally-turns-deadly-one-killed-after-ca r-strikes-crowd-n792116. Mudde, C. (2017) The populist radical right: A Reader. London: Routledge. Müller, J.-W. (2016) What is populism?, Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Peters, J., Martin, J., and Healy, J. (2017) “Split in party after remarks on racial past: Political class recoils; voter base cheers.” The New York Times, August 17: A1 and 12. Potock, M. (2017) “The year in hate and extremism.” Intelligence Report 162 (Spring): 36–62. Saunders, D. (2012) The myth of the Muslim tide: Do immigrants threaten the West?, New York: Vintage Books. Shear, M. and Haberman, M. (2017) “Combative Trump again says 2 sides at fault: Shifting stance and criticizing the Left.” The New York Times, August 16: A1 and 13. Social Mobility Commission (2017) “Time for Change: An Assessment of Government Policies on Social Mobility 1997–2017.” Staples, B. (2017) “When white supremacists ruled the capital.” The New York Times, September 29: A22. Stenner, K. (2005) The authoritarian dynamic. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Taub, A. (2016) “The rise of American authoritarianism.” Vox, March 1: www.vox. com/2016/3/1/11127424/trump-authoritarianism#change. The Economist (2017) “Left behind: The right way to help places hurt by globalization.” The Economist 425(9063) (October 21–27): 11. Vigdor, J. L. (2011) Comparing immigrant assimilation in North America and Europe. New York: Center for State and Local Leadership, http://bydo.ug/87. Whitman, J. Q. (2017) Hitler’s American model: The United States and the making of Nazi race law. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Woodward, C. V. (1974) The strange career of Jim Crow, 3rd rev. edn. New York: Oxford University Press.

Chapter 8

Education for living together in a diverse UK A role for civic friendship, concord and deliberation?

Andrew Peterson Introduction For all citizens of a given political community – including its lawgivers – the question of how social cohesion can be formed and expressed in the context of heterogeneity and plural interests is pressing, yet vexed. Plurality can, of course, take many forms, and across Westernised countries, and for an extended time now, various official strategies have been followed in an attempt to cultivate a sense of social cohesion amidst increasing ethnic, cultural, socio-economic and religious diversity. Though not the only (potential or actual) element of civic discord, the most compelling focus for political and educational attention in this area has been the goal of building social capital between different cultures as they seek to live together within given local and national political communities. To this end, and as will be discussed in this chapter, a common policy commitment in many Westernised nations has been an appeal to “shared”, national values. Such values are typically positioned as standards common to all citizens, irrespective of their own ethnic, cultural and religious commitments. In turn, education and schooling have been identified as key sites for developing and promoting these shared commitments. Yet, despite the fact that advocating a commitment to shared/national values has been commonplace, official strategies and policies to this end have been faced with a great deal of scepticism and criticism, both generally and in relation to education more specifically. In England1, for example, and as is explored in more detail in this paper, recent attempts to foster social cohesion through British values have been criticised by teachers and the wider public for their ambiguity (DCLG, 2016) cultural supremacism (Espinoza, 2016), and superficiality (DCLG, 2016), as well as for being counterproductive (Weale, 2015). In addition, the recent policy context has witnessed a problematic relationship between a community cohesion agenda and a Prevent strategy (explained in more detail the next section) aimed at tackling radical extremism. This relationship has been posited as a ‘policy contradiction’ (Husband and Alam, 2011) and as operating as an ‘unhealthy continued co-habitation’ (Thomas, 2014). In specific relation to the work of schools, a growing body of research has pointed to the conceptual

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and pedagogical difficulties faced by teachers in seeking to teach and promote shared or British values (see, for example, Davies, 2008; Revell and Bryan, 2016; Panjwani, 2016; Thomas, 2016). While others critical of official policy for fostering social cohesion in the UK (including through education and schooling) have advocated human rights as a more fruitful frame for approaching social cohesion (Osler and Starkey, 2000; Davies, 2008; Thomas, 2016), my aim in this chapter is to explore the potential educational benefits and implications of Aristotelian civic friendship as a way of conceiving the relationship between citizens in plural, heterogeneous political communities. The exploration offered comprises three parts. First, I concentrate on England as a particular illustration of how the commitment to shared values within plural communities has been (mis)represented in educational policy and curricular. Here the manifestation of a commitment to shared values is discussed in relation to two key policy interventions – community cohesion and the Prevent strategy. In seeking to respond to continued and persistent issues in the English context, and indeed to offer a more substantive conceptual frame for understanding bonds between citizens in a political community, in the second section I sketch key elements of Aristotle’s ideas on civic friendship and concord, including the role of deliberation between citizens. In the third and final section I draw out some possible educational considerations manifested by approaching the shared values/plural interests tension through the idea of civic friendship.

Fostering social cohesion: The recent educational context Echoing concerns across wider public policy, and prompted by a range of highprofile public events/factors (including riots in northern towns in 2001, the 7/7 London bombings, ongoing tensions over government immigration policies, and persistent debates about the future of the United Kingdom, and its membership of the European Union), an important strand of education policy in England over the last fifteen years has sought to respond to the question of how to cultivate social cohesion while recognising plurality. Indeed, education and schooling has consistently been identified as a key site for fostering ways of living together within heterogeneous communities. In this period two related, though differentiated, discourses have been prevalent: namely, ‘shared values’ and ‘preventing violent radical extremism’. My purpose in this section is to provide a brief overview of this context and, in doing so, to raise some important tensions regarding educational policies connected to these two discourses. An initial indication of educational policy interest over the last ten years is both the consistent referencing of education and schooling within policy documents concerned with social cohesion (for example, DCLG, 2016; HM Government, 2018) and the shear amount of official reports, toolkits and advice for schools which successive governments have produced in relation to shared values and social cohesion (for example, DfES, 2007; DCSF, 2009; Home Office, 2011; DfE, 2011, 2014, 2015). Building on the commitment to citizenship, civic activism and

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social capital of the Blair Labour governments from 1997, the discourse of Gordon Brown’s Labour government in the late 2000s emphasised a need to foster a commitment to shared British values. Though this focus on Britishness and British values was not new – both the Parekh (2000) and Cantle (2001) reports had spoken of the need for cohesion based on shared values – the commitment to British values gained greater traction in Brown’s government. Speaking in 2006, for example, Brown (2006) contended that: Britishness is not just an academic debate — something for the historians, just for the commentators, just for the so-called chattering classes. Indeed in a recent poll, as many as half of British people said they were worried that if we do not promote Britishness we run a real risk of having a divided society … And I believe that out of a debate, hopefully leading to a broad consensus about what Britishness means, flows a rich agenda for change: a new constitutional settlement, an explicit definition of citizenship, a renewal of civil society, a rebuilding of our local government and a better balance between diversity and integration. Speaking in 2007 the then Secretary of State for Education, Alan Johnson, argued that ‘We must teach children about our shared British heritage while fostering an understanding of our cultural diversity and the uniqueness of our individual identity’ (Garner, 2007). As these illustrations make clear, this discourse was one in which Britishness and British identity were as much to be forged in contemporary, multicultural Britain as they were to be forced, though some criticised the perceived ambiguity concerning precisely what it meant for given values to actually be “British” (see, for example, Osler, 2008). Commissioned by the Labour government to explore how diversity and citizenship were being, and could be, taught in schools, the Curriculum Review: Diversity and Citizenship (known commonly as the Ajegbo Review (DfES, 2007)) found the quality of education for diversity in schools to be ‘uneven’, with some school leaders and teachers lacking the clarity and confidence needed. In addition, the Review found school links with the community to be ‘often tenuous or non-existent’ (DfES, 2007: 6), and also that: The term ‘British’ means different things to different people. In addition, identities are typically constructed as multiple and plural. Throughout ourconsultations, concerns were expressed, however, about defining ‘Britishness’, about the term’s divisiveness and how it can be used to exclude others. On the recommendation of the Ajegbo Review, and in line with government discourse at the time, the revised statutory curriculum for Citizenship education in 2007 included a new strand entitled Identity and Diversity: Living Together in the UK which in turn included the teaching of British values. In addition, from 2007 a statutory duty was placed on English state schools to promote community cohesion.

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While maintaining a focus on British identity and British values, government policy discourse on social cohesion since the mid-2000s has been shaped increasingly by concerns about violent extremism and radicalisation. Building on the Labour government’s introduction of the Prevent initiative, one of the four strands of the wider CONTEST counter-terrorism strategy2, the Conservative-Liberal Democrat Coalition government (2010– 2015), and successive Conservative governments (2015–2017, 2017–) have positioned the need for protecting and promoting British values as a way of preventing radicalisation. Here, once again, education and schooling are given a key role. The revised Teacher Standards published in 2011 explicitly required teachers not to undermine fundamental British values, while in June 2014 the Coalition government stated its intention to ‘to create and enforce a clear and rigorous expectation on all schools to promote the fundamental British values of democracy, the rule of law, individual liberty and mutual respect, and tolerance of those with different faiths and beliefs’ (Wintour, 2014; emphasis added). The connection between fostering British values through education and countering violent extremism was strengthened in November 2014 with the advice that schools ‘promote’ Fundamental British Values as part of their provision for pupils’ social, moral, spiritual and cultural education. While the focus here on British values represents a continuation of the policy and discourse of the previous Labour administration, two related changes are notable. The first was to replace the general notion of British values as something to be shaped and fostered through dialogue and mutual understanding with non-negotiable fundamental British values. The second was to directly link the teaching of British values within schools more explicitly to the wider government counter-terrorism strategy aimed at counteracting radicalisation and violent extremism. Indeed, the list of fundamental British values cited were taken directly from the government’s controversial Prevent strategy. The policy discourses and provisions briefly outlined here have been widely criticised. Both Labour’s focus on British values/identity and the Coalition/ Conservatives’ focus on fundamental British values have been critiqued as promoting ethnocentrism, for requiring assimilation and, particularly the latter, for fostering mistrust of ethnic minority groups, leading to further discord rather than cohesion (see, for example, Kundnani, 2012; Thomas, 2014). More recently, significant tensions have developed from the policy decision by the Coalition government to operate community cohesion and Prevent as separate strategies. The perceived need to do so was stated in the government’s Prevent Review of 2011 (HO, 2011) in which it made clear that the strategy of the previous Labour government was ‘flawed’ because ‘it confused the delivery of Government policy to promote integration with Government policy to prevent terrorism’ (HO, 2011: 1). Important to understanding the tensions caused by the separation is the consideration of how the community cohesion and

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Prevent agendas are being enacted on the ground. In his work with youth organisations, Thomas (2011, 2014) provides evidence to suggest that in local contexts community cohesion practice was ‘acknowledging and even celebrating specific ethnic and faith youth identifications but was also prioritising commonality’ (Thomas, 2014: 475), a key outcome which is in practice likely to be seriously undermined by the dual policy focus and their continued problematic relationship. Further evidence of continued issues regarding social cohesion were identified in the Casey Review (DCLG, 2016) into Opportunity and Integration in the United Kingdom, which highlighted that cohesion was compromised by persistent economic inequalities, suggesting that government policy for integration since 2010 had been underfunded and had failed to engage with contentious issues. In its recommendations on fostering greater community cohesion through education, the Review returned to the discourse of shared understanding and British values: The promotion of British laws, history and values within the core curriculum in all schools would help build integration, tolerance, citizenship and resilience in our children. More weight should be attached to a British Values focus and syllabus in developing teaching skills and assessing schools performance. (DCLG, 2016: 168; emphasis in original) Speaking a year after the publication of her report, Dame Casey criticised the government for doing ‘absolutely nothing’ about community cohesion (Weaver, 2017). At the time of writing (March 2018), the Conservative government has just published an Integrated Communities Strategy Green Paper (HM Government, 2018). Here, once again, laudable ambitious aims are stated, with education and schooling given a prominent role in fostering social cohesion. As such the strategy appears set to continue the direction of policy discourses and resulting policy provisions; namely, (1) that citizens should understand, be aware and be tolerant of fellow citizens and the multiple identities they hold, to a reasonable extent; (2) that alongside the heterogeneous interests within the contemporary United Kingdom, a set of British values can be identified around which a sense of social/community cohesion can be fostered; and, (3) that education and schooling have an important role to play in regards to both 1 and 2. What seems to be missing from the strategy and wider policy discourse, however, is the question of what sort of person a citizen is/should be, and what sort of relationship citizens should possess in relation to other citizens. My claim here is not that a focus on mutual understanding and national, shared values is not either needed nor of value. Rather, it is that these can only ever form part of fostering social cohesion – necessary, that is, but unlikely to be sufficient for the cohesive, democratic polities desired by policy discourses. Not least, shared

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values – particularly those that appeal to abstracted notions of British identity – remain a reference point somewhat external to citizens and their engagements with other citizens. For these reasons, it can be suggested that successive government policies have underplayed – or perhaps worse, ignored – the extent to which citizenship is at least partially a question of character as well as the extent to which positive relations and attachment to values are built on notions of mutual concern and collaborative endeavour rather than a more generalised notion of respect. The definition of integration within the aforementioned Integrated Communities Green Paper (HM Government, 2018: emphasis added) provides an interesting case in point: This is what true integration looks like – communities where people, whatever their background, live, work, learn and socialise together, based on shared rights, responsibilities and opportunities. Communities where many religions, cultures and opinions are celebrated, underpinned by a shared set of British values that champion tolerance, freedom and equality of opportunity. A society in which everyone is a potential friend. While making reference to the concept of friendship, the strategy does not define it in any meaningful or substantive way. Leaving what is means to be a friend undefined beyond a generalised notion is inherently problematic – particularly so far as civic friendship is concerned. For this reason, the next section examines the Aristotelian notion of civic friendship which would appear prima facie to offer the useful substantive meaning absent from the Green Paper.

Aristotelian civic friendship My aim in this section is to examine Aristotle’s idea of civic friendship as a basis for conceiving the relationship between citizens in contemporary heterogeneous political communities. Because he does not offer a detailed and precise conception of civic friendship, commentators have looked across a number of Aristotle’s works to understand its meaning and importance. While explicit references are found in the Nichomachean Ethics, the Eudemian Ethics and the Rhetoric, key passages of the Politics also give implicit shape to the role Aristotle envisaged civic friendship to play in a well-functioning political community. In broad terms, civic friendship refers to the bond between citizens in a political community, a bond based on mutual concern and fellow-feeling. More precisely, Aristotelian civic friendship can be said to possess a number of features and conditions, which I will now outline. First, and of notable importance in light of the more generalised use of friend/friendship in the Government’s strategy paper, civic friendship is a form of friendship based on utility or common advantage, rather than a deeper form of friendship based on character and virtue (or, indeed, a third type of

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friendship based on pleasure).3Aristotle writes, for example that ‘civic friendship, more than any other, is based on utility, for it is the lack of self-sufficiency that brings people together’ (EE 1242a6–9). He also makes clear that character friendship is of a more intimate kind than civic friendship, and that as such enforcing deeper communal bonds between members of a political community, is neither possible nor desirable: Those who have many friends and mix intimately with them all are thought to be no one’s friend, except in the way proper to fellow citizens, and such people are also called obsequious. In the way proper to fellow citizens, indeed, it is possible to be the friend of man and yet not be obsequious but a genuinely good man; but one cannot have with many people the friendship based on virtue and the character of our friends themselves, and we must be content if we find even a few such. (NE 1171a16-20). Second, a condition of civic friendship is that it involves the good will of each citizen, for each citizen, for their sake.4 Aristotle defines friendship in its general sense as ‘wishing for someone what one thinks to be good things, for his sake and not oneself, and being productive of these up to one’s capacity’ (Rh. 1380b- 1381a; emphasis in original). Moreover, this is a good will between citizens of which all are aware and which prompts actions in support of others. Indeed, respecting the other in this sense, and not viewing others as a means to one’s own end, is generally understood as a necessary condition of friendship for Aristotle (see, for example, Cooper, 1980; Schwarzenbach, 1996; for an alternative view see Price, 1989). Third, while civic friendship is not a form of character friendship, it does nevertheless relate to good living. In this sense, civic friends are concerned with the moral character of their fellow citizens. That is, and as Aristotle makes clear in the Politics, civic friends care about the ‘kinds of persons’ their fellow citizens are (Schwarzenbach, 1996). In addition, they also seek to know and understand the character and interests of their fellow citizens, requiring citizens to develop empathy (Schwarzenbach, 2015). Fourth, civic friendship is a sense of fellow-feeling within and across the whole political community and is general rather than intimate in nature. In making this particular claim, some clarifications are necessary. The suggestion that – properly constituted – civic friendship applies within and across the whole political community is to recognise that associations which are ad hoc, are narrow, or are based on factional interests do not count as civic friendship (Mayhew, 1996). In addition, and of crucial importance in relation to fostering cohesion in contemporary contexts, the knowledge and understanding of fellow citizens’ intentions, interests and characters is only required and is only practically possible at a general, rather than intimate, level (Cooper, 1980; Mayhew, 1996; Schwarzenbach, 1996).

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Fifth, civic friendship is intimately bound with concord, which is the condition of agreement or unanimity within the political community. Here Aristotle is somewhat equivocal, at times seeming to position civic friendship as making concord possible and at others viewing civic friendship as concord as in the following: ‘concord seems, then, to be political friendship, as indeed it is commonly said to be; for it is concerned with things that are to our interest and have an influence on our life’ (NE 1167b2–4). Elsewhere he states that ‘concord is friendship in citizenship’ (EE 1241a32). Aristotle defines concord in the following terms: It is not identity of opinion … nor do we say that people who have the same views on any and every subject are in accord …, but we do say that a city is in accord when men have the same opinion about what is to their interest, and choose the same actions, and do what they have resolved in common. (NE 1167a22–29) Concord does not refer to a stifling form of homogeneity, but rather is a sense of fellow-feeling with others in one’s political community. Here, Yack’s (1993: 125) qualified metaphor of members of the political community as travellers ‘all in the same boat’ is instructive. The qualification is thus: Because the goals of political action are not nearly as clear as the destination of a ship, the sense of sharing obstacles and dangers is not as certain to develop among citizens as it is among fellow travellers. Moreover, because these goals, unlike fellow travellers’ destinations, are always in the distance, this sense often dies as the result of resentment and disappointment. Nevertheless, however fragile it may be, participation in political community, Aristotle would argue, does dispose us to developing a fairly extensive and powerful sense of mutual concern. Sixth, civic friendship and concord are not fixed conditions, which a political community can only possess either in full or not at all. Rather, the sum of civic friendship and concord within a political community is better understood as a spectrum permitting degrees. Certainly, Aristotle understands that civic friendship and concord are compromised in deviant constitutions and also that they are well developed in an idealised political community. This means that in actual communities there will be different degrees and extents of civic friendship, changing over time and according to salient contextual conditions (Mayhew, 1996). Seventh, civic friendship requires cultivation within the political community and operates through a variety of mechanisms, including ‘via a society’s constitution, its public set of laws, it major institutions and social customs’ (Schwarzenbach, 2015: 11). Indeed, according to Aristotle, the cultivation of civic friendship is something at which lawmakers should aim (NE 1155a25–26).

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Cultivation of civic friendship develops from a range of informal and formal processes within the political community, including through the operation of laws, deliberative institutions and deliberative practices, as well as through formal education. For Aristotle, deliberation requires citizens to enter into dialogue with others about ‘the expedient and the inexpedient, and therefore also the just and unjust’ (Bickford, 1996: 400). Eighth, civic friendship is a form of civic justice, and indeed may even be more important than purely justice itself. The moral basis of the relationship between civic friends is examined in the Nichomachean Ethics, in which Aristotle suggests in relation to civic friendship that ‘when men are friends they have no need for justice, while when they are just they need friendship as well, and the truest form of justice is thought to be a friendly quality’ (NE 1155a26–29). The vital connection between civic friendship and justice is rendered absolute in the Eudemian Ethics, where Aristotle suggests that civic friendships ‘are the only ones that are not merely friendships, but partnerships between friends. Other kinds of friendship are based on superiority. The justice on which a friendship of utility is based is justice par excellence, because it is civic justice’ (EE 1242a10–14). A further example of the role civic friendship plays in relation to justice is that citizens accept that their own immediate interests may have to be conceded in support of the immediate interests of others. Understood as comprising the eight characteristics set out here, Aristotelian civic friendship provides a valuable prism for framing relations between citizens in a plural political community such as the United Kingdom. Not least, its focus on mutual concern, deliberation and civic justice offers a more substantial basis for fostering concord than generalised notions of respect, “shared” values or, worse still, fundamental British values as part of a counter-terrorism strategy. In the next section some education considerations of approaching social cohesion through the frame of civic friendship are sketched out.

Cultivating civic friendship and concord through deliberation Fostering social cohesion and the teaching of British values, or what are now termed in policy discourse fundamental British values, brings both a significant responsibility as well as a substantial challenge for schools in England. This challenge is particularly complex – and indeed difficult – precisely because of the levels of distrust engendered by the Prevent strategy both within and beyond formal schooling (Kundani, 2012; Thomas, 2014). In this section I tentatively offer three considerations concerning how a commitment to Aristotelian civic friendship could move policy and practice towards a more defined and deeper sense of civic concord through deliberative encounters. In setting out my position, it should be noted that the sorts of change in focus required in policy discourse do not necessarily necessitate a wholesale change, but rather entail a change of emphasis to pay more explicit attention to the mutual concern and care central to civic friendship.

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First, and currently neglected in policy discourses on social cohesion, including those that relate directly to education, is the understanding that meaningful connections between citizens requires the development not just of an awareness of fellow citizens, but a concern and care for fellow citizens – including for their moral character. The discourse of concern and care for one’s fellow citizens is presently absent from policy on the teaching of fundamental values in schools – and does not feature at all in the recent Green Paper. Here, tolerance and a general commitment to democracy and democratic institutions is required, but the caring relations which may help to motivate citizens to actually be tolerant and democratic (particularly if we understand both tolerance and democratic participation to be more than purely cognitive commitments) are absent. Civic friendship is illustrative in this regard, given that, as Leontsini (2013: 32) reminds us while ‘Aristotelian political friendship does not require us to feel the same strong feelings of affection and liking that virtue friendship does’, civic friendship ‘does, nevertheless, require us to have concern for our fellow citizens; “concern for others” as opposed to the mere “respect for others” that contemporary liberalism advocates’. This recognition is educationally significant given the Government’s (HM Government, 2018: 10; emphasis added) aim that: Children and young people should be taught about fundamental British values and should have the opportunity within school, further education, and beyond the school gates to mix and form lasting relationships with others from different ethnic, religious or socio-economic groups so they are well equipped for adult life. Furthermore, it should also be noted that this aim is compromised further by the extent to which the Prevent strategy actually limits and constrains such fellow-feeling and actively encourages mistrust, undermining the inter-personal and pedagogical relationships necessary for effective discourse and mutual concern. Relevant here too is the extent to which developing a concern for others is connected to working with, and in support of, others. Several studies have evidenced the ways in which empathic concern and the principle of care are important factors for altruism (usually presented in the form of helping-behaviours; see Eisenberg and Miller, 1987; Batson, 1991, 1994; Welp and Brown, 2014; Lim and DeSteno, 2016). In their analysis, and using data drawn from the General Social Survey in the United States, Wilhlem and Bekkers (2010), for example, interrogate the relationship between dispositional empathy, caring and helping behaviour among adults. Summarising the results of the study, Wilheim and Bekkers report that both empathic concern and the principle of care are positively associated with many helping behaviours. A second consideration is the recognition that social cohesion needs to move beyond understanding and respect to actively engaging with different others. As Aristotle understood, and is perhaps even more relevant in contemporary

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heterogeneous societies like the United Kingdom, the subject/s upon which concord might be arrived are not immutable. For this reason, civic friendship permits a deliberative dimension. If we take this claim (i.e. that concord requires deliberation) alongside the wider contention that civic friendship involves a sense of fellow-feeling characterised by mutual concern and caring, then it can be posited that the communication and exchange of ideas central to deliberation must be of a kind which sustains mutual concern, care and trust between citizens rather than the kind which severs such important factors. This point is not insignificant given that, as Curren (2017) reminds us: A well-established finding about moral motivation and the internalization of values is that people tend to internalize the norms of caregivers or social groups they perceive as acting to protect their interests. This implies that a social group, institution or society that is serious about inducing all of its members to accept the values it espouses must espouse and adhere to norms of justice or equal respect for all its members. Groups, institutions and societies that do not protect the interests of their members equally are likely to encounter difficulty in earning the respect and adherence of those who are not accorded equal respect or who experience tension and conflict associated with failures of equal respect. If we accept (1) that concord and civic friendship have a deliberative dimension and (2) that concord and civic friendship involve a feeling of concern and care for one’s fellow-citizens, then the question remains as to what constitutes dialogical exchange which is deliberative in this regard. On this matter, Hess (2009: 85; emphasis in original) reminds us that, educationally speaking, we can aim at ‘teaching for and with discussion’. In other words, deliberative inquiry which is both collaborative and caring can be viewed as both a process and an aim of education and schooling. I have suggested elsewhere (Peterson, 2011) that deliberative encounters likely to produce collaboration and care will possess the following characteristics: (i) Civic commitment: participants who have a desire to engage in open and unforced dialogue on philosophical and practical matters, who view consensus as a possible outcome and who are attentive to the views of others. Such dialogue is likely to be ineffective if it is forced or tokenistic, or if no possibility of consensus is deemed possible. (ii) Civic knowledge: participants need not only to know and understand certain facts, but also to apply such facts to their actions and deliberations. It is not a sufficient condition of democratic and deliberative dialogue to simply know. (iii) Civic speaking: in their verbal communication participants employ reason, but do not eschew the use of rhetoric and rhetorical devices in order, and when appropriate, to stir the emotions of others or to express their own emotions. Civic speaking is a particular brand of talk which aims at making clear one’s own position and interests, but in a way which invites others to respond to these in the spirit of civic commitment.

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(iv) Civic listening: The clearest illustration of civic listening comes from Benjamin Barber (2003: 174) who asserts that ‘… talk as communication … involves receiving as well as expressing, hearing as well as speaking, and emphasizing as well as uttering’. (v) Civic empathy: participants engage in dialogical forums in order that they come to understand the perspectives and interests which others hold dear. Participants learn to empathise not only with the interests of others, but also with the public interest, particularly when these may be in conflict with their own. (vi) Internal-reflection: Involved in each of the other five elements, internal-reflection aims at the process which Dewey (1933: 9) describes as the ‘active, persistent and careful consideration of any belief or supposed form of knowledge in the light of grounds that support it and further conclusions to which it tends’. This reminds us that when participants engage in dialogue with each other, they are likely to be involved in reflecting upon and amending their views, based on the interests and evidence which they encounter. Of particular importance to the analysis offered in this chapter, is the first of these characteristics – civic commitment. In other words, without a commitment to engage with others in civic dialogues – including the mutual concern and care necessary for them – deliberative dialogue is likely to remain problematic. Crucial in this regard is the role of educators in creating conditions necessary for civic deliberation, a factor which once again seems to be undermined by current policy directions. Pointing to the dialogical nature of positive educational initiatives focusing on fostering cohesion (see, for example, UKYP, 2009), Thomas (2016: 177) highlights that ‘Prevent training has focused on practitioners’ “awareness” of extremist ideologies and “vulnerabilities” (Blackwood, Hopkins and Reicher, 2016), not the skills of facilitating open political dialogue and debate’. A further, and third, educational consideration is the need to pay distinct attention to the multifarious processes which tend to civic friendship – including those which may be framed as informal, everyday processes of civic interaction. In other words, and in relation to education and schooling, interactions which can be said to be deliberative, and through which notions of concord and friendship might develop, are not solely the result of planned, formal activities. As important are those experiences and encounters which happen informally as a result of ad hoc and unplanned meetings and exchanges – in the playground, in the corridors and in the day-to-day workings of the school. In this regard, the sort of civic friendship advocated here is fostered, and is in turn shaped by, interactions between citizens (in this case school children) in various forms. On this basis, those educational settings which create an environment and culture which encourages and supports informal dialogue between students are more likely to create and sustain civic friendship than those whose environment actively serves to constrain dialogue. Such informal encounters remain crucial

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given that the trajectory of government education policy in this area looks set to remain focused on (a) furthering of engagements with diverse others and (b) promoting fundamental British values, but which says very little about (c) the sorts of democratic interactions and environments which might foster cohesion beyond merely the presence of diversity.

Conclusion Education and schooling in England have been – and continue to be – key sites for political intervention amidst persistent concern regarding how to cultivate a more cohesive political community in a context of (real or perceived) discord between different plural interests. While the concept of friendship has only recently entered the political discourse in this area, I have argued that an Aristotelian idea of civic friendship offers a substantive and meaningful basis for approaching the fostering of concord within political communities. Central to civic friendship are a mutual concern and care for the wellbeing – including the character – of fellow civic friends and a commitment to deliberate with others in pursuit of concord. I have also suggested that these civic dispositions have been consistently obfuscated through, and undermined by, government policies and discourses on educating British values over the last 15 years. If the trajectories of these policies and discourses continue, as they seem set to do, then the educational task of cultivating civic friendship will remain seriously compromised; left that is to the work of inspirational schools and teachers in spite of policy rather than supported by it.

Notes 1 In the United Kingdom certain legislative powers remain with the central UK Parliament, while others – such as education – are devolved to the Scottish Parliament, Welsh Assembly and Northern Ireland. On these devolved powers the central UK Parliament legislates for England. 2 The other three strategies which comprise CONTEST are Pursue, Protect and Prepare. 3 I take the view that civic friendship is a form of utility friendship based on common advantage to be correct. This position is taken by, for example, Cooper (19), Leontsini (2013). For an alternative position see Price (1989). 4 Schwarzenbach (1996: 100) presents friendship as (1) a mutual awareness and liking; (2) a reciprocal wishing well for the other’s sake; and, (3) a reciprocal “doing” for that other.

References Aristotle Aristotle Aristotle Aristotle

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Art of Rhetoric. Lawson-Trancred, H. C. (trans.). London: Penguin. Politics. Saunders, T. J. (ed.) London: Penguin. Nichomachean Ethics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Eudemian Ethics. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Barber, B. (2003) Strong Democracy. Participatory Politics for a New Age. 20th Anniversary Edition. Berkeley, CA: University of California. Batson, C. D. (1991) The Altruism Question: Toward a Social-Psychological Answer. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Batson, C. D. (1994) ‘Why act for the public good? Four answers’, Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin: Special Issue: The Self and the Collective. 20(5). 603–610. Bickford, S. (1996) ‘Beyond friendship: Aristotle on conflict, deliberation and attention’, The Journal of Politics. 58(2). 398–421. Blackwood, L., Hopkins, N., and Reicher, S. (2016) ‘From theorizing radicalization to surveillance practices: Muslims in the cross hairs of scrutiny’, Political Psychology. 37. 597–612. Brown, G. (2006) Speech to the Fabian New Year Conference. www.britishpoliticalsp eech.org/speech-archive.htm?speech=316; accessed 26th November 2017. Cantle, T. (2001) Community Cohesion: A Report of the Independent Review Team. London: Home Office. Cooper, J. M. (1980) ‘Aristotle on friendship’, in A. Oksenberg Rorty (ed.) Essay’s on Aristotle’s Ethics. Berkeley, CA: University of California. pp. 301–340. Curren, R. (2017) Why Character Education? Impact No. 24. http://onlinelibrary.wiley. com/doi/10.1111/2048-416X.2017.12004.x/epdf; accessed 26th November 2017. Davies, L. (2008) Educating Against Extremism. Stoke-on-Trent, UK: Trentham. Department for Children, Schools and Families (2009) Learning Together to Be Safe: A Toolkit to Help Schools Contribute to the Prevention of Violent Extremism. http://dera. ioe.ac.uk/8396/1/DCSF-Learning%20Together_bkmk.pdf; accessed 19th March 2018. Department for Communities and Local Government (2016) The Casey Review: A Review Into Opportunity and Integration. www.gov.uk/government/uploads/ system/uploads/attachment_data/file/575973/The_Casey_Review_Report.pdf; accessed 26th November 2017. Department for Education (2011) Teacher’s Standards: Guidance for School Leaders, School Staff and Governing Bodies. www.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploa ds/attachment_data/file/665520/Teachers__Standards.pdf; accessed 19th March 2018. Department for Education (2014) Promoting Fundamental British Values as Part of SMSC in Schools: Departmental Advice for Maintained Schools. www.gov.uk/gov ernment/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/380595/SMSC_Guidance_ Maintained_Schools.pdf; accessed 26th November 2017. Department for Education (2015) The Prevent Duty: Departmental Advice for Schools and Childcare Providers. www.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_ data/file/439598/prevent-duty-departmental-advice-v6.pdf; accessed 19th March 2018. Department for Education and Skills (2007) Curriculum Review: Diversity and Citizenship. (The Ajegbo Review). London: DfES. Dewey, J. (1933) How We Think. London: D. C. Heath. Eisenberg, N. and Miller, P. A. (1987) ‘The relation of empathy to prosocial and related behaviors’, Psychological Bulletin. 101(1). 91–119. Espinoza, J. (2016) ‘Teaching children fundamental British values is act of ‘cultural supremacism’, The Telegraph. 28th March. www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/03/28/teaching-chil dren-fundamental-british-values-is-act-of-cultural/; accessed 26th November 2017. Garner, R. (2007) ‘Schools must teach British values to beat ‘Big Brother’-style bigotry, says minister’, The Independent. 21st January. www.independent.co.uk/news/educa tion/education-news/schools-must-teach-british-values-to-beat-big-brother- style-bigo try-says-minister-6229006.html; accessed 26th November 2017.

122 Andrew Peterson Hess, D. (2009) Controversy in the Classroom: The Democratic Power of Discussion. New York: Routledge. HM Government (2018) Integrated Communities Strategy Green Paper. London: HM Government. Home Office (2011) CONTEST: The United Kingdom’s Strategy for Countering Terrorism. www.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/97995/stra tegy-contest.pdf; accessed 19th March 2018. Husband, C. and Alam, Y. (2011) Social Cohesion and Counter-Terrorism: A Policy Contradiction? Bristol, UK: Policy Press. Kundnani, A. (2012) ‘Radicalisation: The journey of a concept’, Race and Class. 54. 3–25. Leontsini, E. (2013) ‘The motive of society: Aristotle on civic friendship, justice, and concord’, Res Publica. 19. 21–35. Lim, L. and DeSteno, D. (2016) ‘Suffering and compassion: The links among adverse life experiences, empathy, compassion and pro-social behaviour’, Emotion. 16(2). 175–182. Mayhew, R. (1996) ‘Aristotle on civic friendship’, The Society for Ancient Greek Philosophy Newsletter. 197. http://orb.binghampton/sagep/197. Osler, A. (2008) ‘Citizenship education and the Ajegbo Report: Re-imagining a cosmopolitan nation’, London Review of Education. 6(1). 11–25. Osler, A. and Starkey, H. (2000) ‘Citizenship, human rights and cultural diversity’, in A. Osler (Ed.) Citizenship and Democracy in Schools: Diversity, Identity, Equality. Stoke-onTrent, UK: Trentham. pp. 3–17. Panjwani, F. (2016) ‘Towards an overlapping consensus: Muslim teachers’ views on fundamental British values’, Journal of Education for Teaching. 42. 329–340. Parekh, B. (2000) The Future of Multi-Ethnic Britain: The Parekh Report. London: Profile Books. Peterson, A. (2011) Civic Republicanism and Civic Education: The Education of Citizens. Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave MacMillan. Price, A. (1989) Love and friendship in Plato and Aristotle. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Revell, L. and Bryan, H. (2016) ‘Calibrating fundamental British values: How head teachers are approaching appraisal in the light of the teachers’ standards 2012, Prevent and the Counter-terrorism and Security Act, 2015’, Journal of Education for Teaching. 42. 341–353. Schwarzenbach, S. A. (1996) ‘On civic friendship’, Ethics. 107(1). 97–128. Schwarzenbach, S. A. (2015) ‘Fraternity, solidarity and friendship’, AMITY: The Journal of Friendship Studies. 3(1). 3–18. Thomas, P. (2011) Youth, Multiculturalism and Community Cohesion. Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave MacMillan. Thomas, P. (2014) ‘Divorced but still co-habiting? Britain’s Prevent/community cohesion tensions’, British Politics. 9. 472–493. Thomas, P. (2016) ‘Youth, terrorism and education: Britain’s Prevent programme’, International Journal of Lifelong Education. 35(2). 171–187. UK Youth Parliament (2009) Project Safe Space National Report. London: UKYP. Weale, S. (2015) ‘Teachers urged to ‘disengage’ from promotion of British values’, The Guardian. 30th March. www.theguardian.com/politics/2015/mar/30/teachers-ur ged-to-disengage-from-promotion-of-british-values; accessed 26th November 2017. Weaver, M. (2017) ‘Louise Casey: Ministers have done absolutely nothing about cohesion’, The Guardian. 5th December. www.theguardian.com/society/2017/dec/05/

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louise-casey-ministers-have-done-absolutely-nothing-about-cohesion; accessed 19th March 2018. Welp, L. R. and Brown, C. M. (2014) ‘Self-compassion, empathy, and helping intentions’, The Journal of Positive Psychology. 9(1). 54–65. Wilhelm, M. O. and Bekkers, R. (2010) ‘Helping behaviors, dispositional empathic concern, and the principle of care’, Social Psychology Quarterly. 73(1). 11–32. Wintour, P. (2014) ‘Michael Gove wants ‘British values’ on school curriculums’, The Guardian. 9th June. www.theguardian.com/education/2014/jun/09/michael-gove-b ritish-values-curriculum; accessed 26th November 2017. Yack, B. (1993) The Problems of a Political Animal. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

Chapter 9

Resilience and hope as a democratic civic virtue Nancy E. Snow

Introduction Elsewhere I defend a conception of hope as a democratic civic virtue, and have recently begun thinking about hope and resilience (see Snow (2018b) and Snow (2018a)).1 This essay draws on this work to explore the relations between resilience and hope as a democratic civic virtue. In part I, I offer remarks on resilience. In II, I give a brief and selective overview of general theories of hope that inform the conception of hope as a democratic civic virtue, which is introduced in part III. In part IV, I explore relations between this conception and resilience.

I Resilience Social scientists and scholars in health-related disciplines have studied resilience extensively (see e.g., Southwick, et. al, 2014; Pangallo et. al, 2014; Infurna and Luthar, 2016; Kalisch, Müller and Tüscher, 2015), yet philosophers have paid relatively little attention to it (but see Moller 2007). Though often viewed as a characteristic possessed by individuals, it has recently also been studied as an attribute of communities and eco-systems (see Kolers, 2016; Wilson, 2015). Indeed, the term “resilience ethics,” refers to an intellectual movement aiming at more inclusive understandings of responsibility for global problems (see Chandler, 2013). Here I focus on resilience as a personal quality or characteristic. In an article recounting a panel discussion among social scientists and health care professionals, Dr. Steven M. Southwick, of the Yale School of Medicine Department of Psychiatry, observes that many people think of resilience as the ability to bend but not break, and to bounce back in the face of adverse life experiences (Southwick et. al, 2014, 2). The notion of overcoming adversity seems intrinsic to the concept of resilience, as is also true for seemingly related constructs, such as intellectual perseverance (King, 2014), and possibly for grit, which Duckworth (2016) understands as passion and perseverance in the pursuit of long-term goals. What is unique to resilience is the notion of bouncing back, of bending but not breaking. These metaphors suggest that resilience

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shows itself when one is hit with adversity, and, instead of capitulating, one is elastic enough to absorb the blow, spring back into shape, and soldier on. The metaphors are misleading. People are not pieces of foam rubber that simply spring back into shape after being hit by a hard object. We carry the marks of adversity with us. We become sadder as we become older and wiser, warier and more cautious about what life might throw our way. The effects of traumas often stay with us. We might bounce back in the sense that we withstand adversity and even grow from it, but often we do not regain our original shape. Definitions of resilience put forward by professional scholars are more detailed and precise than the commonsense construal of resilience as the ability to bounce back in the face of negative experiences. Southwick et al. (2014, 2) notes that “The American Psychological Association (2014) defines resilience as ‘the process of adapting well in the face of adversity, trauma, tragedy, threats or even significant sources of stress (para. 4)’.” He also critiques the definition as too narrow, as failing to reflect the complexity of resilience. He notes (2014, 2): “Determinants of resilience include a host of biological, psychological, social and cultural factors that interact with one another to determine how one responds to stressful experiences.” Many other definitions of resilience have been offered. Two that are instructive are those of Dr. Ann Masten, who has studied resilience in children, and Dr. Catherine Panter-Brick, an anthropologist who has studied resilience in different cultural settings, such as among famine sufferers in Niger, homeless street-children in Nepal, and Afghanis in the wake of war (Southwick, et. al., 2014, 4–5). Masten (Southwick, et. al., 2014, 4) understands resilience as “… the capacity of a dynamic system to adapt successfully,” and Panter-Brick (Southwick, et. al., 2014, 5), as “… a process to harness resources to attain well-being.” Though very similar, neither definition embraces the idea that resilience could be a trait. Masten views resilience as a complex capacity, the features of which can be activated in appropriate circumstances to cope with whatever traumas and obstacles one faces. She believes this definition can be applied to families, communities, societal contexts, and even to economies (Southwick, et. al., 2014, 5). Panter-Brick’s notion of resilience as a process to harness resources is also expansive. Focusing only on the individual and setting aside the plausible idea that other entities can be resilient, Panter-Brick’s understanding suggests that the resources harnessed by resilience can be external as well as internal to the individual. The resilient person would not only have the psychological strength to deal with adversity, but would be able to access resources external to the self, by seeing a priest or therapist, attempting to get unemployment compensation, or finding adequate medical care. This last thought (which would likely also be endorsed by Masten) suggests that resilience is not a “stand-alone” quality, capacity, or process, but works in conjunction with a plethora of other factors. The notion that resilience is not “stand-alone,” but functions interactively with other factors, is consistent with Pangallo et. al. (2015), who, citing Rutter (2006), write that: “Resilience is a

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phenomenon that results from the interaction between individuals and their environment … and is not something that individuals innately possess.” I suggest that individuals possess what might be called the “building blocks” of resilience, or the “stepping stones” to resilience. Some internal factors that could serve as building blocks or stepping stones could include virtues such as perseverance, tenacity, patience, courage, hope, or even justified anger. External factors could be friends, family, physicians, therapists, or other elements of a social support network. To use more technical philosophical language, one might say that resilience is an emergent property that supervenes upon various combinations of internal and external factors, and that what these factors are varies with people and their circumstances. In addition, the use of terms such as “adapt” in the American Psychological Association definition and Masten’s understanding, and especially the word, “harness,” used by Panter-Brick, suggest that resilience is more than merely “bouncing back” or elasticity. It is, instead, a gathering of forces needed to cope with or overcome adversity. The implication is that the resilient person has resources and the ability to muster them and bring them to bear to make the best of a bad situation. This point is important, for people often have the resources they need to see themselves through periods of adversity, but lack the abilities to recognize that fact and bring their assets to bear on the situation at hand. This observation leads to a refinement of the notion that resilience is a supervenient or emergent property. It seems that sometimes resilience can emerge from a combination of factors seemingly of its own accord, as when a person “finds herself” simply rising up in the face of a bully. In the kind of case I have in mind, no conscious orchestration of the factors from which resilience emerges is needed. The forces comprising resilience might have been gathering force – brewing, so to speak – below a person’s level of conscious awareness, until finally resilience bursts forth and provides the individual with the strength to resist or confront the bully. In other kinds of cases, however, some conscious mustering of forces is required. Resilience then emerges, but it does so because the factors comprising it have been deliberately cultivated. Based on these reflections, let me offer a definition of resilience as an emergent property, supervening on both internal and external factors, that enables its possessor to cope with or overcome adversity. Developed forms of resilience include the ability to recognize, cultivate and bring to bear resources to cope with or overcome adversity. This definition allows for cases in which resilience simply “rises up” and provides one with the wherewithal to cope with or overcome adversity, as well as cases in which resilience is deliberately recognized, cultivated, and exercised. Is resilience, at least in the more developed sense, a virtue? I think it can but need not be. Whether resilience is a virtue depends in large part on the motivation of its possessor, but also on other factors, such as the correct timing and expression of resilient actions and emotions. If one is motivated by good ends, such as the desire to achieve well-being or flourishing by coping with or

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overcoming one’s trials, then it is a virtue and the kind of reasoning one uses in being resilient is phrone-sis, which guides one to be resilient at the right time and in the right way. But one’s resilience need not be motivated by the desire to achieve good ends. Suppose that one’s enemy has caused one’s tribulations, and one is resilient in overcoming them only in order to exact revenge. The desire for revenge, which motivates one to be resilient, is immoral. One’s resilience in this case is not a virtue, and the reasoning intrinsic to it is not phrone-sis, but cleverness. It is possible, too, that one’s motivation to be resilient can be virtuous, but one’s disposition is flawed because one lacks a proper sense of the manner and timing of expressions of resilience. Moller (2007) uses empirical research on the resilience of people following the death of a spouse to motivate a discussion about the downsides of resilience that raises questions of motivation, timing, and manner of expression. The research is, on the whole, surprising, showing that many widows and widowers do not feel bereavement to the extent that is commonly expected, or even thought to be “seemly” or “fitting” after the death of a loved one. As Moller (2007, 302–303) reports, nearly half of the participants in one study did not even show mild depression following the death of a spouse; another study found that psychopathology and depression were significant only at two months following the loss; a third found that a spouse’s death in later life did affect the subjective well-being of the surviving spouse but not to the extent expected; and yet another study showed that 10% of participants experienced a dramatic increase in subjective well-being following the loss. Moller’s point in bringing this research to the fore is to argue that, even though resilience can be adaptive in the sense of helping us to overcome losses and promote our self-interest, it can also betray a lack of sensitivity to or blindness about the importance of things in our lives that really matter, that make us human, that imbue our lives with meaning and value. He writes: “Resilience thus seems to deprive us of our ability to care about those we love to their full measure after they are gone, and so deprives us of insight into our own condition” (Moller, 2007, 311). This is at least as bad as being resilient for the sake of attaining bad ends, and could be worse. As Moller (2007, 313) notes, it is possible that … most of us lack the kind of emotional depth that accompanies deep insight into one’s condition and which concomitantly enables deep suffering. We may thus begin to think of ourselves as less substantial, more superficial beings for our inability to hold on to our concern for great goods once we have lost them. Part of Moller’s (2007, 313–16) argument is a thought experiment in which he asks us to imagine the Super-resilient and the Sub-resilient. When the spouse of the Super-resilient dies, she shrugs and asks what is on television, and remarries as soon as possible (Moller 2007, 313). The Sub-resilient, by

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contrast, experiences the death of a spouse as a never-healing open wound (Moller 2007, 314). These two extremes are at the ends of a continuum on which healthy resilience is a mean, yet, Moller contends, the questions about resilience suggested by the empirical findings remain.2 In being resilient in the face of serious loss, do we lose something important about our humanity? Conceptualizing resilience as a virtue offers a possible way forward. Resilience is a mean between extremes, but it is a virtue provided that we are resilient in the right way, at the right time, and for the right reasons. As for the right reasons, we are resilient after losing a spouse because we have our own lives to live and need to move forward. We have other relationships and obligations that pull us out of grief and back to the land of the living. As for the right time, premature resilience bespeaks a lack of love, or at least appreciation for our spouse. By contrast, ongoing grief and bereavement could suggest not only that the relationship involved unhealthy dependency, but perhaps also, a tendency to wallow in one’s grief or indulge in self-pity. As for the right way to be resilient, we are resilient not because we value ourselves above others, or fail to register the importance of feeling deeply about what matters most in our lives. We are resilient because life goes on. Our resilience should be tempered, therefore, with a sense of loss, with gratitude of having had time with our spouse in the first place, and with cherished memories of the love we had in our lives. Virtuous resilience after the death of a loved one is not without remainder, but is tinged with grief, gratitude, and memories. Of course, we can be resilient in the face of many kinds of losses and different forms of adversity, and the shape our virtuous resilience takes will be inflected by specific circumstances. Sometimes being virtuously resilient is a mighty challenge. If we are left paraplegic after a drunk driver crashes into our car, virtuous resilience requires not having some kinds of negative feelings toward the driver – not being filled with hatred or vengeance, for example. In true Aristotelian fashion, some measure of righteous anger would seem to be appropriate, but it should eventually give way to sadness, and perhaps even to forgiveness. Questions about appropriate resilience promise to be contentious. I raise these issues not to settle questions about the virtue of resilience, but to introduce their complexities into the philosophical scene. Much needs to be carefully thought through and thoroughly discussed.

II Hope: A brief and selective overview A robust literature on hope can be found in many disciplines. Common to most work on hope is what I will call the “bare bones” conception or “belief-desire” model of hope (see, for example, Aquinas (2008), Hobbes (1968), Day (1969), McGeer (2004, 2008) and Walker (2006)). According

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to this account, hope, at its most basic, is the desire for an end or object and the belief that it is possible to attain it. The belief that the end or object is possible carves out a space for hope between certainty and impossibility. If a desired end is certain, it does not make sense to hope for it. If it is impossible, hoping for it is fruitless and can be self-destructive. A review of literature on hope suggests at least two different types of theories that are enhancements of the belief-desire model: agency and receptivity theories. The notion that hope is a disposition is also an important amplification of the belief-desire model. All contribute to understanding the relations between hope as a democratic civic virtue and resilience. Agency theories, held by Walker (2006), McGeer (2004, 2008), and Snyder (2000), focus on personal agency as a pathway to attaining hoped-for ends, and on hope as enhancing the agency of the individuals who possess it. Walker (2006, 47–48) argues that hope is not simply a belief-desire complex, but an emotional attitude consisting of hope phenomena, such as plans, imaginings, and expectations. Of course, some hopes, such as the hope for a good biopsy outcome, outstrip our agency, and others can engage our agency even though individual action might have a negligible impact on achieving a hoped-for end, such as an end to war or animal abuse. Nevertheless, agency theorists emphasize the motivational force of hope and its connections with agency, maintaining that hope can motivate us to undertake tasks that are possible, but not probable. Another expansion of the belief-desire model is found in the recognition that hope can be dispositional. Shade (2001, 136) writes of the virtue of hopefulness, which is an entrenched character state or disposition of energetic openness to future possibilities. This kind of disposition forms the basis of hope as a virtue, which, according to some theorists, such as Aquinas (2008), lies between the extremes of presumption, which is the certainty that good things are to come, and despair, which is the certainty that they won’t.3 Specific hopes can, but need not, arise from a hopeful disposition. That is, even if I am not a hopeful person, it is possible for me to have specific hopes, both on specific occasions and in more temporally enduring ways. A third way in which the “belief-desire” model has been enhanced is through “receptivity” theories (see, for example, Marcel (1978), Bloch (1986), and Lear (2006)). Receptivity theories draw on different literatures and traditions than the agency theories just discussed, yet all incorporate the core notion that at bottom, hope is a belief-desire complex. They do not preclude roles for hope in promoting and sustaining effective agency, but provide broad theoretical frameworks within which individual agency and hope’s effects on it are theorized and contextualized. According to receptivity theories, hope is “received from” or “inspired by” external sources, and then empowers the agency of its possessor. With these remarks in hand, let us turn to hope as a democratic civic virtue.

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III Hope as a democratic civic virtue In earlier work I drew on the dispositionality of hope as well as on agency and receptivity theories to articulate and defend a conception of hope as a democratic civic virtue (Snow 2018b, 419): Hope as a democratic civic virtue is the entrenched disposition of openness to the political possibilities a democratic government can provide. Hope must include the belief that the ends of democracy are possible. Hope is a pure civic virtue when it is motivated solely by the desire to promote or attain the legitimate ends of democracy, and includes a commitment to democracy and democratic processes.4 If, in addition to these motives, hope includes motives of legitimate self-interest, it is an impure virtue. Hope is fully theorized and contextualized within specific political traditions, which function as the grounds for receptivity to hope and inspiration for hope-motivated agency. This conception draws on Shade’s (2001) idea of hope as a disposition of openness to possibilities, as well as agency and receptivity theories. The basic idea is that the disposition of hope as a democratic civic virtue provides a wellspring of inspiration for the formulation of specific hopes, in this case, desired democratic ends. The agency-theoretic conceptualization of hope as a motivating force drives hopers to pursue these ends. In reasonably just democracies, those who possess the virtue of democratic civic hope will respect democratic processes and work within their constraints. But some democracies are not reasonably just. In such cases, certain groups might need to resort to civil disobedience to achieve democratic ends, as occurred during the Civil Rights movement in the United States. In my view, nonviolent civil disobedience in this case exemplified democratic civic virtue, even though it broke the law. That is because democracy in the United States at that time required not only that African-Americans break discriminatory laws in order to receive the full benefits of equal citizenship, but also because the protests in which they engaged were designed to correct and strengthen a flawed democratic system, not tear it down.5 Receptivity theories, too, are invoked in this initial conception, in the notion that hope as a civic virtue is fully theorized within the context of specific political traditions. Bloch’s theory provides a model. Though a receptivity theory, it also has roles for agency. Marxist hope, for Bloch, is a kind of hunger that drives individuals to seek the way forward to the realization of the Marxist utopia – a classless society. Hope motivates them to act, but it is hope for a specific end that is conceptualized within the context of political theory. “Receptivity” in this context means drawing on inspiration from Marxist sources, and sometimes waiting for the occluding impediments of capitalist culture to be cleared away by sustained thinking about the shape the Marxist way forward might take.

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Hope as a democratic civic virtue parallels Bloch’s conception of Marxist hope in the sense that it is a disposition that is theorized and contextualized by democratic political traditions. These traditions function as grounds for receptivity in the sense that hopeful citizens draw knowledge as well as motivation from them, and are able to conceptualize, review, and revise goals by placing them within the context of specific democratic institutions, processes, and traditions. The idea is that hopeful dispositions as well as specific hopes arise in certain political contexts; those who possess the disposition of hope as a democratic civic virtue and hopes that spring from it live in democratic countries with specific histories and traditions. These function to shape the disposition to hope as well as specific hopes for democratic ends. In Snow (forthcoming a), I argue that a modified conception of American pragmatism, drawing on figures as diverse as Walt Whitman, John Dewey, Richard Rorty, and Barack Obama, is a promising framework for theorizing hope as a democratic civic virtue in the American context.6 I use American pragmatism as a framework because these theorists explicitly invoke hope in connection with the promise of American democracy. I modify this conception because Rorty (1989, 106–107) draws on Dewey and Whitman for his vision of social hope and maintains that both figures substitute hope for knowledge. This, I believe, is unwise. The modified pragmatism that I suggest does not substitute hope for knowledge, but instead, buttresses hope with knowledge. My proposed modification draws on the work of the psychologist Gabrielle Oettingen (2014), whose lifetime of research suggests that dreaming and other positive imaginative activities do not by themselves help people to achieve their goals. More effective is the approach of “mental contrasting,” according to which people visualize the end they want to achieve, as well as obstacles that could stand in their way. Oettingen’s approach is consistent with the views of several prominent hope theorists. For example, the anthropologist Hirokazu Miyazaki (2017, 8) writes that: “Hope suggests a willingness to embrace uncertainty and also serves as a concrete method for keeping knowledge moving in conditions of uncertainty.” Mental contrasting appears to be integral to Snyder’s (2000) “agency-pathways” theory of hope: the hoper must not only be able to imagine attaining the hoped-for end, but must also be able to adopt effective means to achieving it, and be able to adjust ends as well as means when obstacles are encountered or the circumstances of goal pursuit change. This requires cognitive flexibility and emotional resilience. Mental contrasting, I suggest, provides a promising method for hopers. A final comment on the conception of hope as a democratic civic virtue is in order. Those who possess hope as a democratic civic virtue need not be solely motivated by the desire to advance the ends of democracy; subject to certain constraints, they may also legitimately desire to promote self-interested ends. An example I give in Snow (forthcoming a) comes from LaShaw (2008), who studied a movement in Oakland, California that began at the grassroots level in response to

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the need to provide better schooling for black and Latino working-class children. Eventually, it garnered support from Oakland city agencies and beyond, attracting a $350 million bond from Oakland to build and improve schools, as well as a $9.5 million donation from the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. In such cases, I would say that citizens display hope as a civic virtue, though it would be odd to think they acted solely from the disinterested desire to advance the ends of democracy. They wanted better schools for their children, and acted within democratic constraints in order to get them. Elsewhere I argue that virtues can be “impure” (see Snow forthcoming). A virtue is impure if the motives it includes are not all morally worthy, but are mixed. A set of mixed motives consists of morally worthy and morally neutral motives. The presence of morally vicious motives in a set renders the set not mixed, but vicious, and can render the trait that includes the set a vice. Introducing the distinction between pure and impure virtues allows us to accommodate the notion that many citizens do not act from pure love of democracy, but take advantage of democratic processes to legitimately advance their interests. Provided the Oakland parents did not advance their desire for better schools by immoral means, say, by bribing school board members, we can say that their desire to advance their interest in better schools for their children was at least morally neutral, and could be considered morally worthy – an expression of parental duty. Other citizens who display hope as a democratic civic virtue, I would argue, act from motives that are more clearly mixed. Consider someone who runs for alderwoman, not only to help advance her municipal government, but also to promote her political career. Her selfinterested ambition might not be considered entirely morally worthy, but provided that she does not advance it immorally, it could be considered morally neutral. Since she is advancing the ends of democracy by participating in democratic governance, yet doing so from morally mixed motives, her hope is an impure civic virtue.

IV Resilience and hope as a democratic civic virtue In Snow (2018a), I explore relations among resilience and hope’s dispositionality and effects on agency. Here I adapt and expand this discussion. I believe, and will seek to illustrate, that one can draw on hope to be resilient, and resilience can also bolster one’s hope. Alternatively, false or unfulfilled hopes can undermine resilience, and the lack of resilience can cause one to lose hope. Dispositionality and resilience By definition, hope as a democratic civic virtue is the entrenched disposition of openness to the political possibilities a democratic government can provide. How might the disposition of democratic civic hope be related to resilience? Four possibilities come to mind.

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Hopeful Disposition -> Specific Hopes -> Resilience Hopeful Disposition -> Specific Hopes-> Resilience Hopeful Disposition -> Resilience -> Specific Hopes Resilience -> Hopeful Disposition -> Specific Hopes

Possibility (1) Is illustrated by a fictional example inspired by the Oakland parents. Luis has a hopeful disposition about the nature of democracy and the possibilities for civic engagement in his country. His hopeful disposition gives rise to specific hopes, for example, to use the democratic process to advocate for better schools for his children. As he encounters obstacles to fulfilling his hopes, his resolve stiffens and he develops resilience. He begins to recognize the resources at his disposal, and learns how to muster them and apply them effectively to his cause. His disposition of hope as a civic virtue generates specific hopes. In the course of seeking to fulfill these hopes, he develops resilience. Possibility (2) Is exemplified by the case of Aisha, who immigrates to the United States from Syria. Her hopeful disposition about democracy was formed in the crucible of totalitarian repression. It gave rise to the specific hope to become a citizen of the United States, and her resilience developed as she realized the magnitude of the task. In other words, she knew at the outset that the pursuit of her hope to become a United States citizen would be challenging and fraught with obstacles. Unlike Luis, who formed his hopes first and developed resilience as he sought to fulfill them, Aisha’s hope and resilience developed concomitantly. Let me observe that it is analytically possible to separate out cases such as (1), in which the formation of hopes precedes the development of resilience, such that there is a temporal sequence between hopes and resilience, from cases such as (2), in which hopes and resilience develop concomitantly. In real life, however, making such temporal distinctions can be difficult. Consider now (3) and (4): that a hopeful disposition directly generates resilience or vice versa, without specific hopes as intermediates: (3) Hopeful Disposition -> Resilience -> Specific Hopes (4) Resilience -> Hopeful Disposition -> Specific Hopes How might these pathways work? Both resilience and a hopeful disposition can exist separately within someone’s personality. Under certain circumstances, threats to a hopeful disposition might activate resilience or vice versa, causing the two dispositions to work together to form specific hopes. To illustrate (3), we can imagine a case in which Anna, who has a hopeful disposition, is constantly confronted with others who possess cynical or despairing attitudes. The constant exposure to negativity could weaken Anna’s disposition of hope as a democratic civic virtue, but it could also provoke opposition to internalizing negative messages. In this scenario,

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Anna would resist being overcome by negativity and strengthen her resolve to be hopeful. This resistance could cause her to muster her resources and become resilient in the face of cynicism and despair, which might then generate specific hopes, such as the hope to continue being positive in the face of the naysayers, or to prove them wrong, perhaps by achieving political successes using democratic processes. In like fashion for (4), resilience might activate and strengthen one’s disposition of hope as a democratic civic virtue. Jim, who is strongly resilient, faces and typically copes with or overcomes numerous obstacles as an advocate for gun control. He has a strong hope in democratic processes. Impediments to his advocacy, far from weakening his hope, strengthen his hopeful disposition, for he sees ways to overcome them by mustering popular support to counter the lobbying of the National Rifle Association (NRA). His strong resilience, when galvanized by obstacles, stimulates his hopeful disposition. His hopeful disposition then generates specific hopes, such as the hope that a certain wavering congressman will accede to popular pressure and be less beholden to the NRA. In these pathways hopeful dispositions, specific hopes, and resilience do not leave each other untouched. Hopes and hopeful dispositions can reciprocally influence each other, and can affect resilience in ways both positive and negative. The satisfaction of hopes can strengthen resilience, but dashed hopes can undermine it. Alternatively, dashed hopes can bolster resilience, if one’s response is not to give up but to rethink and redouble one’s efforts or recalibrate the goals one hopes to achieve. This alternative is, I think, most plausible when specific hopes are generated by a hopeful disposition. A strong and realistic hopeful disposition can help to bolster realistic resilience, and realistic resilience can strengthen a weak disposition to hope. A weakly hopeful disposition, however, can undermine resilience, and a lack of resilience in the face of adversity can cause one either to lose hope or not to have it in the first place. False hopes – those that are irrational and/or incapable of being fulfilled – can undermine resilience or lead to what we might call “false” resilience – a resilience that is too far out of touch with reality to be effective as a means of coping with or overcoming adversity. Receptivity and resilience Receptivity theories contribute not only to the formation and sustenance of dispositions of hope as a democratic civic virtue and specific hopes arising from it, but also to resilience. They do so by providing formative contexts in which dispositions and specific hopes take root and develop. Consequently, it is reasonable to think not only that receptivity theories undergird and contribute to pathways (1)–(4), but also that they can directly inspire specific hopes, which can then motivate their possessors to develop resilience and/or hopeful dispositions as they seek to fulfill them. A number of combinations of these elements are possible:

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(5) Receptivity theory -> Specific hopes -> Resilience (6) Receptivity theory -> Specific hopes -> Hopeful Disposition (7) Receptivity Theory -> Specific hopes -> Resilience -> Hopeful Disposition (8) Receptivity Theory -> Specific hopes -> Hopeful Disposition -> Resilience (9) Receptivity Theory -> Specific hopes -> Resilience-> Hopeful Disposition To illustrate, consider various imaginative scenarios inspired by the Oakland parents. Marta, inspired by the democratic history, traditions, and ideals of the United States, has hopes for a bright future for her children, and, in order to fulfill these hopes, she hopes for better schools for them. In the course of pursuing those hopes, she develops resilience, persisting in the fight for better schools and overcoming the obstacles that stand in the way of attaining that goal. This illustrates (5), but, encouraged by successes, she might also develop a hopeful disposition. This can happen either after she develops resilience (7), or concomitantly with it (9). Possibility (6) outlines a different pathway. As with the other pathways, inspiration from democratic traditions inspire specific hopes in Elsa, including hopes for better schools for her children. She achieves some successes, and, heartened by these, develops a hopeful disposition. However, she also encounters obstacles. She does not respond with strength or resolve, and thus, does not develop resilience. These impediments could undermine her hopes as well as her hopeful disposition, though they do not. Though she remains hopeful, her hopeful disposition is not a game-changer. This is because it is not bolstered by resilience, which would energize her either to revise specific hopes or to find ways around the hindrances. Her hopeful disposition in this case is weak, and does not supply her with the motivation needed for fulfilling her specific hopes in challenging circumstances. Possibility (8) sketches a happier story. In this case, Elsa would develop resilience, which would feed back to strengthen her hopeful disposition and her specific hopes (reciprocal influences occur in all of the pathways). Number (9), too, is a possibility, for Elsa’s resilience could develop concomitantly with her resilience as well as sequentially. Hopeful agency and resilience Agency theorists such as McGeer (2004, 2008) and Snyder (2000) stress the importance of good hoping for effective agency. Among other factors, good hoping includes being able to tether one’s hopes to reality. This points to a deep and complex issue about hope, for some people want to say that our hopes should not be altogether tethered to reality; indeed, we should hope for the impossible.7 Hope is an interesting phenomenon because it is about matters

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not yet settled. We hope in the world for that which is beyond it – for aims and goals not yet realized. Hope is what I call a “game-changer.” It can motivate us to alter our circumstances and ourselves in ways that make it more likely that our hopes will be achieved. But to my mind, our hopes, to be attained, must be reliably tethered to facts. Realistic hoping bolsters and is bolstered by resilience; by contrast, unrealistic hoping can undermine resilience. Realistic hoping can bolster resilience when it leads to effective agency in the pursuit of one’s hopes. If, through effective agency, one sees progress in one’s efforts to satisfy one’s hopes, this can strengthen one’s resilience in overcoming obstacles. An example that brings together the ideas of hoping for the impossible, hope as a game-changer, and tethering hope to reality is found in the Civil Rights movement led by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Given the entrenched and vitriolic discrimination existing in the United States at the time of the movement, especially in the south, to hope for full civil rights for African-Americans seemed audacious, if not impossible. Yet hope was a game-changer in that situation, and led to achieving the seemingly impossible precisely because it was tethered to reality, and coupled with resilience, resolve, determination, perseverance, and other qualities of will and virtues such as courage. Like Gandhi, King used non-violent resistance to achieve his cause, and trained participants in the movement in the resilience needed to not break the discipline of nonviolence when confronted with violent attacks, abuse, insults, and obscenities (see Nojeim 2004). His hope, though expansive, was informed not only by resilience but also by the realities of the obstacles that had to be overcome. Mental contrasting is apropos here. The imaginative possibilities of full and equal citizenship for blacks were contrasted with the hurdles that would be faced in seeking to attain it. Realistically expecting those impediments and confronting racist violence and abuse with respect and dignity garnered widespread support for the movement, helping the hope of the Civil Rights movement to be achieved, despite terrible costs.

Conclusion Philosophical work on resilience and hope as a democratic civic virtue is in its early stages. I offer the foregoing reflections as an initial foray into this fascinating and timely terrain.

Notes 1 Part I is taken from Snow (2018a); parts II and III are reworked from Snow (2018b); and part IV is an adaptation and expansion of Snow (2018a). 2 Considerable work needs to be done in fleshing out what the states labelled “Superresilience” and “Sub-resilience” might actual entail. Super-resilience, for example, could consist of hardness, blindness, apathy, selfishness, disdain, or any combination thereof – anything that blocks an appropriate sense of the importance of what one

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4 5

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has lost or of the obstacles one faces. Sub-resilience could consist of weakness, unhealthy dependency, self-pity, the desire to wallow in grief, and so on – anything that prevents one from having the wherewithal to move past loss or adversity. For Aquinas (2008), we hope to achieve unification with God at the eschaton. Presumption is the certainty that we will achieve this; despair is the conviction that we won’t. Some philosophers doubt that hope fits nicely between two extremes in this ways. Luc Bovens suggests that fear, as well as despair, is a contrary of hope (personal conversation, December 28, 2014); see also Spinoza (cited in Wild, 1958, 270), Hume (1978, 439–448), Day (1969, 89), and Miyazaki (2017, 3) for discussions of the complexities of hope. If someone is lacking a commitment to democracy and democratic processes, she might have hope, even civic hope, but she would not have hope as a democratic civic virtue. If her commitment is weak, her democratic civic virtue of hope is also weak. Some democracies could be so unjust that amending certain laws and practices would not suffice to preserve the true spirit and ideals of democracy. In such cases, the hope to tear down the flawed system and build a new democratic government is consistent with hope as a democratic civic virtue. These cases raise hard questions about when a democracy is so corrupt that it can no longer be corrected through piecemeal changes, who makes that judgment, the means by which sweeping change is brought about, and so on. Addressing these questions, though interesting and crucial, is beyond the scope of this chapter. Other democratic countries can draw on their own histories and traditions of democracy as receptivity theories. Frameworks other than pragmatism that invoke the American political tradition can serve as receptivity theories, for example, the notion that democracy is a form of “civic religion.” In the United States, the traditions that ground people’s civic hope, such as the Oakland parents, are unlikely to be theorized either in the tradition of American pragmatism or in that of democracy as a civic religion. (I am grateful to an anonymous reviewer of Snow (2018b) for pressing this point.) Yet they are understandings of a shared democratic tradition in the United States. Such understandings can vary depending on the histories and experiences of groups of people. The shared understandings that motivated the Civil Rights movement, for example, were likely different from those that motivated the Oakland parents. See Winters (2016) for an interesting conception of hope in the African American tradition in which hope is inseparable from melancholy and loss. I owe this point to Alessandra Tanesini.

References American Psychological Association. 2014. The road to resilience. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Retrieved from www.apa.org/helpcenter/roa d-resilience.aspx. Aquinas, Thomas. 2008. Summa Theologica. Secunda Secundae.Partis. Question 17. www. newadvent.org/summa/3017.htm. Accessed March 19, 2017. Bloch, Ernst. 1986. The Principle of Hope. 3 vols. Trans. Neville Plaice, Stephen Plaice, and Paul Knight. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Chandler, David. 2013. “Resilience Ethics: Responsibility and the Globally Embedded Subject.” Ethics and Global Politics 6(3): 175–194. Day, John. P. 1969. “Hope.” American Philosophical Quarterly 6(2): 89–102. Duckworth, Angela L. 2016. Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance. New York: Scribner. Hobbes, Thomas. 1968. Leviathan. Ed. C. B. MacPherson. Harmondsworth, UK: Penguin Books.

138 Nancy E. Snow Hume, David. 1978. A Treatise of Human Nature. Ed. P. H. Nidditch. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Infurna, Frank J. and Luthar, Suniya S. 2016. “Resilience to Major Life Stressors is not as Common as Thought.” Perspectives on Psychological Science 11(2): 175–194. Kalisch, Raffael, Müller, Marianne B., and Tüsher, Oliver 2015. “A Conceptual Framework for the Neurobiological Study of Resilience.” Behavioral and Brain Sciences doi:10.1017/S0140525X1400082X, e92: 1–79. King, Nathan L. 2014. “Perseverance as an Intellectual Virtue.” Synthese 191: 3501–3523. Kolers, Avery. 2016. “Resilience as a Political Ideal.” Ethics, Policy, and Environment 19 (1): 91–107. LaShaw, Amanda. 2008. “Experiencing Imminent Justice: The Presence of Hope in a Movement for Equitable Schooling.” Space and Culture 11(2): 109–124. Lear, Jonathan. 2006. Radical Hope: Ethics in the Face of Cultural Devastation. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Marcel, Gabriel. 1978. Homo Viator: Introduction to a Metaphysic of Hope. Trans. Peter Smith. Chicago, IL: Gateway. McGeer, Victoria. 2004. “The Art of Good Hope.” Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 592: 100–127. McGeer, Victoria. 2008. “Trust, Hope, and Empowerment.” Australasian Journal of Philosophy 86(2): 237–254. Miyazaki, Hirokazu. 2017. “Obama’s Hope: An Economy of Belief and Substance.” In The Economy of Hope, Hirokazu Miyazaki and Richard Swedberg, eds. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Moller, Dan. 2007. “Love and Death.” The Journal of Philosophy 104(6): 301–316. Nojeim, Michael. 2004. Gandhi and King: The Power of Nonviolent Resistance. Westport, CT: Praeger. Oettingen, Gabriele. 2014. Rethinking Positive Thinking: Inside the New Science of Motivation. New York: Current (Penguin). Pangallo, A., Zibarras, L., Lewis, R., & Flaxman, P. (2015). “Resilience Through the Lens of Interactionism: A Systematic Review.” Psychological Assessment. http://dx.doi.org/10.1037/pas0000024: 1–20. Rorty, Richard. 1989. Achieving Our Country: Leftist Thought in Twentieth Century America. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Rutter, M. 2006. “Implications of Resilience Concepts for Scientific Understanding.” Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 1094, doi:10.1196/annals.1376.002:1–12. Shade, Patrick. 2001. Habits of Hope: A Pragmatic Theory. Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University Press. Snow, Nancy E. 2018a. “Resilience and Hope.” Invited panel presentation, American Philosophical Association Pacific Division Meeting, San Diego, California, March 29. Snow, Nancy E. 2018b. “Hope as a Democratic Civic Virtue.” Metaphilosophy 49 (3): 407-427. Snow, Nancy E. (forthcoming). “The Perils of Magnificence.” In Neglected Virtues. Glen Pettigrove, ed. Snyder, C. R., ed. 2000. Handbook of Hope: Theory, Measures, and Applications. San Diego, CA: Academic Press. Southwick, Steven M., Bonnano, George A., Masten, Ann S., Panter-Brick, Catherine and Yehuda, Rachel 2014. “Resilience Definitions, Theory, and Challenges: Interdisciplinary Perspectives.” European Journal of Psychotraumatology 5: 10.3402/ejpt.v5.25338: 1–20.

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Walker, Margaret Urban. 2006. Moral Repair: Reconstructing Moral Relations After Wrongdoing. New York: Cambridge University Press. Wild, John, ed. 1958. Spinoza Selections. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. Wilson, Geoff A. 2015. “Resilience and Social Memory.” Environmental Values 24(2): 227–257. Winters, Joseph R. 2016. Hope Draped in Black: Race, Melancholy, and the Agency of Progress. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

Chapter 10

Trust as a public virtue Warren J. von Eschenbach

Western societies are experiencing a crisis of trust that seems to have been exacerbated recently due to the financial meltdown in 2007–08 (Hosking, 2014; Roth, 2009; Sapienza & Zingales, 2012; Uslaner, 2010). Consequently, we no longer enjoy high levels of confidence in social institutions and are increasingly skeptical of those holding positions of authority. Empirical data indeed does suggest worrying trends when it comes to social trust. An annual global survey, for example, indicates that nearly two-thirds of countries participating registered as distrusting of governments, businesses, media, and NGOs, which is an all-time low in the history of the survey. Only 15 percent of the general population believe that the current economic and political systems are working; two-thirds of those surveyed do not have confidence that their country’s industry and political leaders can address current challenges; and the media is distrusted in 82 percent of countries surveyed (Institute of Business Ethics, 2017). Whatever the causes of and purported remedies for this crisis, philosophers and social scientists all seem to agree that the stakes are high. Trust is perceived not only as necessary for meaningful relationships and basic human functions, but also as the basis for society (Flores & Solomon, 1998, p. 210; Uslaner, 2002). Trust also is seen as an important element to economic success and critical to healthy democracies (Fukuyama, 1995, p. 7; Inglehart, 1999; Sapienza & Zingales, 2012). Trust necessarily involves risk, and often we must engage in trusting others with little or no guarantee that our trust will not be misplaced. Indeed, we at times are let down by others and experience a sense of betrayal or disappointment as a result. Worse still, there are those who intentionally exploit our need to trust to further their own ends, whether pecuniary gain or advancing personal or political agenda, despite our increasing tolerance for and use of surveillance and similar measures for deterrence. Trust, it has been observed, is difficult to establish and cultivate, but easily lost. Nonetheless, we find ourselves increasingly dependent upon individuals, institutions, and technologies over which we have a decreasing amount of control. It is no wonder then that anxieties about trust and its associated vulnerabilities are on the rise.

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Yet we continue to engage in behaviors that seem to enhance our vulnerability. We rely on computer and digital technology to procure many goods and services: banking, transportation, health care, and to an increasing degree, even education. We depend on government officials, the media, and corporations to safeguard our interests, inform us of important events and provide accurate information, and to conduct commerce in a fair and transparent manner. Our trusting relationships, especially as our interactions with the world become more complex, global, and less personal, tend in greater measure toward what social scientists call ‘strong-thin’ modes of trust—strong to the extent that our investment in these relationships involve high stakes, and thin in the sense that we have very little personal knowledge or acquaintance with that which we are trusting—the effect of which seems to augment rather than diminish our vulnerability and contribute to the sense of crisis (Hosking, 2014, pp. 46–49; Lenard, 2005, p. 364; O’Neill, 2002b, pp. 7–8). The crisis of trust seems paradoxical: at the same time we increasingly entrust our wellbeing and security to institutions, technologies, and strangers, we also report greater feelings of mistrust or an erosion of trust in these very same individuals, technologies, and institutions (Lenard, 2008, p. 325). In spite of our growing risk and associated need to trust others and institutions due to the complexity of modern life, trust is considerably harder to establish—we no longer have the same guarantees that others are trustworthy nor the same recourse were our trust betrayed (Lenard, 2005, p. 364). What’s more, there is a tendency to analyze the crisis from the perspective of assessing and weighing risks and to focus attention primarily on epistemological questions about trustworthiness and justification for trusting another. Consideration needs to be given to exploring any corresponding obligations or responsibilities that the trustor may bear. Analyzing the crisis not only will reinforce that trust is a complex concept with multiple senses but equally important will suggest that the crisis involves more than prudential risks and entails normative expectations intimately linked to questions about collective identity, and as such, trust can be understood as a public virtue. Trust is a public virtue in the sense it is a property or characteristic that communities possess to function well. Trust among members of a community facilitates exchange among individuals and social interaction. In this sense, trust can be understood as an aretaic property that contributes to the well-being or excellence of a community in the same way that virtues are understood as properties or character traits that contribute to individual flourishing. However, public reactions to gross violations of trust reveal that more is at stake than the loss of social capital; violations of trust are violations of communal integrity in the sense that they represent failures to uphold values or principles understood to be part and parcel of the identity of that community. Trust is a public virtue in a second sense in that it represents a moral excellence endorsed by members of a community. For example, outrage at unjust treatment of good Samaritans (where the would-be Samaritan is robbed or hurt in

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rendering aid) is not that one will now be less likely to benefit from the kindness of strangers, but that such incidents violate deeply held norms and values of a particular community. Finally, if trust is a public virtue in either sense, then an important conclusion is that members of that community have prima facie obligations and defeasible reasons to trust. Such a view runs contrary to rational choice theoretical accounts of trust that focus on epistemic justification for judgments about others’ trustworthiness and offers a valuable contribution to our understanding of trust and its normative force.

The nature of trust and its crisis Declining trust in others, institutions, and government has been steady in the United States for several decades long before the financial crisis (Inglehart, 1999; Patterson, 1999; Putnam, 1995; Uslaner, 1999). The paradoxical nature of the decline in trust was also recognized before the crash. In her 2002 Reith Lectures, Onora O’Neill remarked, ‘we often express suspicion, yet we constantly place trust in others. Our attitudes and our action diverge’ (O’Neill, 2002a, p. vii). She cited polls suggesting that public opinion in the UK regarding attitudes toward office-holders and professionals is low and on the decline. Yet much of the evidence in terms of behavior toward or active trust placed in these same professionals and institutions suggests the opposite is the case—that trust is steady or on the rise. Despite claims to the contrary, we continue to rely on the media for our news and information, seek treatment from doctors and other medical professionals when we are ill, and use public services and infrastructure on a daily basis. The public’s behavior and choices count in favor of trust, while attitudes and opinion reflect the opposite. This divergence between attitude and action indicates that the crisis of trust seems paradoxical in nature—while we find ourselves increasingly entrusting our wellbeing and security to institutions, technologies, and strangers, we also seem to report greater feelings of mistrust or an erosion of trust in these very same people, technologies, and institutions. Trust is at the same time on the rise and in decline. How then are we to explain or make sense of this? This divergence may imply that we have little choice but to rely on those services and institutions we claim to mistrust, and so our actions should not be taken as indicative of any conscious or deliberate act of trusting. We merely have no other choice but to utilize goods and services that we deeply mistrust. Were alternatives readily available, our actions would be shaped accordingly, avoiding the paradoxical situation described. The crisis only appears to be paradoxical because we mistake reliance for trust, and obscure the distinction between the two by the way in which the paradox is stated. Though we may be more reliant upon institutions, technologies, and people for various goods and services, we are less trusting of them to the extent that they arouse negative attitudes and beliefs.

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For this hypothesis to be convincing, however, requires that its proponent demonstrate a genuine dearth of alternatives, which is no small undertaking. Otherwise one must offer some explanation for the agent’s conscious and willful action without recourse to rational or affective motives, especially where the action is ongoing and repetitive rather than a one-off occasion. Assuming that no special theory of agency is at play or that the agent is systematically deceived about her choices, the best hypothesis for how and why an agent under normal circumstances would act contrary to belief and feeling is that the agent has no choice in the matter. Here an important distinction arises between trust and reliance (Baier, 1986, p. 234; Luhmann, 1979). Indeed, there are many cases in which individuals are increasingly dependent upon persons and institutions with little or no alternative. A recent data breach by a credit rating agency that compromised sensitive data affecting millions of people is a notable example where consumers have little alternative to establishing and maintaining credit ratings and very little control over how personal information is stored and used (“Equifax Breach Could Cost Billions”, WSJ, 2017). Repeated transgressions of this kind would not only, quickly erode public confidence in credit agencies and cybersecurity measures, but without recourse to other alternatives, would contribute to the sense of crisis. Another reason the crisis is worrying, however, is because we expect that our actions and attitudes correspond, and instances where there are alternative they are somehow at odds. We are trusting and distrusting seemingly at once (O’Neill, 2002b, p. 9). There are some obvious practical implications in terms of the likelihood that trusting attitudes and behaviors can be sustained over a long-term if they remain at odds or in tension, which is one reason why the current state of affairs is often described as a crisis. But the paradox also reveals something peculiar about the nature of trust and an ambiguity inherent in expressions about trust or trusting. It is at once an attitude or judgment and an action that confers a special relationship between or among parties involved. Failure to acknowledge these distinct yet related meanings gives the crisis of trust its paradoxical quality. Recognizing the two senses of trust, however, offers a way of understanding the paradox while preserving the force of the crisis. As it has been argued elsewhere, trust is always relational: A trusts B to X (Flores & Solomon, 1998, p. 206). Unless the one’s trust is haphazard, random, or accidental, entering into such a relationship on rational grounds requires that one make some judgment or otherwise determine the trustworthiness of another. In this important way, A trusts B to X means that A has some positive attitude or judgment about B’s trustworthiness or likelihood of making good on X. Trust can be understood as an attitude of optimism, distinct from belief, about the goodwill and competence of another (Jones, 1996, pp. 4–25). Distrust, on the contrary, reflects pessimism about another’s competence and goodwill that leads one to expect that person would act contrary to one’s interest. The salient feature for both is

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that these are distinct ‘ways of seeing’ another person, which give rise to a belief or set of beliefs about that person and restrict the interpretations of that person’s behavior and motives accordingly (Jones, 1996, p. 11). Trust as a positive attitude or judgment, however, explains only part of the crisis of trust; it does not offer an account of why those whose trust is violated would be justified in feeling betrayed, wronged, or aggrieved. A trusts B to X, where trust means only that A has a positive attitude or judgment toward B, does not obligate or require B to X, and so B’s failure to X does not necessarily wrong A. In other words, in addition to being an attitude or judgment of optimism, trust also is a relationship involving expectations, obligations, or promises, all of which need to be communicated. To describe a relationship as trusting entails reciprocity and consent of all relevant parties. It would be equally as odd to describe a relationship between two people as loving were feelings and associated expectations not mutual. Trust then not only is an attitude or judgment about another, but also is a ‘relationship of normative expectation’ (Hollis, 1998, p. 11). It should be clear that A trusts B to X has in fact two meanings: in the first instance it means that A has a positive attitude or judgment about B’s likelihood of making good on X; in the second instance it means that A and B have entered into a relationship where relevant expectations and obligations have been communicated and acknowledged. When we speak of entrusting someone with certain powers and/or roles and responsibilities we implicitly acknowledge this second meaning. In placing trust in someone, we make a claim upon that person that obligates him or her to fulfil certain responsibilities were they to accept our trust—trustees of a company or university are a good example of this meaning of trust. Trust in this sense binds the trustor and trustee in a relationship of reciprocal duties, responsibilities, and expectations. Understanding the ambiguity of trust in terms of these two senses offers a way of resolving the paradox without losing or explaining away the force of the crisis. Because trust means both an attitude or judgment and a relationship of reciprocal obligations or normative expectations, the crisis of trust can be understood as both the increase of trust in terms of a proliferation of relationships with reciprocal obligations and responsibilities and its attenuation as a feeling of decreasing optimism or growing uncertainty. That the relationships are entered into willingly and carry obligations differentiates trust from reliance and underscores the vulnerability and risk associated with trust. As one commentator notes, in most circumstances trust is something we do as habit and therefore ‘invisible’ until we experience a breach: ‘It is in the breach that the term “trust” is particularly apposite. As such, it acquires a resonance of crisis. Talk about trust functions as an alarm bell’ (Simpson, 2012, p. 560). Indeed, the crisis of trust should sound alarms, but not for the reasons many ascribe— undermining cooperative behavior is only one of the many potential hazards at stake with the crisis of trust.

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It remains to be seen why the erosion of trust is often described as a crisis and what precisely is in jeopardy or at risk. From the aforementioned analysis of trust as having two meanings, the crisis of trust can be recast as increasing anxiety about greater investment of our wellbeing and other goods in others with decreasing expectation or optimism that such goods will be safeguarded. What is more, the worry isn’t simply that we increasingly are pessimistic in our attitudes or judgments toward others but that our tolerance for vulnerability soon will reach a tipping point where investments in relationships of this kind will cease or diminish greatly. Crucially, however, not only would this have the practical consequences of increased transactional costs or diminished economic activity, as some commentators have emphasized, but more importantly, the loss of trust as a special relationship of shared obligation would threaten an important and constitutive component of moral and communal life (Fukuyama, 1995, pp. 269–321).

Trust as a moral concept Many theorists, especially those influenced by rational choice theory, have acknowledged the normative component of trust but have denied that it has any moral significance. Russell Hardin, for example, argues that many discussions of trust equate trust with trustworthiness but as a consequence mistakenly consider trust as a moral concept based on arguments that actually concern trustworthiness (Hardin, 2002, p. 36 and 75). Instead, he argues that trust is a matter of knowledge and is best explained as ‘encapsulated interest’ where ‘I trust you because I think it is in your interest to attend to my interests in the relevant matter’ (Hardin, 2002, p. 4). Having compatible interests alone is insufficient for trust; one must also be judged to have the right motivation or desire to continue the relationship with those trusted (Hardin, 2002, p. 5). In this sense, interests are ‘encapsulated’ to the extent that one has an interest in taking another’s interest into account and for this reason trust is to be understood as a cognitive act akin to knowledge or belief: ‘to say I trust you in some way is to say nothing more than that I know or believe certain things about you’ (Hardin, 2002, p. 10). Trustworthiness, on the contrary, is to be understood as the motivation or set of motivations on the part of the trusted to do what they have been trusted to do, or as ‘the capacity to judge one’s interests as dependent on doing what one is trusted to do’ (Hardin, 2002, p. 28). Though it is not immediately clear how motivations are related to capacity for judgment about one’s interest, unless we are to take motivations to be essentially cognitive rather than emotive, in which case the difference between trust and trustworthiness is less than perhaps what Hardin seems to claim. The main distinction that Hardin seems to draw is that trust is a property to be ascribed to the trustor (as a kind of knowledge) while trustworthiness is to be ascribed to the trustee (as a motivation or capacity for judgment about one’s interests).

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Maintaining this distinction is what justifies Hardin’s claim that moral content or relevance is properly associated with trustworthiness rather than trust (‘Betrayal is, of course, not a failure of trust but a failure of trustworthiness’) since one’s commitment to fulfil another’s trust is the focus of our moral judgments (Hardin, 2002, p. 28). To be sure, his arguments for why it is mistaken to moralize trust rest squarely with this distinction. Because trust is a matter of knowledge according to Hardin it cannot be a moral issue whether I know certain things about another person, no more than it can be moral or immoral to know whether Afghanistan is ruled by the Taliban. But of course, this argument is convincing only if one agrees that trust is a matter of knowledge and nothing more. As Hardin formulates the issue, if trust is a matter of knowledge, then it seems peculiar to say that either that is morally required or that it is at least morally a good thing (Hardin, 2002, p. 75). If, however, we can provide convincing reasons why trust is either morally required or at least morally good, then we have reason to question whether trust is a matter of knowledge. To see how trust might involve more than knowledge and have moral connotations, let us consider the example from Brothers Karamazov that Hardin provides to illustrate his notion of trust as encapsulated interest. In the novel, Dmitry Karamazov relates a story of an irregular financial arrangement between a lieutenant colonel and a local merchant, Trifonov. As commander of the local unit, the lieutenant colonel is in charge of a substantial sum of money, which he gives to Trifonov to use for his gain at a local market. In turn, when Trifonov returns the sum of money after he has profited from its use, he always provides a gift for the lieutenant colonel for his benefit. Because theirs was a secret arrangement, compliance could not depend upon a legal contract but only on each’s willingness to continue to participate in this affair. Indeed, when it becomes known that the lieutenant colonel is to be replaced in his command, Trifonov pretends not to have received the 4,500 rubles that were loaned to him when the lieutenant colonel comes to collect the sum. Because the arrangement was in secret and illegal, moreover, the lieutenant colonel has no recourse to secure payment from Trifonov. The arrangement between Trifonov and the lieutenant colonel fits Hardin’s notion of trust as encapsulated interest because their interests were aligned and each had an incentive to remain steadfast in this mutually beneficial arrangement, an incentive ‘that is grounded in the value of maintaining the relationship into the future’ (Hardin, 2002, p. 3). So long as there is an incentive for the other party to be trustworthy, one has reason to trust. Once the incentive to continue the relationship vanishes, such as the lieutenant colonel’s reassignment, one no longer can be expected to be trustworthy and therefore there is no reason to trust. Trust as encapsulated interest provides a clear analysis of what one might expect from a relationship based on mutual interests, but it fails to distinguish how trust differs from reliance, a distinction that is important to maintain if we are to believe that trust has any special content or status, an intuition that is reflected in describing the current situation as a crisis. Trifonov’s defection

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should have been foreseen by the lieutenant colonel and therefore expected; there was no betrayal because interests were no longer encapsulated. This raises two significant issues for Hardin’s account. On one hand, it seems implausible to say that the lieutenant colonel trusted Trifonov because he knew or should have known that eventually he would be exposed once Trifonov’s interests were no longer encapsulated with his and so could never judge Trifonov as trustworthy in any meaningful sense. On the other hand, not only are there no grounds for the lieutenant colonel to claim that he had been betrayed or wronged by Trifonov, but even in principle there never could be because implicit in the encapsulated interest account is the expectation that you will serve my interests only to the extent you have an incentive to do so. In this sense, encapsulated interest is a relationship of reliance rather than trust (Holton, 1994). Any fault or blame resides solely with the lieutenant colonel for failing to anticipate Trifonov’s actions, which given the specific nature of this example might be the appropriate judgment—indeed this might explain why Karamazov’s recounting of the tale does not include any reproach of Trifonov by the lieutenant colonel but only a sense of despair regarding his difficult predicament. But the important point is that in no circumstance would one be justified in claiming a breach of trust or wrongdoing because under this view one should be expected to be trustworthy only to the extent that one has an incentive to be trustworthy or has an incentive to do what one is trusted to do. Breaches of trust or failures to be trustworthy, however, often are judged as wrong or inflicting some harm on another party and as acts of betrayal rather than occasions for disappointment (Holton, 1994, pp. 66–67). The lieutenant colonel might feel anger toward Trifonov for ending a lucrative arrangement, but the encapsulated interest account of trust seems hard pressed to offer an explanation of why he would feel betrayed or why such feelings might be justified. Without the obligations and claims that the special relationship of trust creates, life might be increasingly solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short, but it would not be unjust. Furthermore, because trust according to this account is knowledge about the trustee’s motivations to act in the trustor’s interest, there can never be a crisis of trust understood as the paradoxical situation where one’s attitude or belief and action diverge. If trust is a matter of knowledge, we could never say that we trust someone we do not believe to be trustworthy, especially when sometimes belief follows trust (Holton, 1994, p. 74). False beliefs about another’s trustworthiness by definition also would fail to qualify as trust according to standard accounts of knowledge. Hardin’s claim, therefore, that ‘the best device for creating trust is to establish and support trustworthiness’ is tautological because trust by his account would always track trustworthiness (Hardin, 2002, p. 30). A second challenge for the encapsulated interest account of trust is to explain how one often acts with trust when there is little or no trust or reason to believe the other party to be trustworthy, especially over an extended period of time. For Hardin there are three general categories of reasons for fulfilling commitments: internal inducements, external inducement, and a mixture of internal and external

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inducements, and he suggests that for the encapsulated interest account of trust the second category is most relevant (Hardin, 2002, pp. 28–29). Institutional constraints or societal conventions are necessary for having reasons to act on another’s behalf without establishing a long-term relationship or having the requisite motivations. The key to increasing trust, therefore, is to enhance the trustworthiness of those in whom we place trust, which in turn requires enforcement through one form of these inducements. The stronger the sanction, the greater the expected compliance in keeping promises and the more optimistic one can be in trusting others. Strong social institutions are critical to relationships of trust for ‘by making the costs of reneging on our commitment high, we can virtually bring our future action of fulfillment into the present so that we tie our present and future motivations into a single net motivation now for action in the future’ (Hardin, 2002, p. 41). Though Hardin offers an explanation of how external sanctions can offer incentives that parties make good on promises or agreements, it is less clear, and Hardin offers very little to support his claim, that this relationship qualifies as trust, rather than the closely related concept of reliance. What seems to distinguish trust from reliance is precisely that which Hardin includes only in a secondary sense in his analysis—a relationship between two parties that is binding because of obligations in foro interno. To be sure, external sanctions, especially those reinforced through strong social institutions, can help strengthen commitments made and discourage defection, but it does not follow that they are necessary or that internal sanctions do not suffice to bind future action to present commitments. Trust, understood as a relationship of reciprocal duties, responsibilities, and obligations, is consistent with a desire or need for strong social institutions and external sanctions to the extent that the former is reinforced or supported by the latter. For this reason, many are justified in characterizing the crisis of trust as the weakening of social institutions’ ability to mediate and conserve trust among individuals (Hosking, 2014; Rothstein, 2013). But it would be a mistake to maintain that obligations associated with trust are derived from or identical to these external sanctions and social institutions. Trust can be augmented or diminished through external sanctions, but its existence is independent of them (Uslaner, 2002, p. 8). If one strips trust and trustworthiness of any moral content, once external sanctions and social institutions are weakened beyond a certain point, trust seems impossible to maintain. In this view the relationship between trust and external sanctions is direct: ‘A strong network of laws and conventions is needed to make any kind of behavior reliable if it is likely to conflict with powerful considerations of interests’ (Hardin, 2002, p. 52). Without external sanctions there is no hope for trust; because trust depends primarily on social institutions, once these fail to mediate trust, there is no remedy to the crisis. Hardin’s thin conception of trust overlooks an important feature, however. Because trust also involves a relationship of mutual obligation and expectation, it carries with it reasons for remaining committed in the future that do not rely on external sanctions. Marriage, for example, involves trust because each party

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possesses a positive feeling or judgment about one’s own and the other’s likelihood to remain committed to the relationship in the future and has communicated fully the relevant expectations and obligations through an expression of vows or other mechanisms. Marriage is as much a relationship of normative expectations—both in terms of expectations of one’s self and of one’s spouse—as it involves judgments or beliefs about the other’s trustworthiness. In this sense, trust is independent of belief and perhaps a precondition of it (Holton, 1994, p. 68). What’s more, judgments or beliefs about trustworthiness of prospective partners are not based on evaluations of the strength of external sanctions, but in fact reflect evaluations or judgments about another’s character. The profession of vows not only serves to bind one to promises and commitments, but also is a public expression of belief in the trustworthiness both of one’s self and future spouse independent of external sanctions. Marriage vows ideally express judgments about the prospective partners and their character, their ability to remain committed to the relationship, and their resolve in the face of adversity, as well as similar judgments about one’s own character, abilities, and resolve; they are not an evaluation of the quality and strength of external sanctions or social institutions. To be sure, prohibitions against divorce would serve to preserve marriage contracts, but can do so without preserving any genuine commitment to the marriage relationship itself, which relies on internal sanctions—selfimposed motivations or reasons to remain true to one’s commitments and obligations.

Trust as a public virtue The question remains as to what sort of good trust is. Hardin’s skeptical argument does concede that trust can be grounded in moral obligations or in expectations about the moral commitments of others, but only as a way of underwriting the trustee’s trustworthiness (Hardin, 2002, p. 78). To say that trust is a good thing, however, is mistaken because trust can lead to bad outcomes in cases where one acts on trust to achieve bad ends. Moreover, to trust absent of knowledge of trustworthiness either to acknowledge another’s humanity or compel another to act in a trustworthy manner is to deny that trust is a matter of knowledge and ‘to slip into making trust a behavioral term’ (Hardin, 2002, p. 78). Neither of these objections is convincing. The charge that trust can be used to secure bad ends does not by itself disqualify trust as a moral good, especially as many other commonly accepted moral goods, such as honesty, courage, and the like, also could lead to bad ends under some circumstances. The moral goodness might not depend on the consequences of its application. More needs to be said about the particular normative theory to make this objection compelling. Moreover, it seems circular to object that trusting without knowledge is mistaken because it fails to acknowledge that trust is a matter of knowledge. Indeed, if one can demonstrate that trust either is a moral good

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or morally required, one can infer that it is not the case that trust is simply a matter of knowledge. Understanding what is at stake in the crisis of trust or why the situation is characterized as a crisis offers a clue to understanding trust as a moral good. For some scholars of trust, the crisis represents a threat to democratic order; for others it increases transactional costs within economic markets and undermines ‘social capital’, or ‘features of social organization such as networks, norms, and social trust that facilitate coordination and cooperation for mutual benefit’ (Putnam, 1995). Trust, it seems, can be a property or characteristic that communities possess to function well. Trust among members of a community facilitates exchange among individuals and social interaction. Patti Lenard, for example, argues that three benefits are associated with trusting democratic societies: an increase in generalized trust or trust shared broadly among various groups, a decrease in free-riding even in the absence of external sanctions, and a general prevalence of reciprocity—that good deeds or good faith efforts will be reciprocated in the future (Lenard, 2008, p. 320). These benefits are not only distributed widely among members of that particular community but more importantly facilitate cooperative and positive engagement among persons, which is at the heart of communal life. By increasing social capital, trust generates much that is normatively desirable at the societal level, such as strong democratic institutions, economic prosperity, and less crime and corruption (Rothstein, 2013, p. 1011). Moreover, increases in social capital correlate with increases in civic association and facilitate coordination and communication among individuals, thus resolving dilemmas associated with collective action (Putnam, 1995). In this sense, trust can be understood as an aretaic property that contributes to the well-being or excellence of a community in the same way that certain character traits contribute to individual flourishing. Public virtues, moreover, typically contribute directly to the well-being of a community with indirect benefit to any individual (Treanor, 2010, p. 13). With respect to trust, any particular individual may or may not benefit directly from increases in social capital, while benefits to the community are well understood. Trust as a public virtue in this sense explains why the increasing prevalence of dubious attacks on mainstream media for promulgating ‘fake news’ is worrying, especially when espoused by political leaders. These charges contribute to a sense of the crisis of trust by undermining the authority and trustworthiness of social institutions necessary for a well-functioning democracy. Of course, the problem goes deeper when coupled with instances of actual ‘fake news’ disseminated with the intent to mislead and confuse citizens for partisan gains. In both cases, ‘fake news’, whether real or alleged, diminishes social trust and has the potential to harm the community through loss of social capital and other related benefits. ‘Fake news’ also draws attention to another important reason why the loss of social trust is often described as a crisis. In addition to undermining trust in

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public institutions important to democracy, ‘fake news’ reinforces particularized trust, or the view that we can or should trust only those with whom we identify or have kinship (Uslaner, 1999, p. 124). Those who are unfamiliar or different than us are not to be trusted and neither are those information sources that allegedly advocate for worldviews opposed to our own. Particularized trust is especially worrying because it is pernicious to communal identity by fortifying divisions among groups of people and ‘us versus them’ ways of viewing the world, one’s self, and others. In this way, particularized trust not only diminishes social capital but also undermines social cohesion and solidarity. Particularized trust is to be contrasted with generalized trust, or the notion that others, including those who might be strangers, are to be trusted and generally are trustworthy. Generalized trust extends to those whom we might not have had previous interactions and is based on shared expectations regarding common social norms and values. As such, generalized trust unifies members of the community who come from different groups or are of different kin. Generalized trust fosters faith in strangers and extends the perception of our moral community (Uslaner, 2002, p. 26). Increasing generalized trust strengthens social cohesion and reinforces communal identity, especially among those from different ingroups. Worries about ‘fake news’ in part are concerns about the erosion of generalized trust and its impact on the community. Indeed, further analysis of the crisis and public reactions to gross violations of trust suggest that more is at stake than increased transactional costs; violations of trust are violations of communal integrity in the sense that they represent failures to uphold values or principles understood to be part and parcel of that community. Trust, in this sense, is a public virtue in that it represents a moral excellence endorsed by members of that community. A fairly recent incident helps to illustrate this point. In March 2015, a 28-yearold man stopped to render aid to a driver of a freight truck that had overturned and become disabled on a highway near Birmingham, England. Rather than accepting the assistance being offered, the truck driver inexplicably stole the vehicle of the would-be rescuer, dragging him for a considerable distance, causing severe head injuries (“‘Good Samaritan’ dragged along motorway after driver he stops to help steals van”, The Independent, 2016). Predictably public reaction was to express shock and outrage and to condemn the actions of the truck driver, who later was charged with attempted murder. That a man was critically injured as a result of attempting to benefit another out of altruistic or moral motivations only served to contribute to the general sense that there is a crisis of trust. The root of the crisis, however, isn’t to be found merely in the recognition that social interactions have become more fraught or complex and that social capital has diminished. Contrary to what rational theorists might suggest the worry is not that the incident might make it less likely that strangers would stop to offer assistance to each other in the future for fear of suffering the same fate and that now one needs to consider purchasing roadside assistance from one’s local automobile club in lieu of

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counting on the kindness of strangers. A more plausible explanation for the public’s outcry and why this incident contributes to the sense of crisis, apart from expression of sympathy for the victim, was that in violating trust, the perpetrator violated values and associated norms of the community. The crisis of trust therefore is also a crisis of identity to the extent that members of a community’s identity with certain values, norms, and expectations are under threat. In this particular case, reactions were in response to a threat to the community’s identity as a one in which good deeds are rewarded, beneficence is valued, and where strangers can expect to offer assistance to one another without suffering harm. Active vigilance by citizens to safeguard political and social institutions by holding incumbents accountable also relies on trust as a public virtue in the second sense. For citizens to be so motivated requires that they see injustice to one member of the community as an ‘affront to the community as a whole’ and that citizens be willing to commit time and energy on behalf of others with little or no guarantee that such actions would be reciprocated (Lenard, 2008, p. 327). Neither particularized trust nor trust understood as rational choice can explain why members of a community would interpret injustice toward others, especially strangers, as an affront to the whole. Such a perspective requires identification between the victim of injustice and those so motivated; an identification that is mediated through trust as a public virtue. Without a commitment to ideals recognized as constitutive of a particular community, individuals would have little reason to accept the risks associated with advocating for other members of that community without repayment. Citizens are rather responding to obligations and expectations that one bears as a member of a community; expectations that stem from norms and values which are definitive of that community. Trust, in other words, is extended to strangers because we identify with them as fellow members of a community in which trust is affirmed as an excellence or value.

Duties to trust What reasons or obligations do we have to trust or be trustworthy, especially without any guarantee against betrayal? Given that most of us have a desire for the esteem, approbation, and good opinion of others, we also possess a disposition to prove ourselves to be trustworthy or at least been seen as such. In addition to creating a relationship of obligations and expectations, an act of trusting communicates a belief that the trustee is at minimum reliable and will continue to enjoy the good opinion of the trustor provided that the trustee behaves in the expected manner. Moreover, the belief that the trustee is judged to be trustworthy usually is communicated to third parties, which, consistent with Hardin’s view, provides the trustee with additional motivations or incentives to make good on his or her obligations. The trustee might be tempted to defect on the promise or obligation to procure some immediate good, but doing so will be at the expense of or will place at risk enjoying the esteem of

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others and its associated benefits. Just as betrayal can breed further distrust, an act of confidence, though not without risk, can in turn fortify trust. This is not to concede that trust is enforced only through external sanctions. The opinion of others or social approval are compelling only where the agent already has the desire for such approbation. Without a prior commitment to exhibiting particular character traits or behaviors, the judgments of others about one’s character would not provide reasons for acting. In other words, for the trustor’s belief that the trustee is trustworthy to have any motivating effect, the trustee already must desire to be trustworthy, or at minimum to be judged so. Gaining or losing a reputation holds sway only to the extent that one already is invested in maintaining such a reputation. Those who wish only to be perceived as trustworthy, however, perhaps would be no less motivated by another’s act of trusting than those who care to be genuinely so. The difference is that the latter might not always act in ways consistent with being trustworthy or uphold what has been entrusted and so perhaps are more likely to betray another’s trust than those who are motived to be trustworthy. But even the actions of those who only wish to appear trustworthy will be constrained by the expectations placed upon them by another to the extent that their behavior is observable to others and any betrayal cannot avoid detection. Such constraints could be sufficient to motivate these individuals to act in ways consistent with what has been entrusted, especially compared with those who lack any similar motivation at all. If indeed we are justified in having confidence in what Philip Pettit calls the ‘cunning of trust’, or the fact that an act of trusting can create reasons or motivations for the trustee to make good on obligations where no prior reason to believe in the trustees’ reliability exists, then trust might suggest its own remedy to the crisis (Pettit, 1995, pp. 202–225). The cunning of trust gives reason to be optimistic about the likelihood that trusting relationships will remain intact and so justify continued investment in these relationships. More importantly, because trust also provides motivations or reasons to make good on these obligations, then a very promising avenue to investigate would be the extent to which leaders and organizations might wield trust, as one would wield power, to restore our faith in trust and in turn fortify social cohesion. In other words, one can begin to restore trust through the act of trusting others, even when there is little evidence to support judgments about the trustworthiness of others. Perhaps paradoxically and certainly contrary to Hardin’s claim, the best device to foster trustworthiness may be to trust; that is, to enter into a relationship that creates special obligations and expectations. At a minimum, however, given that acts of trusting may create the conditions for promoting trust by providing reasons to trust where evidence of trustworthiness may be lacking, individuals have reason to remain optimistic in the face of a perceived crisis of trust. A final consideration suggested by this analysis is the extent to which one has a duty or obligation to trust. Without offering a general account of the nature and origin of obligation, a few key points are worth noting. At minimum, it is desirable that we create and maintain conditions where trust and mutual confidence and

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cooperation prevail. Many benefits, both social and personal, are realized in a system where cooperation is the norm and conflict and betrayal are minimized. To the extent that trust as a public virtue fortifies and sustains this type of environment, there are defeasible reasons to trust. Practical reason, therefore, would commend adopting a general attitude toward trusting where no strong evidence to the contrary—such as high probability of betrayal—exists. Reasons other than prudence, however, may also factor into considerations whether one has an obligation to trust. Desires to uphold certain principles and for social solidarity may provide independent reasons to trust. Friendship is an example where allegiance to an ideal and desire to maintain a genuine relationship would require one to trust: ‘the commitment to trust is presupposed as a defining characteristic of the [friendship] relationship that is held to exist between two people’ (Thomas, 1979, p. 101). Without trust it would be difficult to maintain genuine friendship or characterize a relationship as friendship. To the extent that one values and wishes to promote and nurture friendship, which is established through acts of trusting, one has an obligation to trust. Similarly, the desire for social solidarity and one’s identification with social excellence and values may impose obligations on agents. In the same way our desire to be an honest person imposes an obligation to treat others honestly lest we fail to uphold principles constitutive of our personal identity and integrity, we must also act in ways consistent with our desires and beliefs about our social identities. To return to a previous example: because one desires to live in a community where people render aid to strangers without fear of suffering harm, one has reason not only to condemn violations of this norm but also to promote trust within that community. Trust in this case not only increases social utility, but more importantly, as a public virtue is constitutive of the kind of community with which one identifies. Without acting in a trusting manner, we fail to create or maintain a community that reflects these values and undercuts our social integrity as a consequence. Moreover, because the cunning of trust provides reasons to trust even in the absence of evidence of trustworthiness, the agent who desires a community that upholds these norms has at minimum a prima facie obligation to trust and thereby remain optimistic in the face of the crisis.1

Note 1 I wish to thank participants, especially Geoffrey Hosking, Felipe Fernandez-Armesto, Anthony Seldon, and Kieron O’Hara, at the Institute of Historical Research and University of Notre Dame London Global Gateway seminar on trust; participants, especially Nancy Snow, at the Jubilee Centre’s conference on Virtues and the Public Sphere; and anonymous referees for their helpful comments on previous versions of this paper.

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References Baier, A. (1986). Trust and antitrust. Ethics, 96(2), 231–260. https://doi.org/10.1086/ 292745 Flores, F., & Solomon, R. C. (1998). Creating trust. Business Ethics Quarterly, 8(2), 205–232. Fukuyama, F. (1995). Trust: The social virtues and the creation of prosperity. Free Press. https://doi.org/10.1016/S0030-4387(96)90073–90073 Hardin, R. (2002). Trust and Trustworthiness (Vol. 4). The Russell Sage Foundation. http s://doi.org/10.1007/s11406-009-9218-0 Hollis, M. (1998). Trust within Reason. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Holton, R. (1994). Deciding to trust, coming to believe. Australasian Journal of Philosophy, 72(1), 63–76. https://doi.org/10.1080/00048409412345881 Hosking, G. A. (2014). Trust: A History (First edit). Oxford: Oxford University Press. The Independent (2016). “Good Samaritan” dragged along motorway after driver he stops to help steals van. Retrieved August 7, 2017, from www.independent.co.uk/news/ uk/good-samaritan-dragged-along-motorway-after-driver-he-stops-to-help-steals-va n-10079236.html Inglehart, R. (1999). Trust, well-being and democracy. In M. E. Warren (Ed.), Democracy and Trust (pp. 88–120). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/ 10.1017/CBO9780511659959.004 Institute of Business Ethics. (2017). Edelman Trust Barometer 2017, Global Results IBE Summary. Institute of Business Ethics. Retrieved from www.ibe.org.uk Jones, K. (1996). Trust as an affective attitude. Ethics, 107(1), 4–25. https://doi.org/10. 1086/233694 Lenard, P. T. (2005). The decline of trust, the decline of democracy? Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy, 8(3), 363–378. https://doi.org/10.1080/ 13698230500187243 Lenard, P. T. (2008). Trust your compatriots, but count your change: The roles of trust, mistrust and distrust in democracy. Political Studies, 56(2), 312–332. https://doi.org/ 10.1111/j.1467-9248.2007.00693.x Luhmann, N. (1979). Trust and Power. New York: John Wiley and Sons. O’Neill, O. (2002a). A Question of Trust: The BBC Reith Lectures 2002. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. O’Neill, O. (2002b). Autonomy and Trust in Bioethics. Autonomy and Trust in Bioethics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/ CBO9780511606250 Patterson, O. (1999). Liberty against the democratic state: On the historical and contemporary sources of American distrust. Democracy and Trust, 151–207. Retrieved from files/386/books.html%5Cnfiles/486/books.html Pettit, P. (1995). The cunning of trust. Philosophy & Public Affairs, 24(3), 202–225. http s://doi.org/10.1111/j.1088-4963.1995.tb00029.x Putnam, R. D. (1995). Bowling alone: America’s declining social capital. Journal of Democracy, 6(1), 65–78. https://doi.org/10.1353/jod.1995.0002 Roth, F. (2009). The effect of the financial crisis on systemic trust. Intereconomics, 44(4), 203–208. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10272-009-0296-9 Rothstein, B. (2013). Corruption and social trust: Why the fish rots from the head down. Social Research, 80(4), 1009–1032. https://doi.org/10.1353/sor.2013.0040

156 Warren J. von Eschenbach Sapienza, P., & Zingales, L. (2012). A trust crisis. International Review of Finance, 12(2), 123–131. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1468-2443.2012.01152.x Simpson, T. W. (2012). What is trust? Pacific Philosophical Quarterly, 93(4), 550–569. http s://doi.org/10.1111/j.1468-0114.2012.01438.x Thomas, D. O. (1979). The duty to trust. Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, 79, 89–101. Treanor, B. (2010). Environmentalism and public virtue. Journal of Agricultural and Environmental Ethics, 23(1–2), 9–28. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10806-009-9184-3 Uslaner, E. M. (1999). Democracy and social capital. In M. E. Warren (Ed.), Democracy and Trust (pp. 121–150). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/10. 1017/CBO9780511659959.005 Uslaner, E. M. (2002). The Moral Foundations of Trust. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Uslaner, E. M. (2010). Trust and the economic crisis of 2008. Corporate Reputation Review, 13(2), 110–123. https://doi.org/10.1057/crr.2010.8 WSJ (2017). Equifax breach could cost billions. Retrieved October 15, 2017, from www.wsj.com/articles/equifax-breach-could-cost-billions-1505474692

Chapter 11

Making citizens virtuous Plato on the role of political leadership

Mark E. Jonas

Introduction In this chapter, I examine Plato’s ideas on the necessity of political leaders to be virtuous in the highest degree. In the contemporary Western world, we want our political officials to be honest and intelligent, but we are less concerned with the whole range of virtues like generosity, gratitude, temperance. So long as our leaders are modestly civil, and as long as they are not corrupt, and as long as they can manage the business of running the state, we are content to ignore most of their vices. Explicitly or implicitly, we assume that their most important qualities are intellectual or managerial, but not moral. Plato assumes otherwise. While he does believe political leaders must have outstanding intellectual qualities if a society is to flourish, he equally believes that they must also have outstanding moral qualities. Plato claims that a city’s happiness is ultimately dependent on the moral quality of its leaders and the leaders’ ability to foster virtue in their citizens. Social well-being is not determined by economic wealth, political power, or military might, but by the extent to which leaders and citizens embody justice, temperance, wisdom and courage. The question I seek to answer in this chapter is: why does Plato think virtues are necessary for good leadership, and how those virtues can be cultivated in future leaders. To answer these questions, I will examine Plato’s longest and most detailed expression of his political philosophy: the Laws. As I have argued elsewhere (Jonas and Nakazawa, 2012), it is misguided to interpret the Republic as Plato’s ultimate expression of his political philosophy. The Republic is primarily a pedagogical text aimed at the transformation of Glaucon’s soul, and not a treatise that aims to lay out a preferred political order. The Laws, by contrast, is a better representation of Plato’s political philosophy, although even here the Laws cannot be said to be the exact constitution that Plato would want to see enacted.

Education, virtue and leadership in the Laws In order to understand Plato’s vision for political leadership in the Laws we must first understand that his goal in the Laws is an ethical and educational one, and not a narrowly political one. In the Laws the main interlocutor is not

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Socrates, but the so-called Athenian Stranger. In the Laws, the Athenian argues that in order to understand the relative virtue or vices of actions he and his interlocutors must try to provide “correct theory of culture; and it is impossible to explain this without considering the whole subject of education. That calls for a very long discussion indeed” (Laws, 642a). The educational discussion eventually turns into a political one in Book IV, but at its core it remains an educational issue. Plato believes that having a properly functioning political system depends on its citizens and leaders receiving the correct moral education. As Bobonich argues, the dialogue returns to education time and time again; In all his legislation [within the Laws] the lawgiver must aim at a single goal and that is virtue. In particular, the lawgiver must aim at fostering all the virtues—courage, justice, moderation, and wisdom—in the citizens as a whole. Plato announces this claim with great fanfare at the beginning of the Laws, returns to it at its end, and repeatedly stresses it throughout the text. (2002, p. 120) The Laws returns to education over and over again because the most important task of a statesman is how to make his citizens virtuous. For example, the Athenian argues that the ultimate goal of political leadership is “the art which is concerned to foster a good character” (650b), and later that “education is in our view just about the most important activity of all” (803d). The Athenian also argues that the most important job of a leader is to persuade citizens, by “habituation, praise, or argument … that the unjust life is not only more shocking and disgraceful, but also in fact less pleasant, than the just and holy” (663c–d). He further claims that “no man, you see, however old or however young, will ever excel in virtue if he has had … [a bad] upbringing. We repeat that this is the point the legislator must look out for” (696a). The reason the statesman must look out for it is because the state cannot abide citizens who are merely effective craftsmen or physicians or politicians, and are vicious. Even though they bring important skills to the community these citizens will ultimately prevent the society from being able “to survive to enjoy all the happiness that mankind can achieve” (697b). Therefore the leader must provide a moral education for all citizens, so that they may be; prevented from getting into the habit of feeling pleasure and pain in ways not sanctioned by the law and those who have been persuaded to obey it; he should follow in their footsteps and find pleasure and pain in the things of the old. That is why we have what we call songs, which are really ‘charms’ for the soul. (659d)

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The Athenian argues that this education must be offered to every community member—no matter what their caste—and all members must remind each other of what it means to live virtuously. He claims “that every man and child, free-man and slave, male and female—in fact, the whole state—is in duty bound never to stop repeating to each the charms” (665c; see also 696a–b). This is why the political leader “must think of every device to ensure that as far as possible the entire community preserves in its songs and stories and doctrines an absolute and lifelong unanimity” (664a). The fact leaders must provide for the cultivation of virtue in the members of the community brings us to another piece of evidence that the main purpose of the Laws is educational. In the last pages of the dialogue, the Athenian claims that there must be a core of wise and virtuous “guardians” who must be the leaders of the community—statesmen who will be “the expounders, teachers, and lawgivers” of the society and who provide educational guidance for those who need it (964b–d). These leaders are to be the “soul and the head” of the society and must employ “reason” to guide members of the community. But how do reason and the senses combine to ensure the safety of a ship, in fair weather or foul? Isn’t it because captain and crew interpret sense-data by reason, as embodied in the expertise captains have, that they keep themselves and the whole ship safe? …. And if the ruler of a state were obviously ignorant of the target at which a statesman should aim, would he really deserve his title “ruler”? Would he be capable of ensuring the safety of an institution whose purpose he entirely failed to appreciate? …. Well then, in the present circumstances, if our settlement of this territory is to be finished off properly, it looks as if we shall have to provide it with some constituent that understands (a) this target we have mentioned—the target, whatever we find it is, of the statesman, (b) how to hit it, and (c) which laws (above all) and which persons have helpful advice to give and which not. If a state lacks such a constituent, no one will be surprised to see it staggering from one irrational and senseless expedient to another in all its affairs. (Laws, 961e-962c) Plato argues that any community that does not have (1) a group of competent leaders, (2) who have full knowledge of virtue, and (3) who can cultivate that virtue in their subjects, has no chance of becoming a just state. Therefore, all of the laws that Plato communicates in the first 300 pages, are not enough for creating a truly just state unless there is a group of leaders who act virtuously at all times, and, additionally who know the ultimate nature of virtue. Unfortunately, Plato claims that these leaders are not born with virtues innate to them; they must be educated in them. Moreover, Plato does not believe that such leaders exist in his time and place. This creates a problem. If leaders are not born virtuous, and if they do not already exist, then those with the

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potential to be leaders must be found and then educated to become fully virtuous. Plato must therefore find a group of potential leaders who are virtueseeking and willing to undergo a rehabituation process to become virtuous and then undergo a philosophical education to become fully wise. If he could find such people, then they might become a state’s future leaders. In the very last sentences of the dialogue, the Athenian claims: Athenian: We thought of our combined metaphor of head and intellect, of which we mentioned a moment ago, as idealistic dreaming—but it will all come true, provided the council members are rigorously selected, properly educated, and after the completion of their studies lodged in the citadel of the country and made into guardians whose powers of protection we have never seen excelled in our lives before. Megillus: My dear Clinias, judging from what we’ve heard said, either we’ll have to abandon the project of founding the state or refuse to let our visitor leave us, and by entreaties and every ruse we can think of enroll him as a partner in the foundation of the state. Clinias: You’re quite right, Megillus. That’s what I am going to do. (969b-d) Megillus’ and Clinias’ remarks to the Athenian illustrate what Plato wants the reader to learn from the dialogue. They understand that the entirety of the Laws was meant to be preparation that is meant help them see the fundamental principle of forming a fully just state: the creation of virtuous statesmen. Their responses reflect what Plato hopes to communicate to his readers—namely, that the creation of a just political constitution will not guarantee a just society. In order to create a just society, the fundamental task is not first to create its constitution, but first to cultivate virtuous leaders. The problem is that such leaders do not come into being ex nihilo; they must be carefully selected based on intellectual and moral aptitudes and then given a rigorous education to turn those aptitudes into realities. Thus, to create virtuous statesmen, one must cultivate virtuous people, and from them chose those who have the most promise and provide them a moral and philosophical education. Plato lays out this plan in the Laws, which I will now turn.

The plan for the philosophical education of leaders In order to understand Plato’s requirements for the education of Magnesia’s guardians, we need to look at the qualities required to be chosen as leaders. First, the guardians must ultimately be capable of achieving all the virtues found in the average citizen of Magnesia, but they must also have the potential to complete, philosophical knowledge of the virtues. The Athenian claims that “No one who is unable to rise above the level of the ordinary virtues will ever be good enough to govern an entire state, but only assist government carried

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on by others” (968a). Of course, the Athenian is not suggesting that guardians must have different virtues that are superior to the virtues of the average citizen. Rising “above the level of ordinary virtues” means knowing what it is about the virtuous that makes them virtuous. However, before potential leaders can be educated into this knowledge they must be identified. The guardians of Magnesia need to prove they have the potential for intellectual and moral excellence. The Athenian argues that “candidates [are] qualified for the office of guardian by age, intellectual attainments, moral character and way of life” (968d). These candidates “must be particularly concerned with those studies which promise, if pursued, to further their researches by throwing light on legislative problems that would otherwise remain difficult and obscure” (952a). They also need to have “won awards of distinction” and must be “well qualified by natural abilities and education” (961a-961c). Moreover, they must be “chosen for their natural gifts and the acuteness of their mental vision” and need to have a fine memory in order to “store up in their memory all the sensations they receive” in their early education. The guardians must take these natural gifts and combine them with philosophical training so that they can provide “a full explanation and description of the effects of virtue and vice” (964b-e). The goal is to: make sure our guardians are more highly qualified than the man in the street to explain what virtue is and put it into practice. How else could our state function like the head and sense of a wise man, now that it possesses within itself something analogous to protect it? (965d)

What is it that constitutes the wisdom needed to govern Magnesia? It is understanding the essence of virtue itself. So it looks as if we have to compel the guardians of our divine foundation to get an exact idea of the common element in all the four virtues—that factor which, though single, is to be found in courage, restraint, justice and wisdom, and thus in our view deserves the general title “virtue.” This element, my friends, if only we have the will, is what we must grip until we can explain adequately the essence of what we have to contemplate, whether it is a single entity, a composite whole, or both, or whatever. (965c-d) Clinias agrees that this perfect level of knowledge is the ultimate goal for the guardians and agrees that they must come up with an education that could achieve it. Unfortunately, the Athenian then suggests that they “postpone the question of method” until later. The problem is that when he returns to the question of method on the last page of the Laws, he claims that it will “be a waste of time to produce” regulations about the curriculum because the

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leaders’ “curriculum must be decided by those who have already mastered the necessary branches of knowledge—and only previous instruction and plenty of intimate discussion will settle such matters as that” (968c). How does one come to master the necessary branches of knowledge? The answer is: dialectics.

Dialectics in the Laws To see the role of dialectics in the Laws, we need to return to Plato’s educational goal in the Laws. Plato is concerned about the lack of virtue in Athens and in his readers. He thinks that most human beings do not know what virtue is, and even if they do know, they do not desire to live according to it. He hopes to alter this and composes his dialogues with the desire to cultivate virtue in people in the near term, and hopes that if he can convert enough people to virtue, then a moral community could someday come into being. In spite of his pessimism regarding the current state of human beings, he believes that there are some individuals who understand virtue and want to live virtuous lives. He hopes that these people will read his texts and will try to convert other people to virtue. The former people already desire virtue and therefore they do not need to be convinced. Nevertheless, Plato wants to offer these virtue-seeking individuals instruction on how to create a virtuous state. Plato writes the Laws for these people. The Laws offers general educational principles that could serve as the foundation for a system of education that could help to transform a society. Interpreters have noted that whereas the Republic demands that philosopherkings be educated in dialectics and develop a full knowledge of virtue before they begin to rule, the Laws does not require Magnesia’s guardians to have a perfect understanding of virtue before they become leaders—they receive on the job training unlike the philosopher-kings. What does their on the job education consist in? Daily dialogue with other guardians regarding statesmanship and virtue. This council, which should consist partly of young men and partly of old, must have a strict rule to meet daily from dawn until the sun is well up in the sky … No member should attend alone: each is to bring a young man of his own choice, aged between thirty and forty. The discussion at their meetings must always center around their own state, the problems of legislation, and any other important point relevant to such topics that they may discover from external sources. ‘(951d-952a) Importantly, this passage describes the way the council is to have dialogue about issues of leadership and legislation. Dialogue functions as the necessary dialectical education. This is made clear several pages later, when the Athenian gives an illustration of the way discussions proceed in the examination and education of junior guardians (961a-c). In this demonstration, the potential guardian is asked questions and is required to give answers concerning the essence of virtue.

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Now it is the turn of the statesman’s reason to be investigated. Let’s personify it and ask the following question: ‘My good sir, what aim do you have in view? What is your single overriding purpose? The intelligent doctor can identify his accurately enough, so can’t you, with all your superior wisdom (as I supposed you’d claim), identify yours?’ (963B) After Clinias does not answer the question correctly, the Athenian offers a better answer concerning the acquirement of virtue. The Athenian then asks Clinias to play the role of the questioner, so that Clinias can see how dialectics functions. Athenian: Here’s the question for you to put to me: “Why is it that after calling both by a single term ‘virtue’, in the next breath we speak of two ‘virtues’, courage and wisdom?” I’ll tell you why. One of them, courage, copes with fear, and is found in wild animals as well as human beings, notably in the characters of very young children … So there’s your explanation of why there are two different virtues. Now, it’s your turn: you tell me why they are one and the same thing … Next after that we ought to ask ourselves what constitutes adequate knowledge of any object that has a name and a definition: is it enough to know only the name and the definition? On the contrary, if a man is worth his salt, wouldn’t it be a disgrace in him not to understand all these points about a topic so grand and so important? (963e-964b) This exchange depicts the fundamentals of dialectic, with a formal questioning and answering about leadership and virtue followed by further questions that more deeply probe these questions. After completing the demonstration the Athenian claims that the reason an education in dialectics is needed is because it can help “make sure our guardians are more highly qualified than the man in the street to explain what virtue is, and to put it into practice” (964d). However, it should be noted that when a guardian knows “more than the man in the street” it does not mean their education is at an end. Rather, Plato argues that in the continued discussions of the council, after the initial education in dialectics is over, the junior and senior members continue to use dialectics to deepen their knowledge. The older members are meant to “take advantage of the assistance and advice of their juniors in debating policy, so that the joint efforts of both ranks effectively ensure the safety of the entire state” (965a). Although the guardians “must have genuine knowledge of [the laws’] real nature…[and] must be articulate enough to explain the real difference between good actions and bad” (966b), it is clear that they do not have perfect knowledge of virtue and leadership, or they would not need “debate policy” or require “joint efforts” to “ensure the safety of the

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state.” Were the guardians to have perfect knowledge of virtue, then the proper way to legislate in every situation would be clear to them and it would be unnecessary to debate, nor would there be any fear for the safety of the community.

Finding and cultivating virtuous leaders With an understanding of Plato’s vision of political leadership, we are now in a position to determine how Plato intends to find suitably qualified leaders. If Plato’s political vision is to become a reality, he must find individuals who can become inspirational leaders who can convince citizens they can be trusted as leaders. Plato thinks that the hope for society-wide cultural reform lies in the cultivation of virtuous people who can be future leaders of society. Plato hopes that if he can find these leaders, they may become inspirations to other citizens, but the difficulty is that these future leaders do not exist; thus, he must try to discover more of them. The more of these leaders he finds, the more impact they will have as a group. The question then becomes how to find and educate these future leaders. The problem is that Plato thinks that for people to become virtuous they must be rigorously habituated through. Unfortunately, Plato believes that except for those relatively rare individuals who were habituated in the virtues by their parents, most individuals have been poorly brought-up and therefore have been habituated viciously. And even those individuals who were welleducated by their parents, may have become corrupted by the masses (496a-d) and may no longer pursue virtue. This leads to the problem that there will be very few people who are virtuous enough to be the leaders of society. Since the political and educational plan found in the Laws cannot be implemented without leaders, Plato must find an alternative method of providing the necessary habituation. Unfortunately, he knows that his adult readers will likely refuse to be habituated by compulsion, and therefore he must find a way to inspire them to want to undergo a process of rehabituation. He hopes that if he inspires the right people to do so there may be others who also have the innate talents to become leaders who can join Plato in his desire to rehabituate others.

The relevance of Plato’s ideal for contemporary political leadership Do Plato’s ideas have any relevance for today’s political leadership? Plato’s most significant insight for us today is the necessity of a particular type of moral education. For Plato, leaders must be completely virtuous individuals who can lead others in the creation of a virtuous state, and they must also be moral educators. Obviously, modern Western democracies have not realized this vision. Indeed, citizens often learn the opposite from our public officials. Our leaders are sometimes models of vice rather than virtue. Therefore, we are left

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with the same circularity problem Plato had; we need leaders who are moral educators in order to create moral citizens, but it is currently extremely difficult to create them because we do not have an adequate number of moral leaders who can serve as moral exemplars. Moreover, just like Plato, we do not have a system of moral education in place that would cultivate moral leaders and moral citizens, precisely because such an education system would require moral leaders to create it. How do we end this vicious cycle? Plato offers us a solution, albeit a modest one. In the so-called “Seventh Letter,” Plato describes how dialogue can achieve the kind of moral transformations needed to begin the production of moral leaders.1 Plato argues that dialogue has a unique power to briefly transform individuals’ conceptions of the good life, such that they may leave the dialogue with a desire to live differently. Simply lecturing students or presenting them with treatises on appropriate moral behavior will not produce the desired moral transformation. Rather, a specific mode of dialogue can produce flashes of insights in students in regard to the virtues. These epiphanic flashes have the potential to create temporary desires in the interlocutors to live virtuously. These epiphanic insights can occur in any environment, even in contemporary classrooms. Virtue-seeking teachers can have dialogues with students that are aimed at producing epiphanies. In the “Seventh Letter,” Plato describes the power dialogue has to transform individuals when he recounts the transformation of Dion, the advisor to the tyrant Dionysius II of Syracuse, claiming that through conversation Dion had come to understand virtue and to desire the virtuous life. Plato relates that Dion “recalled our conversations together and how effectively they had aroused in him the desire for a life of nobility and virtue” (327d). Plato then confirms Dion’s radical change stating that he “listened with a zeal and attentiveness I had never encountered in any young man, and he resolved to spend the rest of his life differently from most Italians and Sicilians, since he had come to love virtue more than pleasure and luxury” (327b-c). Dion had a glimpse of virtue and a revelation of why it is preferable to live a virtuous life as opposed to a life of luxury and pleasure. How did his love of virtue develop? According to Plato’s educational philosophy, these kind of desires are present only in those individuals who were given a proper education in their youths—a habituation in virtue. I call ‘education’ the initial acquisition of virtue by the child, when the feelings of pleasure and affection, pain and hatred, that well up in his soul are channeled in the right courses before he can understand the reason why. Then when he does understand, his reason and his emotions agree in telling him that he has been properly trained by inculcation of appropriate habits. Virtue is the general accord of reason and emotion. (Laws, 635b)

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But Plato makes it clear that Dion was raised in the lifestyle of the Syracusans, which involved: men gorging themselves twice a day and never sleeping alone at night, and following all the other customs that go along with this way of living… and spending their all on excesses, and being easygoing about everything except the feasts and the drinking bouts and the pleasures of love that they pursue with professional zeal. (326b-d) Despite this poor habituation, Dion’s desires were transformed into desiring the virtues. How did this come about? According to Plato, Dion’s desires were temporarily transformed through dialogue, in which Plato and Dion discussed “what was best for men.” Through their dialogues, Plato “urged [Dion] to put [the virtues] into practice” and Dion “resolved to spend the rest of his life differently from most Italians and Sicilians” (327a-b). In numerous places in his writings, Plato claims that the reformation of individuals raised to prefer vice is more or less impossible (Republic 492e; Seventh Letter 326c), so the reversal of Dion’s goals and desires is remarkable because Dion even freely admitted that it was not until after his discussions with Plato that he conceived of the worth of virtue (327b). We therefore see that Dion was convinced that virtue is desirable and vice and desirable, so how did Plato manage this transformation? Plato explains that if someone is to develop a radically different understanding of virtue’s desirability, they cannot be simply lectured on the topic, like what might happen if they were just being taught straight information. For this knowledge is not something that can be put into words like other sciences; but after long-continued intercourse between teacher and pupil, in joint pursuit of the subject, suddenly, like light flashing forth when a fire is kindled, it is born in the soul and straightaway nourishes itself. (SL, 341c) Plato explains further, claiming that this kind of knowledge isn’t able to be placed in “books and lectures,” even if he happens to be the author of them. This epiphanic flash of knowledge in a person’s soul is an outcome of dialogue. Apparently, then, in a particular kind of dialogue, someone who does not already possess knowledge of the virtues is able to achieve an epiphany of virtue—a vision that is then able to lead to a desire to live a life of virtue. This vision signifies a brief, potent, and inevitably incomplete, preview of the highest level of virtue. Plato later explains that we know this glimpse is both brief and incomplete because he states that until one has been rigorously rehabituated in virtue they “will never fully attain knowledge of [virtue]” (342e). Therefore, while the epiphanic flash that Dion had did indeed “nourish itself”, it did not make him completely virtuous—for this to happen he would have to

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be re-habituated, which is the reason why he “resolved to spend the rest of his life differently … since he had come to love virtue more than pleasure and luxury” (327b). Like Plato, Dion understood that his epiphany had only started him on the road that lead to complete virtue and that years of habituation would be required before he actually achieved it. Similar epiphanies are achieved in the Alcibiades I, the Republic (with Glaucon), and the Lysis. Dialogue, moral education and the cultivation of virtuous leaders We are now left with the question concerning the contemporary relevance of Plato’s theory regarding political leadership. Is there anything we can learn from his ideas concerning the role of political leaders as paragons of virtue and moral educators? The most obvious thing we can learn is the importance of having such leaders, even if currently they do not exist. If our leaders were paragons of virtue and inspired others to be virtuous themselves, our democracies would flourish to a greater degree. Now we must find such leaders—and Plato gives us some advice about how to do so through his theory of dialogue. According to Plato, even if virtuous political leaders do not exist; and even if we do not have an education system which can effectively create them en masse, we can still use dialogue to inspire future leaders to want to undertake a rehabituation in virtue. What would these dialogues look like? Plato does not give us a systematic answer, but we can glean a few general principles. As I have argued elsewhere (Jonas, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018), the dialogue that Plato has in mind is not the kind of dialogue that is often referred to as “Socratic dialogue” which is a staple of many K-16 classrooms. Teachers from around the world and across all the grades use a form of dialogue in which they ask students questions in order to help students discover their own beliefs and also help them appreciate the perspectives of others. While these kinds of dialogues are important and can improve students’ ability to think deeply about moral issues, Plato thinks that they are less likely to create the moral epiphanies he hopes to promote. Plato believes that the epiphanic mode of dialogue does not happen in discussion in which teachers merely provides a space for dialogical engagement, where students are allowed to express their opinions and are asked follow-up questions that deepen their understanding. Instead, teachers must carefully construct dialogues in ways which bring out specific moral epiphanies. According to Plato, moral epiphanies rarely happen accidently or serendipitously but require tremendous forethought and careful execution. To achieve them the teacher must move beyond the mere asking of questions that are determined by the dialogue itself, but must ask them in a way that leads students to have particular experiences. Socrates does this first by creating aporia and disorientation in his interlocutors, which prepares the ground for potential epiphanies, but then he follows up (in at least some of his dialogues) by leading his interlocutors to come to their own moral knowledge. He never precisely tells them what to believe but he helps them “see” what they should believe.

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Conclusion If Plato is correct regarding dialogue’s potential to spark epiphanies about virtue in students—ones that cause students to have a strong desire to begin to live differently, then we can be hopeful that, even though we lack political leaders who are role-models in the virtues, we can encourage our students to be virtuous, and then a few of them will become political leaders who will in turn inculcate the virtues in their citizens. While the chance of a complete reformation of our society is slight, we must focus on reforming the individuals within our reach in the hope that they will eventually do the same. Therefore, we may have the modest hope of creating a few virtuous individuals who will one day be capable of affecting society beyond what we ourselves can reach.

Note 1 The authenticity of the Seventh Letter has never been established. While most commentators regard it as authentic, others do not. Those who claim its authenticity include: Post (1929, p. 5–24); Ritter (1910, p. 232–3); Kahn (1996, p. 388–92; 2015); Morrow (1929, p. 326–48; 1962, p. 44–81); Deane (1973, p. 113–7); Robinson (1967, p. 141–3); Hoerber (1966, p. 14–6); Gulley (1968, p. 88–9); Solmsen (1969, p. 29–34); Bluck (1949, p. 503–9); De Blois (1979, p. 268–83); Stenzel (1953, p. 383–97); Ledger (1989, p. 148–50); Brandwood (1969, 1–25). Of these, Morrow, Post, De Blois, Stenzel, and Brandwood offer the most rigorous attempts to prove authenticity. Those who claim its inauthenticity include: Edelstein (1966); Boas (1948; p. 439–57); Levison, Morton, & Winspear (1968, p. 309–25); Caskey (1974, p. 220–7); Schofield (2000, p. 298–302); Gulley (1972, p. 103–43) Annas (1991, p. 239). Of these, Edelstein, Boas, Levison, Morton & Winspear, and Gulley offer the most rigorous attempts to prove inauthenticity.

Bibliography Annas, J. (1991). Classical Greek philosophy. In J. Boardman, J. Griffin, & O. Murray, The Oxford History of Greece and the Hellenistic World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 239. Bluck, R. S. (1949). Plato's biography: The seventh letter. The Philosophical Review, 58 (5), 503–509. Boas, G. (1948). Fact and legend in the biography of Plato. The Philosophical Review, 57 (5), 439–457. Bobonich, C. (2002). Plato’s Utopia Recast: His Later Ethics and Politics. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Brandwood, L. (1969). Plato’s seventh letter, Revue de Organisation Internationale pour l’Etude des Langues anciennes par Ordinateur 4(1), 1–25. Caskey, E. G. (1974). Again-Plato’s seventh letter. Classical Philology, 69(3), 220–227. Deane, P. (1973). Stylometrics do not exclude the Seventh Letter. Mind, LXXXII(325), 113–117. De Blois, L. (1979). Some notes on Plato’s seventh epistle. Mnemosyne, 32(3–4), 268–283. Edelstein, L. (1966). Plato’s Seventh Letter, (Philosophia antiqua, v. 14). Leiden: E.J. Brill. Gulley, N. (1968). The Philosophy of Socrates, vol.1. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 88–89.

Making citizens virtuous 169 Gulley, N. (1972). The authenticity of the Platonic Epistles. Pseudepigrapha. Vandoeuvres-Genève: Fond. Hardt, 103–143. Hoerber, R. G. (1966). Review [review of Plato’s Seventh Letter]. The Classical World, 60(1), 14–16. Jonas, M. (2015). Education for epiphany: The case of Plato’s Lysis. Educational Theory, 65(1), 39–52. Jonas, M., Nakazawa, Y., Braun, J., (2012). Appetite, reason, and education in Socrates’ City of Pigs. Phronesis: A Journal for Ancient Philosophy, 57(4), 332–357. Jonas, M. (2016). Plato’s anti-Kohlbergian program for moral education. Journal of Philosophy of Education, 50(2), 205–217. Jonas, M. (2017). Plato on the necessity of imitation and habituation for the cultivation of the virtues. In D. Carr, J. Arthur, & K. Kristjánsson (Eds.), Varieties of Virtue Ethics. London: Palgrave, 233–248. Jonas, M. (2018). Plato on dialogue as a method for cultivating the virtues. In T. Harrison and D. Walker (Eds.), The Theory and Practice of Virtue Education, 85–97. Kahn, C. (1996). Plato and the Socratic Dialogues: The Philosophical use of a Literary Form. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kahn, C. (November, 2015). Review of The Pseudo-Platonic Seventh Letter by Myles Burnyeat and Michael Frede. Notre Dame Philosophical Reviews. Ledger, R. (1989). Re-counting Plato: A Computer Analysis of Plato’s Style. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 148–150. Levison, M., MortonA. Q., & Winspear, A. D. (1968). The seventh letter of Plato. Mind, LXXVII(307), 309–325. Morrow, G. (1929). The theory of knowledge in Plato’s seventh epistle. The Philosophical Review, 38(4), 326–349. Morrow, G. R. (1962). Plato’s epistles: A translation with critical essays and notes. (Revised edn.) Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 44–81. Post, L. A. (1929). The preludes to Plato’s Laws. Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association, 60(1), 5–24. Ritter, C. (1910). Neue Untersuchungen über Platon. Munich: Beck, 232–233. Robinson, T. M. (1967). Review of Plato’s Seventh Letter by Ludwig Edelstein. Classical Association of Canada, 21(2). Schofield, M. (2000). Plato and practical politics. In C. J. Rowe & M. Schofield (Eds.), The Cambridge History of Greek and Roman Political Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 293–302. Solmsen, F. (1969). Review of Plato’s seventh letter by Ludwig Edelstein. Gnomon, 41, 29–34. Stenzel, B. (1953). Is Plato’s seventh epistle spurious? The American Journal of Philology, 74 (4), 383–397.

Chapter 12

Rethinking self-interest and the public good American homeschoolers

Mary Elliot and Jeffrey S. Dill

Introduction The population of homeschooled children in the United States has grown rapidly in the last 30 years: the National Center for Education Statistics estimates that the population has doubled since 1999, growing from 1.7 percent of all students to 3.4 percent in 2012, with the total population figure at 1.77 million for 2012 (Redford, Battle, & Bielick, 2017).1 As the population grows, so do its critics. Some scholars argue that homeschooling is potentially dangerous for liberal democratic societies. Homeschooling cannot cultivate ‘public’ virtue, they suggest, precisely because it is ‘private’ in its orientation – it is focused on the self-interest of the family and its needs and wants, not the good of the public sphere (Apple, 2000; Curren & Blokhuis, 2011; Dwyer, 2016; Lubienski, 2000; Reich, 2005; Ross, 2010). Public schools, they suggest, are better suited for cultivating public virtue because they create diverse environments and teach tolerance and understanding across differences. Lubienski (2000) critiques homeschooling on these grounds, arguing that it is intrinsically against the ‘common good’ because it elevates ‘private goods over public goods’ (p. 207). Mass education is a public good with positive economic externalities, where ‘“society” is a “consumer” of education, enjoying the benefits of an educated populace’ (Lubienski, 2000, p. 211). Homeschooling is ironic, because at the same time that our society recognizes education as ‘arguably the institution most open to public input through traditions of local control, elections, millages, and school conferences,’ homeschooling families claim that there is ‘no legitimate public interest’ in education (Lubienski, 2000, p. 214). Homeschooling, Lubienski tells us, ‘does not simply throw off balance the symbiosis between public and private interests in education. It throws it out’ (2000, p. 215). These criticisms are plausible: homeschooling does seem to withdraw around the individual self-interest of the family, disengaging from the public good of the local school. The question of whether homeschooling undermines liberal democracy (in the USA or elsewhere) appears to be a question that will continue to generate debate, especially if the population continues to grow. And

Rethinking self-interest and the public good 171 Table 12.1 Demographic Data

Race/Ethnicity

Parent Gender Student Gender Marital Status

Parent Education

Household Income (missing 3 cases)

Religious Attendance

Political Affiliation

White (Non-Hispanic) White (Mixed Marriage) Black (Non-Hispanic) Hispanic Female Male Female Male Single, never married Married Divorced High School Some college/technical Four-year degree Graduate degree Less than $30,000 $30,000-$49,999 $50,000-$74,999 $75,000-$99,999 $100,000 or more Never Once/twice a year Once a month Weekly or more Democrat Republican Other

N

%

28 4 2 1 33 2 16 19 1 32 2 3 6 19 7 2 2 7 6 14 6 1 4 24 9 20 6

80 11 6 3 94 6 45 55 3 91 6 9 17 54 20 6 6 20 17 40 17 3 11 69 26 57 17

while that question itself is not only an empirical question, the empirical questions that spring from it seem quite significant given the substance of the critiques. Asking one such question is where our study begins: what do homeschoolers themselves think about this ‘private goods’ vs. ‘public goods’ framing of their educational choices?

Data and method Data in this chapter are drawn from an interview-based study of homeschoolers and includes 62 interviews from 35 families in 11 states around the USA from

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Figure 12.1 Map of interview locations

2013–2016.2 The study targeted specific regions of the country for participant recruitment, and we made initial contact with local homeschool groups, usually at the state level, who in turn circulated an informational document about the study through their email listserve. As interested participants responded, they answered some general screening and demographic questions so we could build a targeted, purposive sample that captured the diversity in the homeschool population within the limits of our small sample size. It should be noted that given the constraints of this sampling procedure, the study sample is not representative of the homeschool population. See Table 12.1 for sample data and Figure 12.1 for a map of interview locations. We acknowledge that given the challenges of sampling in this population, there are various selection effects at work in our sample; families that are more interested, aware, and articulate about their public concerns in homeschooling are more likely to select into a study such as ours. Families that are more isolated and consciously withdrawn from public interests are less likely to select into the study. To reiterate, our sample is not representative of the homeschool population and thus we cannot generalize any conclusions we reach from our sample to the larger homeschool population. In spite of these sampling challenges, the data offer insights into homeschoolers’ perceptions and practices. Such perceptions are never ‘merely’ ideas isolated within individual minds; the human imagination is a powerful force, and perceptions have a way of palpably structuring the parameters of social life and interactions. In order to explore the relationship between homeschoolers’ perceptions and political narrations, we used a phenomenological approach to

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analyzing and interpreting the data in this chapter. Although our interview questions followed a basic shared pattern from the larger collaborative project (see note 2), we were particularly interested in how homeschoolers understand themselves and their actions as educators in the context of a late-modern liberal democracy where the act of homeschooling could be viewed as an antidemocratic, self-interested withdrawal from the public good. As we coded and analyzed the data, it became clear that homeschoolers in the sample hold unconventional understandings of ‘private’ and ‘public’ life, and the relation of those spaces to the kind of educational institutions many of these families are seeking for their children and, perhaps, for themselves.

Self-interest Annie Donald3 is a non-religious unschooling4 mom from a Mid-Atlantic state where she lives in a modest split-level home in a suburban neighborhood. Annie, whose spouse is a web designer, worked in marketing before shifting to part-time project jobs when she began homeschooling her two children. When asked to respond to a criticism of homeschooling that says it withdraws around private interests and ignores the public good of education, Annie seemed quite certain: It’s not an esoteric argument for me. This is the one shot my kids have at an education. The system is obviously broken. I don’t think there is any argument on whether or not it’s a working system or not. And I don’t want to risk my kids’ future on “Maybe they’ll get it together while they’re in school.” It seems clear that Annie’s ‘self-interest’, or her interest in her own children’s education, is her first priority in her homeschool decision. We suggested that if a highly motivated homeschool mom like her were to become involved in the public school, perhaps she could impact the ‘broken’ system. Annie didn’t buy it: I don’t think that a single parent has that much control over any – what am I gonna do, go in and say…? You know, I don’t have a control over the public school, what they’re gonna do while my kids are there. I just don’t. Callie Marks, a former public school elementary teacher, lives in a one story house in a medium-sized city in the South. She and her spouse, a pastor at a local Protestant church, homeschool their four children. But she didn’t plan on homeschooling. She told us: We’re real community people. I love knowing my neighbors and being involved in the community so I just assumed that when my kid turned five I would just send them to the local public school around the block because

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what better way to know your neighbors and be involved in the community? And that was just a no-brainer to me. But when her oldest turned five, although Callie knew the teachers in the school and thought they were ‘wonderful people,’ they couldn’t ‘control what those kids are bringing into the environment.’ Callie says she wasn’t ready to turn her son over to the school and ‘send him off for eight hours a day – it just seemed, kind of, a real sad idea.’ For Callie and similar homeschool moms, a desire to maintain the tight and intimate mother-child bond is a key motivator for homeschooling, especially in their early years. Presumably, she made the calculation that such a bond was more important than the ‘no-brainer’ of being involved in the community by sending her kids to local public schools. We asked Callie if she was at all compelled by an interest to contribute to a public good, involving herself in the local school by sending her kids there and participating to improve it. She said: I kind of get that, but it feels a little bit like a cost-benefit ratio. I could sacrifice 35 hours a week with my kids and a whole lot of my time and energy to go and beat my head against a very established system that I personally probably am not the one to do a lot about. Now, if I had ten other moms and we all decided to go rush the schools, enroll our kids, and – that could appeal to me. I would be open to that, but I don’t have that. Like Annie, Callie sees little opportunity to change the system, and against those odds she prefers to focus on her own children. Carol Scott was even more direct. When we suggested the criticism that homeschoolers are only interested in their own good, not a larger public good, she agreed: ‘They’re exactly right.’ Carol is a religious homeschooler with three teenage children, whose spouse is a physician. They live in a large, newly built home on a cul-da-sac in a fairly rural area in a Midwestern state. Carol was clear that her children are her first priority: Because of my Christian worldview, I believe strongly that God gave us these children and my responsibility is to raise these children, not everyone else’s children. I need to have an input where I can be a servant and participate, but then at the end of the day, it’s these three that I have ultimate – we are gonna answer before the Lord for. Yeah, I definitely want to pour into these three. These three are my goal. Carol’s vision of the world seems to be a kind of zero-sum game, and she’s focused on her own children, ‘not everyone else’s.’ When we followed up with her and suggested that some Christians might feel compelled to love their neighbor, and that might include loving your neighbor’s children, she responded:

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I’m gonna say it’s possible that I could do more good. But I’m completely convinced/convicted that, at least for our family, this is the best way for us to prepare our kids to be, to impact and to love those around them in society. Simran Berner is a Mormon unschooling mom in a Western state. Without a college degree and on her second marriage, Simran is a second-generation homeschooler. Simran has grown to see homeschooling as deeply aligned with a view of the family as central, a view she sees as rooted in her Mormon faith. We asked her what she thinks about the criticism that homeschooling, in its withdrawal, does not contribute to the public good, and whether she has conversations with her children about what it means to be a good citizen. Simran was clear: ‘My first consideration is not what is good for the public sector. My first consideration is what is good for my family.’ These homeschoolers, for varying reasons, seem to make a ‘cost-benefit’ analysis when weighing their educational options, and all make a calculation that homeschooling their children is in their best interest. That is, the costs are lower, and benefits greater, to focus their attention on their own kids through homeschooling than through their participation in any public good of the local school. For homeschooling critics, the story here is simple: our data suggest what they predicted, that homeschooling families are overly self-interested; that they ‘indicate a preference for an economic-style approach to public life,’ where they can not only pursue private interests but also be free to ‘define their own “good”’ apart from ‘the idea of public production of civic virtue’ (Lubienski, 2000, pp. 227, 228). Keeping this interpretation on the table, we offer another. The homeschoolers in our study challenge their critics, and perhaps even their own self-telling; we suggest that their experiences of homeschooling tell a story about what it might mean to pursue ‘common goods’, as distinct from private interests or public goods. Though they (and their theoretical critics) often lack a way of articulating their actions in regards to public/private goods outside of that of economic analysis, we trace such a limitation of language as likely a symptom of our dominant political and economic order, arguing that it may not accurately capture what these homeschoolers tell us about their work to educate their children in light of citizenship and virtue. We suggest that revising an older conception of common goods offers a more accurate interpretation of the actions of homeschoolers in our study, one that accounts for the negative narrative that unites them as well as the legitimate concerns of critics about their impact on liberal democracy.5

The root of public goods The idea of ‘self-interest’ as an economic concept is often drawn from Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations.6 But Hannah Arendt and others see its roots much earlier than Smith’s invisible hand, sourcing it in an ancient boundary between

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private and public life, with the private home as the oikos (the source of economic life).7 In her turn to the Greeks, Arendt is clear that such a private sphere of the household is separate from politics, but she notes that the idea of material self-interest as a motivating factor for politics has its seeds in Aristotle, ‘who was the first to claim that interest, which he called the συμφέρον [sympheron], that which is useful for a person or for a group or for a people, does and should rule supreme in political matters’ (1971, p. 14). Self-interest, despite its name, was conceptualized as driving citizens towards public goods, not away from them. Arendt, however, isn’t the first to write a genealogy of self-interest that ties it to public goods. For Alexis de Tocqueville, ‘self-interest’ is, as his predecessors theorized, a striving towards material well-being, one that leads citizens to submit not only to market forces but also to the administration of an impersonal government, driving them towards individualism. Despite its dangers, Tocqueville saw in Americans the possibility of a utilitarian ‘enlightenment’ of such interests, which could educate them into understanding individual interest as tied with the interests of one’s neighbors and with the rule of government (2002, p. 501 [II.ii.8]). For Tocqueville, the public good was rooted in a market ethic of self-interest, but an enlightened self-interest that drew individuals towards a shared good. Civic and political associations might form in citizens the fraternal desire and ability to pursue, undertake, and direct common affairs. But Tocqueville hoped that what could ultimately secure the governing of men – and force citizens outside of their private love of well-being – was an enlightened doctrine of self-interest, one that could accommodate the darkness of private desire introduced into the ideals of political life. To say that something is a ‘public good’ is best understood in the context of stories like these – ones often told by political and economic theorists who developed the concept by wrestling with the solitary question of interest as the motivating ground of economic transactions (MacIntyre, 2016, p. 98). While public goods began as more negative governmental protections, goods such as ‘military and naval security from external threats, law and order, the building and maintenance of roads,’ over time we have added others, like central banks, social security, healthcare and education (MacIntyre, 2016, p. 168). Though we now think of public goods as democratic services in that they are offered to all citizens through an impersonal state, the origin of public goods reveals their identity as economic goods, things that individuals living in advanced nation-states cannot provide for themselves but need in order to be successful as individuals in modern life. Thus, while public goods may serve as the furnishing for the kind of civic and political associations that Tocqueville wrote of, they are guided by individual interests rather than the common action necessary to sustain democratic life. Our time – and our understanding of the public – differs greatly from Aristotle’s. But what hasn’t changed, as Arendt concludes, is that our individual interests, ‘whether they spring from the dark desires of the heart or from the obscure necessities of the household, have never been notably “enlightened”’ (1971, p. 132). When the market ethic of self-interest is understood as the drive

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behind public goods, the concept falls short of accounting for important kinds of democratic action. Homeschoolers, located between the public, political impulse of education and the private sphere of the economic household, bring these tensions and confusions to light, raising questions about the relationship between the good of education and liberal democracy. What if we began to look at the movement as in search of a common good,8 a concept that has always defied such boundaries?

Cultivating the common Asked what they make of criticisms that argue homeschooling is not contributing to the public good but rather withdrawing from it, the homeschoolers in our study lack the language and theoretical background to argue that they contribute to ‘common goods’ or act as ‘civic associations’. Like the rest of us, their language is dominated by concepts of the market and the state, which narrows thinking – particularly into the public/private dichotomy. But some families found ways of answering this question by talking about how they spend their time, and, often, their conception of a good citizen was not limited to (or even primarily understood as) political involvement.9 Pursuing education as a common good, some of the families in our sample help us to imagine how homeschooling might serve a democratic purpose not through its role as a public institution, but through its practices in collective action and its standpoint as a critique against market ideals. Kerri Stevens, a religious, African-American homeschooling mom in the Midwest and former law enforcement officer, sees citizenship as starting with common practices in the home and neighborhood and extending outward towards political life: So to me, citizenship starts with how they treat each other in the household. How they treat their parents. You know, that’s all a part of it. How they treat people in the community. Are they, are they rude, you know, to the other kids? Are they nice, are they sharing? Do we share our vegetables when we grow them in the garden? … I think that it overlaps. And history, when you’re looking at the Constitution, we looked at the Founding Fathers, you know? What did we fight for, why are we here? What’s the whole point? As African Americans, you know, we talk about the Civil Rights Movement. We talk about, you know, I talk to them about what my grandparents fought for, how things were for them and what they had to do to get the rights that they have, so that they don’t forfeit or think that it’s no big deal that people had to fight and die for the rights that we have. And I think you can say that for all groups of people, you know?

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While Kerri’s understanding of citizenship begins with her particular family, it extends to political movements and to American ideals. Kerri goes on to describe the homeschool co-operative10 as a place to practice the virtues of citizenship: It overlaps in, you know, a lot of the subjects that we cover, and then it overlaps into just our daily lives, you know? Even when you look at the co-operatives, that’s about citizenship and community, you know? [When] we’re going to someone else’s house, you have to respect their house, you need to do what they ask you to do, you need to, you don’t sit on the back of the furniture. You know, those types of things. But then also, I’m not gonna just have this person teach my kids. I’m gonna, I’m gonna contribute a snack. I’m going to help out if I’m needed. You know? So, so we all work together. So that everybody benefits. So I think that’s all citizenship. Kerri’s son, Jaden, seems to echo this lesson in citizenship as active participation when describing the role of a good citizen as ‘Being someone who will volunteer for their city or state or even country. Who wouldn’t have second thoughts about helping someone in need.’ For Kerri and her family, that citizenship is primarily fostered in the home and the neighborhood doesn’t lead away from the political, but towards it. Although Kerri and her family do not directly contribute to the public good of education, their participation in the common goods of their family, neighborhood and co-operative group seem to form within Jaden a vibrant understanding of political life and what it means to be a citizen. For many of the families in our sample, co-operatives thus serve as more than simply places to exchange resources. They offer opportunities for children and their parents to engage in dialogue and action, something often perceived as lost in conventional education systems. While Callie didn’t like the idea of abandoning the public school system, she also thought that unless a person held ‘a position of pretty considerable influence or … a really great plan and support system,’ the chance for reform was small. Most homeschooling co-operatives, by contrast, thrive on that kind of parental involvement, often educating parents in the process. Lauren Thompson, a religious homeschooling mom who described the moral coherence of their co-operative as comparable to having ‘20 other parents,’ told us, And even at the co-op, like the fact that Tuesdays is a day where parents are supposed to follow their kids around, sit in on the classrooms, those first weeks for me were like, “This is just weird having a parent here.” And now I really like it. I like that – for me, it feels like it eases a burden. Like I can say, “I can teach your child about math and I can teach you about math – Interviewer: And you can reinforce it?

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Lauren: And you can reinforce it, but you can teach me about your child.” And I feel like in that sense, I guess if there was that openness maybe to that. I don’t think parents feel confident enough to do that. Most parents don’t feel confident enough to do it or are interested in doing it. I think there is an attraction in, “Here, you take them, you take care of this.” For Lauren, it is not just about reinforcing lessons that kids bring home from school, but about being drawn out and into the concerns of other parents and children as they work towards a common good of education. Given a political and cultural climate that prizes maximizing individual interest above all else, those in pursuit of common goods often find themselves ‘systematically at odds with those of the dominant culture that they inhabit, commonly without realizing this’ (MacIntyre, 2016, p. 167). The other side of the positive work towards common goods is a negative critique of the dominant structures and philosophies that inhibit their flourishing. For some of the homeschoolers in our sample, this manifests in perceptions of conventional education as a representative of the economic values of competition and consumerism. When we asked Liza Davidson, a non-religious homeschooling mom of four in California, whether an unschooling approach would lead to narcissism, she pushed back and described homeschooling as a natural shelter from competition that, instead, exposes children to how adults cooperate in the real workings of local economy: So I think they interact with the world a lot more than people realize, and I think that they learn – we have a local grocery store here that I love. I want to hug the people I love them so much. They’re so great, and my kids know all the people because we go there all the time. That’s just a silly little example, but they are interacting with the world way more than the average school child. There is no competition, which I don’t believe that our world is meant to be competitive. … Anyway, it’s a completely different mindset. In the classroom, you’ve got a bunch of kids the same age. There’s always going to be a competition. Brigitte Boucher, an unschooler like Liza, also framed her narrative against competition. Brigitte sees her sacrifices at home as enabling her daughter, Cecelia, to care for others in ways she perceives are stifled by the classroom ethos: ‘The teacher can’t take care of you and 20 other kids. Not really, she can’t take care of your needs. Your job is to take care of your needs. And so the training is to take care of yourself. You know you have to take care of what you need first and if you have a little left over than you can you know look out for other people.’ When describing her daughter’s experience volunteering, Brigitte stressed that because Cecelia had

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her needs taken care of at home, she was able to give her best to the community: But because she didn’t need to come home and scrub the floor here, she was insistent that the floor there – you know, their kitchen floor, you could eat off of. And mine, like you could eat off of, because there’s a feast of food. You know, so – I feel like because she had the energy, because she didn’t need to take care of herself, she could go out and serve others. And it isn’t a lighthearted amount of helping others. It’s – it’s a lot. It’s a lot she does for others and I don’t think she really thinks of it that way. It’s just things she enjoys doing. Brigitte sees these activities as cultivating an ethic of care in her daughter, one that refuses the boundaries of self-interest and utility. She describes such an ethic at work in Cecelia’s friendship with a co-operative classmate who is autistic: … And I – and she had organized an autism awareness workshop. And I said, “You know this could be your – like you could do it as a community service thing for girl scouts.” And she got so indignant and she got tears in her eyes and she looked at me and she said – it’s going to make me cry [respondent begins to cry], but she said, “Mom if – if I – if I got a badge and [my friend] found out, I wouldn’t want her to think that she’s a project. What if she thought she was a project? I don’t want an award, I just want people to understand her better.” For Brigitte and Liza, homeschooling provides a distance from their perceptions of dominant values like competition and selfishness, and the space to encourage a different approach to community in their children. For others, however, the critique extends beyond an opposition to a competitive culture. It also means a radical critique of consumerism. Simran, who told us at the beginning that she was interested primarily in the good of her family, sees that good not as self-interested, but as more aligned with the world of ‘real things’ than what she perceives in conventional education: At public school, my son would be only focused on what everybody is wearing that day, who’s dating who, who your teacher is for math … The world is not at all the way public school is. To me, it’s completely different … when they come home, I feel like their horizons are broadened. My kids want to talk about real things, you know? Things that really matter, and not who’s wearing what.

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Simran’s emphasis against consumerism was echoed by several parents, some who talked of thrift-shopping with other co-operative parents, and some who vocally rejected the push for homeschool curriculums to become a heavily profit-based market. Like Simran, many of them see their children as developing an ethic that opposes that of individual self-interest; when asked what she wanted for her children as they enter adulthood and leave the home, Simran said she was okay with everything else as long as they achieved one thing: ‘Not focusing on themselves.’

Conclusion If there is a democratic purpose to American homeschooling, it is more complicated than can be accounted for by theories that narrow thinking into a public/private dichotomy. When we strive to understand the perceptions of homeschooling families, we find that their political ideals and ethics call for us to think more deeply about the long-standing relationship between self-interest and the idea of a public good. As we worked to show in the beginning of this chapter, the root of public goods as a market ethic of self-interest might motivate a gathering of individuals, but democratic life demands more of us. Framing their narrative as against such a market ethic and in favor of collective action, homeschoolers do, indeed, ‘define their own “good”,’ as critics argue (Lubienski, 2000, p. 228). But we suggest that such a ‘good’ may not be self-interested, nor public, but rather common. In their pursuit of a common good of education, many of the families in our sample understand citizenship and its virtues as something that cannot be formed in public institutions alone; they see civic virtue as something to be learned in homes, neighborhoods, co-operatives, and local economies.11 For many families, this means directly critiquing the market vision of our world that has come to dominate political life and frame social interactions as competitive and consumeristic. Perhaps homeschooling could undermine liberal democracy as it is so conceived, at least in its ties with the market, by signaling a different kind of democratic economy.

Notes 1 See Redford et al., 2017, pp. 5–6. The data in this report from the National Center for Education Statistics should be taken as estimates. The National Household Education Survey, the data source for the homeschooling figures, changed its sampling procedure in 2011, and the NCES has recently withdrawn some of its published data on homeschooling due to concern about the validity of its adjusted figures. The range of their estimates is from 1,543,000 to 2,003,000. See the ‘Technical Notes’ section of Redford et al., 2017. NCES estimates for 2016 appear to show the population leveling off (see https://ies.ed.gov/blogs/nces/post/a-freshlook-at-homeschooling-in-the-u-s). The nonprofit National Home Education Research Institute estimated the population at over 2 million for 2010 (Ray, 2011).

182 Mary Elliot and Jeffrey S. Dill 2 This research was conducted as part of the ‘School Culture and Student Formation Project’ at the Institute for Advanced Studies in Culture at the University of Virginia. See http://iasculture.org/homeschoolingdata for more on the data and sampling procedure. 3 All names have been changed to protect the confidentiality of participants. 4 ‘Unschooling’ denotes a specific homeschooling approach rooted in the self-directed learning of the child. The educational environment is intentionally highly unstructured, allowing for the natural curiosity and interests of the child to guide the learning. We employ the term only when the homeschooler has used it first. 5 By ‘negative narrative’, we mean that by which homeschooling families are seen as united across a wide range of motivations: whether they homeschool because of religious reasons, pedagogical reasons, lifestyle (family mobility), special needs, etc., they all have a vision of what their children need that, in their perception, is not provided by conventional education. Although they homeschool for different reasons, they are united by what they stand against – the public school. 6 ‘Give me that which I want, and you shall have this which you want, is the meaning of every such offer … It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest. We address ourselves, not to their humanity but to their self-love, and never talk to them of our own necessities but of their advantages’ (Smith, [1776] 1976, I.ii). 7 See Arendt’s (1958) The Human Condition. 8 Public goods, as argued above, are distinctly individualistic, both in their cooperation and enjoyment. By contrast, common goods, as articulated by Alasdair MacIntyre (2016), ‘are only to be enjoyed and achieved … by individuals qua members of various groups or qua participants in various activities’ (p. 168). The good of this particular school, or the good of this particular family, takes a primary place as what provides the context and identity by which the desires and successes of the individual and the authority of administration might be measured. See also Hoipkemier, 2016. 9 We also interviewed families who were heavily involved in political campaigning through organizations like Generation Joshua, the civic education arm of the conservative Homeschool Legal Defense Association. See Dill, 2018, pp. 253–256. 10 Homeschool co-operatives run the gamut from structured school-like environments with shared property and hired teachers to occasional gatherings in homes or public spaces. 11 It is important to recall that our interview sample is not representative of all homeschoolers, and our argument is limited in scope: homeschooling offers the possibility, not the assurance, of pursuing common goods.

References Apple, M. W. (2000). Away with all teachers: The cultural politics of home schooling. International Studies in Sociology of Education, 10(1), 61–80. Arendt, H. (1958). The human condition. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago. Arendt, H. (1971). On revolution. New York: The Viking Press. Curren, R., & Blockhuis, J. C. (2011). The prima facie case against homeschooling. Public Affairs Quarterly, 25(1), 1–19. Dill, J. S. (2018). Homeschooling: Habits of the heart and hearth. In J. D. Hunter & R. S. Olson (Eds.), The content of their character: Inquiries into the varieties of moral formation (pp. 243–265). New York: Finstock and Tew.

Rethinking self-interest and the public good 183 Dwyer, J. G. (2016). Religious schooling and homeschooling before and after Hobby Lobby. University of Illinois Law Review, 1393–1415. Hoipkemier, M. (2016). Critical realism and common goods. Journal of Critical Realism, 15(1), 53–71. Lubienski, C. (2000). Wither the common good? A critique of home schooling. Peabody Journal of Education, 75(1–2), 207–232. MacIntyre, A. (2016). Ethics in the conflicts of modernity: An essay on desire, practical reasoning, and narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge University. Ray, B. D. (2011). 2.04 million homeschool students in the United States in 2010. Salem, OR: National Home Education Research Institute, pp. 2–3. Retrieved November 30, 2017 from www.nheri.org/HomeschoolPopulationReport2010.pdf. Redford, J., Battle, D., & Bielick, S. (2017). Homeschooling in the United States: 2012. Washington, DC: National Center for Education Statistics, Institute of Education Sciences, U.S. Department of Education, pp. 5–6. Retrieved June 5, 2017 from http s://nces.ed.gov/pubs2016/2016096rev.pdf. Reich, R. (2005). The civic perils of homeschooling. Educational Leadership, 59(7), 56–59. Ross, C. J. (2010). Fundamentalist challenges to core democratic values: Exit and homeschooling. William & Mary Bill of Rights Journal, 18(4), 991–1014. Smith, A. ([1776] 1976). An inquiry into the nature and cause of the wealth of nations. R. H. Campbell, A. S. Skinner, and W. B. Todd (Eds.). Oxford: Oxford University. Tocqueville, A. ([1840] 2002). Democracy in America. H.C. Mansfield and D. Winthrop (Trans.). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago.

Chapter 13

Fostering purpose as a way of cultivating civic friendship Kendall Cotton Bronk and Rachel Baumsteiger1

The Aristotelian virtue of civic friendship refers to the bonds of reciprocal goodwill that under optimal circumstances develop among citizens. Civic friendship is expressed through mutual concern, mutual defense, and mutual support (Scorza, 2013), and it manifests in familial-like treatment of one’s fellow citizens; citizens know one another intimately and care for one another deeply (Mayhew, 1996). Civic friendship may develop and be strengthened through purposeful action. A purpose in life refers to a long-term, forward-looking intention to accomplish aims that are both meaningful to the self and of consequence to the world beyond the self (Damon, Menon, & Bronk, 2003). There are three primary components of this definition. First, a purpose represents an intention or goal. It is a far-horizon aim that, like a compass, directs individuals in a particular direction, guiding behavior and decision making. Second, a purpose is personally meaningful, as evidenced by the investment of time, energy, and personal resources toward its pursuit. Rather than merely dreaming about a purpose, individuals work toward it. Individuals care deeply about the things that fill their lives with purpose. In fact, a purpose in life may become so core to who individuals are that it becomes a central part of their identity. A recent study revealed that a young woman who found purpose in leading a life of faith referred to herself as a “Christian,” a young woman committed to preserving the environment called herself a “tree hugger,” and a young man devoted to enhancing Internet security referred to himself as a “tech guru” (Bronk, 2011). In these cases, what one hopes to accomplish (purpose) is intertwined with who one hopes to become (identity). Third, and the component most relevant to the promotion of civic friendship, is the beyond-the-self motivation inherent in pursuing a purpose in life. Whereas any personally significant goal can provide a source of meaning, only those aims motivated by a desire to contribute to the broader world can provide a source of purpose. Individuals, guided by a purpose in life, apply their skills and talents to make a meaningful difference in the world beyond themselves. Youth find purpose in caring for their families, volunteering in their communities, promoting social and political aims, contributing to the arts, and serving their country (Damon, 2008). In these ways and others, purpose represents a form of civic friendship.

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In recent years, the number of empirical studies focused on purpose has increased dramatically (Bronk, 2013; Pinquart, 2002), and this research has yielded at least two important findings. The first is that leading a life of purpose is beneficial in more ways than one. Purpose is associated with psychological well-being, physical health, and academic achievement. From a psychological health perspective, the pursuit of purpose has been linked to hope, optimism, and life satisfaction (Bronk, Hill, Lapsley, Talib, & Finch, 2009; Ho, Cheung, & Cheung, 2010; Krause, 2003), and from a physical health perspective, it has been associated with lower rates of mild cognitive impairment, a regression in some cancers, better sleep, and even longevity (Boyle, Barnes, Buchman, & Bennett, 2009; Krause, 2009; Hill & Turiano, 2014; Melnechuk, 1988; Ryff, Singer, & Love, 2004; Turner, Smith, & Ong, 2017). Relevant to adolescents, the development of purpose has also been related to indicators of academic success, including academic efficacy, grit, resiliency, and an internal locus of control (Benard, 1991; Hill, Burrow, & Bronk, 2014; Pizzolato, Brown, & Kanny, 2011; Solberg, et. al., 1993). Compared to other adolescents, youth with purpose report that their school work is more meaningful (Yeagar & Bundick, 2009). The second compelling finding to emerge from psychological research on purpose is that the experience of leading a life of purpose is rare. Purpose formation often coincides with identity development (Bronk, 2011; Erikson, 1968, 1980; Hill & Burrow, 2012; Sumner, Burrow, & Hill, 2015). Accordingly, purpose often develops during adolescence and emerging adulthood (Bronk, 2013). But whereas nearly all youth eventually settle on an identity, not all or even most discover a purpose in life. The presence of purpose across the lifespan, but particularly during adolescence, is the exception rather than the rule. In fact, studies find that only about one in five adolescents and one in three college-aged youth reports leading a life of purpose (Bronk, Finch, & Talib, 2010; Damon, 2008; Moran, 2009). Taking these two findings together—that leading a life of purpose is a good thing and that doing so occurs infrequently—a small but growing number of researchers and practitioners have become interested in designing interventions that foster purpose. Purpose-fostering efforts exist in career development programs (e.g. Dik, Duffy, Allan, O’Donnell, Shim, & Steger, 2014), in the work place (e.g. Wrzesniewski, LoBuglio, Dutton, & Berg, 2013), in older adult serving programs (Freedman, 2007), and in schools (Koshy & Mariano, 2011). A significant number of purpose-fostering efforts have taken place in high schools and colleges. Because many efforts to foster purpose have targeted adolescents and because adolescence is a developmentally appropriate time in the lifespan for the formation of purpose (Damon, 2008; Erikson, 1968, 1980), this chapter focuses on purposefostering efforts aimed at youth in the second and third decades of life. In this chapter we describe three programs that cultivate purpose among large numbers of young people in the United States. We chose to highlight these programs for three reasons. First, each conceives of purpose in a similar way. Namely, each seeks to develop in youth a long-term commitment to making a meaningful difference in the broader world. Second, each relies on evidence-based practices for fostering

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purpose. Rather than guessing at what works best, each of these programs relies on a foundation of empirical research. In addition, each has evaluated or is in the process of evaluating its effectiveness. Third, each program reaches adolescents across the United States, and in some cases beyond. Despite these similarities, each program approaches the cultivation of purpose in a different way. Taken together these programs highlight a range of effective purpose-fostering strategies, which will be discussed. The three programs we review are Project Wayfinder, The Future Project, and the Fostering Purpose Project.

Project Wayfinder Project Wayfinder was founded at Stanford University in 2015 by Patrick Cook-Deegan. The program name was inspired by a Polynesian group that used years of accumulated knowledge on oceanic navigation to successfully travel from Hawaii to Tahiti in 1976. Accordingly, this program draws on ancient wisdom, scientific research, and personal experiences to inspire the next generation to become intentional meaning-makers empowered to contribute to the world around them. To achieve this aim, program developers created a set of empirically-based activities that facilitate purpose development among high school students between 14 and 18 years of age. Project Wayfinder consists of 20 activities, including class-wide discussions and individually completed pen-and-paper activities, completed across twenty to thirty class periods. Teachers and school counselors lead these activities during advisory periods, which include small groups of students who gather to discuss academics, college planning, and personal issues, and during regular class periods. To participate, schools purchase Project Wayfinder materials, including student workbooks, teaching materials, and implementation guidance. In addition, teachers receive discussion prompts, videos, and worksheets they can use to reinforce the individual lessons and build connections among students, and they get instructions on how to facilitate meaningful discussions among adolescent students. Project Wayfinder activities are organized around three overarching objectives. The first is to encourage young people to look inward to gain a better understanding of themselves and of what is most important to them. Activities ask students to reflect on their characteristics and evaluate which are most socially-valuable. The second objective is to help students consider ways they can contribute to the broader world. Students are encouraged to connect the people and things that matter most to them with their goals for positively influencing the world beyond themselves. The third objective is to cultivate skills, such as emotion regulation and goal setting, that will help students pursue their purposeful aims. In addition to these objectives, other discussions and activities help students plan and execute three actionable projects related to their emerging purposes in life. These steps help young people become more self-aware, more socially-aware, and empowered to act.

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In addition to fostering purpose among individuals, Project Wayfinder also seeks to cultivate a classroom context supportive of students’ pursuits of purpose. Several activities ask students to discuss their individual activities—such as listing their top strengths and passions—with their classmates. Teachers lead exercises that help students identify personal experiences related to teaching topics. For instance, teachers may pose discussion prompts that help students consider times they had to overcome a challenge, and students are encouraged to share these personal experiences with their classmates. In combination, these strategies help cultivate purpose and connect students’ purposeful aims with their school experiences, while at the same time cultivating connections among the members of the classroom. Project Wayfinder is currently being tested in 22 schools across the United States, Mexico, China, and Australia. In addition to being based on empirically-derived purpose-fostering principles, a large-scale evaluation is currently underway. Pretest– posttest surveys are being administered to evaluate changes in purpose as well as in ten qualities related to it, including moral virtues, such as responsibility and integrity; introspective tendencies, such as gratitude and self-awareness; and goal setting qualities, such as determination and adaptivity. These characteristics are of special interest because they are likely to enhance young people’s capacities for thinking deeply about purpose and pursuing purposeful goals (Damon, 2008). Results of the evaluation are due within the year.

The Future Project The second purpose-fostering program is the Future Project, founded in 2011 by Andrew Mangino and Kanya Balakrishna. The Future Project aims to facilitate student-driven projects that enhance the school environment and at the same time help high school students develop passion and skills that prepare them to lead lives of purpose. The Future Project recruits adults—typically individuals who participated in the program as students—called Dream Directors. These individuals undergo extensive training on how to effectively coach adolescents, and they are introduced to the principles of positive youth development. Once trained, Dream Directors enter high schools where they spend time learning about student needs and interests. In some cases, the Future Project invites schools to participate, in others district leaders assign schools to participate, and in still other cases, principals ask to participate. The Future Project seeks to include a diverse group of schools, representing different communities across America. Regardless of how schools get involved, the next step consists of Dream Directors identifying students at the school who have a strong sense of what they care about. Dream Directors hold individual coaching sessions with these “future fellows” to clarify students’ passions, translate them into goals for contributing to the school community, and start working to achieve those aims. At the same time, the Dream Director also recruits a Dream Team, or a group of

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students interested in making a positive change in their school but lacking a specific change-oriented goal. This group conducts a month-long community audit, which involves conducting observations and interviews with students, teachers, and other members of the school to identify the school’s most pressing needs. With assistance from the Dream Director and hundreds of other students recruited to help, the Dream Team then plans and executes projects to address these needs. The Future Project has facilitated a wide-variety of school-enhancement projects. Some help specific groups of students. For instance, one project featured an event—complete with food, games, and performances—that honored students with special needs and sought to foster a stronger sense of school community. Other Dream Teams have launched initiatives designed to increase access to arts programs on campus. In one such project, students created a poetry club, and in another, students introduced a story-sharing website. Still other projects have focused on building specific skill sets among students. At one school, a student launched a campaign to teach her classmates how to dress professionally. The initiative included hosting a series of guest speakers from different industries and holding a clothing drive to provide professional clothing to students in need. Another skill-building project focused on helping students and teachers develop healthy habits, such as eating a nutritious breakfast and exercising each day. Still another campaign, which featured a rally focused on celebrating diversity, aimed to increase students’ self-esteem. Regardless of the specific activity, the Future Project seeks to help students identify personally meaningful, school-enhancement projects and enact creative strategies to carry out those projects. The Future Project employs three primary purpose-fostering strategies. First, the program directs young people’s attention outward. Rather than reflecting on their own short-term concerns and stresses, students consider the needs of their classmates and the broader school community, and they are encouraged to reflect on ways they can help their classmates and enhance their school community. These reflective activities empower young people to see themselves as problem solvers. Second, the Future Project provides one-on-one coaching by individuals trained to promote positive youth development. Coaches build relationships with students, offer feedback and encouragement for students’ ideas, give practical guidance for identifying and pursuing goals, and provide emotional support across the school year (and often beyond). Third, this program helps students set and implement goals. Pursuing their goals enables students to learn practical skills, build social connections, and develop a sense of agency that propels them to keep enacting positive change long after their school enhancement project ends. Although the content of these projects may not connect to students’ own source of purpose, they inspire serious thought and actions that can support purposeful action in the future. Studies find that volunteer work, if it is meaningful, can serve as the springboard for purpose development (Bronk, 2013; Damon, 2008). Accordingly, building the skills and motivation required to tackle these short-term projects likely fosters the skills and motivation required to sustain longer-term purposes in life.

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The Future Project is committed to on-going evaluation, and findings from these evaluations are promising. For instance, interviews and surveys with students, teachers, and principals indicate that participation in the program strengthens relationships among school community members. This is likely because the program encourages the entire school community to come together and interact around a shared purpose. In addition, the program enhances students’ academic motivation. For instance, several teachers and principals noted that habitually absent students attended more regularly once they became involved in the program. Some schools have reported decreased levels of delinquent behavior— including detentions and suspensions—as the student body worked to execute students’ projects. It seems likely that students who participate in the project experience an increased sense of meaning and engagement while at school, which redirects their attention from destructive to constructive ends. In addition to these outcomes, evaluators are currently implementing surveys designed to shed greater light on the personal changes participants experience. These surveys focus on four clusters of outcomes. The first cluster includes beliefs about students’ ability to enact change, including optimism and a sense of competence. The second cluster assesses inspiration, or the degree to which the program fosters a commitment to making a difference in the world beyond the self, including purpose. The third cluster measures qualities related to action, such as goal-setting and problem-solving, and the fourth will assess community, including communication and a sense of connection. Taken together, the Future Project team believes these will put students on the path to purpose.

Fostering Purpose Project Whereas the first two projects represent enduring programs housed at high schools, the Fostering Purpose Project, launched in 2015, features two online toolkits available to high school and college-aged students across the country. Often youth are made aware of these toolkits through school, but they complete them on their own time. Given the many benefits associated with leading a life of purpose and given that so few young people can articulate a clear purpose for their lives, members of the Adolescent Moral Development lab at the Claremont Graduate University (the first author is the Principal Investigator and the second author is a Senior Project Manager), became interested in creating and testing tools to help large numbers of young people discover their purpose in life in a relatively brief period of time. Because the goal was to create a set of activities that could be shared with as many youth as possible, the toolkits are online. Students are given a unique login which they use to access the activities daily, for three days over the course of a week. Each time students log in, they spend between 15–20 minutes completing purpose-fostering activities. The activities are completed individually, which removes the need for a facilitator, again making the materials available to more young people. Our team created two toolkits: the Purpose Toolkit and the Gratitude Toolkit.

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The Purpose Toolkit activities help youth identify their values, strengths, and goals for contributing to the world beyond themselves. For instance, the first day’s activity features a brief video clip that introduces the concept of purpose and explains its value. Following this, youth are asked to send an email to five adults who know them well (e.g. family friends, teachers, coaches, bosses, mentors, etc.). The email asks adults to briefly respond to three questions about the youth, including What do you think I really enjoy doing? What do you think I do particularly well? How do you think I’ll leave my mark on the world? Over the next few days, the youth receive responses to these questions that shed light on what others see as their purpose, and these responses can stimulate their own thinking on the topic. In another activity, quotations about purpose are presented, and youth are asked to reflect on their meaning and describe how they relate to their future goals (e.g. “It’s not enough to be busy. So are the ants. The question is, what are we busy about?” Henry David Thoreau). In an activity designed to help youth consider what meaningful change in the world looks like to them, participants are given the following prompt: “Imagine you were given a magic wand, and you could change anything you wanted to change about the world. What would you want to be different? Why?” Youth respond to these prompts by typing their answers online. The second day’s activity includes a video clip of late-night talk-show host Jimmy Fallon discussing purpose more generally and sharing his purpose in life, which is to make people laugh, especially when times are tough. This clip was chosen for its adolescent appeal and light-hearted, accessible source of inspiring purpose. Next, to help participants reflect on the things that matter most to them, participants are presented with a list of values, such as volunteering and caring for their family, that they sort into three categories: “Exactly like me,” “Not at all like me,” and “Neither like me nor unlike me.” They are then asked to briefly explain why they selected the values that were “Exactly like me.” In the third day’s activity, participants imagine their best possible selves 20 years in the future, and they write about the type of person they hope to be, the activities they hope to be engaged in, and the things that will matter most to them. This activity was modeled after the best possible selves intervention, similarly designed to encourage individuals to consider their ideal, far-horizon future (Layous, Nelson, & Luybomirsky, 2012). Finally, participants are asked to design a tattoo that symbolizes their purpose. They are asked to explain why they chose the design and to display the tattoo some place visible on their body (e.g. back of their hand). Doing so increases the likelihood that people in their lives will ask about the tattoo, thereby further engaging youth in conversation about their emerging purpose. The email and tattoo activities both seek to foster interpersonal discussions about purpose. In addition to creating a toolkit designed to directly foster purpose, we also created a Gratitude Toolkit that indirectly fosters purpose through gratitude. Interviews reveal that many young people are inspired to pursue purpose because of things others have done for them. When youth focus on the blessings

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in their lives and the people who have blessed them, they are naturally inclined to consider ways they want to contribute to the broader world (Bronk, Baumsteiger, Mangan, Riches, Dubon, & Bono, in press). Similar to the Purpose Toolkit, the Gratitude Toolkit includes three sets of online activities completed by youth over the course of a week. However, whereas the Purpose Toolkit features activities that probe goal setting, values, and beyond-the-self contribution, this toolkit features activities designed to cultivate gratitude as a means of indirectly encouraging the development of purpose. Accordingly, the first day’s activity includes a brief video about gratitude and its value in supporting psychological and social well-being (Emmons & McCullough, 2003; Kong, Ding, & Zhao, 2014). Following this and each evening for the duration of the intervention, students write about three good things that happened to them during the day. This activity further encourages a grateful mindset. Another activity introduces the concept of benefit appraisals, which refers to the process of reflecting on the costs, benefits, and intentions involved when someone helps another. The first two day’s activities introduce the concept of gratitude and encourage youth to identify it when they see it. The third day’s activities encourage youth to express gratitude. These activities feature a video that conveys the importance of expressing gratitude and offers examples of people writing and delivering gratitude letters to individuals who have helped them. Participants are asked to write a letter of gratitude to someone who has helped them. In these letters, youth are encouraged to be authentic, include details regarding how the person helped them, acknowledge the cost incurred by the helper, and express how it made them feel to be the recipient of the helper’s assistance. After writing the letter, they are encouraged to deliver it, either in person or by reading it to the helper over the phone. Each of these activities has demonstrated efficacy in cultivating gratitude among adolescents (e.g., Baumsteiger, Mangan, Bronk, & Bono, in press; Emmons & McCullough, 2003; Seligman, Steen, Park, & Peterson, 2005). A series of studies evaluated the efficacy of the two Toolkits (Bronk, et. al., under review). In one of these studies, late adolescents (ages 18–30) completed a pretest battery of surveys, including measures of purpose and other relevant constructs (e.g., gratitude, prosocial intentions, etc.). Next, participants were randomly assigned to one of three conditions. In the first condition, youth completed the Purpose Toolkit; in the second condition, youth completed the Gratitude Toolkit; and in the third condition, youth completed control activities featuring memorization strategies. These activities were similar to the toolkit activities in terms of structure and timing. The day after youth in all three conditions completed the final activity, participants completed a posttest battery of surveys that included the same pretest measures, and a week later, participants completed the battery of posttest surveys again. Youth who completed the Purpose and Gratitude Toolkits, but not the control activities, demonstrated significant increases in the search for purpose

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and the identification of purpose from pretest to posttest, and these effects held or increased across the following week (Bronk, et. al., in press). An examination of secondary outcomes revealed that youth who completed the Gratitude Toolkit also reported stronger prosocial intentions and a greater sense of hope at the posttest than at the pretest; those effects were not demonstrated by either of the other groups.

Discussion The programs reviewed here apply some similar strategies for cultivating purpose. For instance, each program offers youth time and space to consider what it is they really care about. In our over-scheduled world, youth are rarely afforded this luxury, and a growing body of psychological research finds that time to consider and discuss the things that matter most contributes to the growth of purpose (e.g. Dik, Steger, Gibson & Peisner, 2011; Pizzolato, et. al., 2011; Yeager & Bundick, 2009). Underscoring the need for time to reflect, neuroscience research concludes that the default mode, or the time when the brain is not engaged by external stimuli, is critical to the internally focused, psychosocial mental processing that allows the mind to engage in meaning making and reflect on abstract aims, such as a purpose in life (Immordino-Yang, Christodoulou, & Singh, 2012). Accordingly, individually-completed Project Wayfinder activities involve writing, drawing, and creating materials that open up time to reflect on the aims that matter most to youth. Similarly, the Fostering Purpose Project toolkits ask youth to spend up to a week completing activities designed to help them reflect on the aims they most hope to accomplish in life. The Future Project, which lasts an entire academic year, carves out even more time for youth to think about and develop the skills to work toward personally meaningful aims. Seriously reflecting on what individuals want out of life takes time; accordingly, offering time and space—coupled with scaffolded opportunities to reflect on what matters most—is key to the cultivation of purpose. In addition, these programs, and likely other effective purpose-fostering programs as well, share accessible models of purpose. Social psychological theory suggests sharing desirable models of purpose should help motivate purposeful action through upward social comparison (Suls, Martin, & Wheeler, 2002). However, research also suggests these models should be attainable and imitable. A recent study used moral exemplars to encourage moral behavior among youth, and results suggested youth were more likely to want to imitate relevant and attainable models of moral action than highly-exalted ones (Han, Jeong, Damon, & Cohen, 2015). This conclusion suggests that using examples of particularly lofty purposes (e.g. curing cancer, ending global warming, etc.) may be ineffective; the effort may even backfire (Monin, Sawyer, & Marquez, 2008). Instead, offering imitable models of purpose, like the ones included in these programs, may be particularly effective in stimulating reflections on purpose. For instance, in the

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Purpose Toolkit, Jimmy Fallon finds purpose in making people laugh, and in the Future Project, Dream Directors share their individual purposes with youth. Two of these programs approach purpose indirectly. Through a personally meaningful school enhancement project, the Future Project cultivates the skills that will ultimately lead to purpose, and through cultivating a grateful mindset, the Gratitude Toolkit indirectly fosters purpose. Discussions of purpose can seem intense and intimidating, especially to youth on the brink of adulthood, confronting a seemingly endless number of decisions and potential pathways, so it makes sense that approaching the topic indirectly may be particularly effective (Arnett, 2015). Consistent with this idea, Dacher Keltner has concluded that encouraging experiences of awe can also nurture purpose development (as cited in Zakrzewski, 2013). Experiencing awe, through an inspiring work of art, a grand natural vista, or a new mind-expanding theory, makes people feel connected to something larger than themselves, and this is a necessary element of purpose. Taken together, these conclusions suggest at least some indirect routes to fostering purpose may be particularly effective. Cultivating relationships with adults outside of the family represents yet another strategy these programs employ to nurture purpose. According to Sharon Daloz Parks (2000), mentors are particularly important during the second and third decades of life when young people are making commitments that are likely to set them on a particular trajectory. She notes that positive feedback from a parent may be ignored, but positive feedback from an adult outside the family is likely to influence youths’ plans and emerging purposes. Mentors can engage in conversations that help youth clarify their interests and aims, and once youth have identified a purpose, they can recognize, support, and challenge young people’s purposeful ideas (Bronk, 2011; Parks, 2000). Although the online nature of the Fostering Purpose Project precludes the formation of mentoring relationships, the Purpose Toolkit includes an email activity designed to encourage interactions around purpose with a mentor, if one exists. In the Future Project, Dream Directors develop close, enduring mentor-mentee relationships with youth; in this capacity, Dream Directors help youth identify and pursue personally meaningful ways of giving back. Connecting youth with supportive and lasting mentors is clearly a useful approach to cultivating purpose. Finally, these programs encourage youth to identify ways of using their strengths to contribute to the broader world. This other-oriented dimension distinguishes purpose from meaning (Damon, Menon, & Bronk, 2003). However, this dimension is not only relevant from a theoretical perspective. It also makes a practical difference in the lives of young people and the communities, individuals, and causes to which youth contribute. Compared to individuals who identify long-term, personally meaningful aims not inspired by a desire to make a difference in the broader world, youth with purpose report having better integrated personality dispositions, being more open, demonstrating improved psychological adjustment, and being more satisfied with their lives (Bronk & Finch, 2010; Mariano & Vaillant, 2012). And, of course, the desire to contribute to the world beyond-the-self is the reason the

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pursuit of purpose can cultivate civic friendship. To encourage a commitment to aims beyond-the-self, the Future Project identifies a Dream Team composed of youth who want to improve their school community. Together the Dream Team and Dream Directors work to inspire others in the school context to help them. Project Wayfinder encourages youth to identify their Wayfinder characteristics (e.g. risk-taker, creator, communicator, etc.) and explore ways of applying those characteristics to contribute to the broader world. Encouraging youth to look outward is likely another critical feature of effective purpose-fostering efforts. These programs demonstrate both the wide diversity of approaches (e.g. directly and indirectly fostering purpose; using a face-to-face and online formats; spending days, months and up to a year fostering purpose; etc.) and some consistent features of effective purpose-fostering programs (e.g. carving out time for reflection, including accessible models of purpose, encouraging an outward-orientation, fostering relationships with mentors, utilizing indirect routes to purpose cultivation). However, these approaches have only been tested with adolescents. Given the need for cultivating civic friendship more generally, future studies should explore strategies for fostering purpose among middle-aged and older adults, and they should investigate the antecedents of purpose among younger children. The developmental needs and interests of these different populations will likely call for some new approaches to fostering purpose. In addition, future work should examine purpose-fostering programs in different contexts, including in familial, peer, and religious contexts. We hope the programs and strategies highlighted here provide a useful starting point for this work and for other efforts designed to nurture purpose and the development of civic friendship.

Note 1 Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to Kendall Cotton Bronk, Division of Behavioral and Organizational Sciences, Claremont Graduate University, 1227 N. Dartmouth Ave., Claremont, CA 91711. E-mail: Kendall. [email protected].

References Arnett, J. J. (2015). Emerging adulthood: The winding road from the late teens through the twenties. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Baumsteiger, R., Mangan, S., Bronk, K. C., & Bono, G. (2018, in press). Fostering gratitude among adolescents. Journal of Positive Psychology. Benard, B. (1991). Fostering resiliency in kids: Protective factors in the family, school, and community. Portland, OR: Northwest Regional Educational Laboratory. Boyle, P. A., Barnes, L. L., Buchman, A. S., & Bennett, D. A. (2009). Purpose in life is associated with mortality among community-dwelling older persons. Psychosomatic medicine, 71(5), 574–579. Bronk, K. C. (2011). Portraits of purpose: The role of purpose in identity formation. New Directions for Youth Development, 132, 31–44.

Cultivating civic friendship 195 Bronk, K. C. (2013). Purpose in life: A component of optimal youth development. New York: Springer. Bronk, K. C., Baumsteiger, R., Mangan, S. A., Riches, B., Dubon, V., Benavides, C., & Bono, G. (in press). Fostering purpose: Effective online interventions. Journal of Character Education. Bronk, K. C. & Finch, W. H. (2010). Adolescent characteristics by type of long-term aim in life. Applied Developmental Science, 14(1), 1–10. Bronk, K. C., Finch, W. H. & Talib, T. (2010). The prevalence of a purpose in life among high ability adolescents. High Ability Studies, 21(2), 133–145. Bronk, K. C., Hill, P., Lapsley, D., Talib, T., & Finch, W. H. (2009). Purpose, hope, and life satisfaction in three age groups. Journal of Positive Psychology, 4(6), 500–510. Damon, W. (2008). The path to purpose: Helping our children find their calling in life. San Francisco, CA: Jossey Bass. Damon, W., Menon, J. L., & Bronk, K. C. (2003). The Development of purpose during adolescence. Applied Developmental Science, 7(3), 119–128. http://dx.doi.org/ 10.1207/S1532480XADS0703_2. Dik, B. J., Duffy, R. D., Allan, B. A., O’Donnell, M. B., Shim, Y., & Steger, M. (2014). Purpose and meaning in career development applications. The Counseling Psychologist, 43(4), 558–585. Dik, B. J., Steger, M. F., Gibson, A., & Peisner, W. (2011). Make your work matter: Development and pilot evaluation of a purpose-centered career education intervention. New Directions for Youth Development, 132, 59–73. Emmons, R. A., & McCullough, M. E. (2003). Counting blessings versus burdens: An experimental investigation of gratitude and subjective well-being in daily life. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 84, 377–389. Erikson, E. H. (1968). Identity youth and crisis. New York: W.W. Norton. Erikson, E. H. (1980). Identity and the life cycle (paperback). New York: W.W. Norton & Company. Freedman, M. (2007). Encore: Finding work that matters in the second half of life. New York: Public Affairs. Han, H., Jeong, C., DamonW., & Cohen, G. L. (2015, April). Are Attainable Exemplars More Effective at Promoting Students’ Moral Motivation?Moral Development and Moral Education SIG Paper Session Presentation at the American Educational Research Association 2015 Annual Meeting, Chicago, IL. Hill, P. L. & Burrow, A. (2012). Viewing purpose through and Eriksonian lens. Identity: An international journal of theory and research, 12(1), 74–91. https://doi.org/10.1080/ 15283488.2012.632394. Hill, P. L., Burrow, A., & Bronk, K. C. (2014). Persevering with positivity and purpose: An examination of purpose commitment and positive affect as predictors of grit. Journal of Happiness Studies, 17(1), 257–269. doi:10.1007/s10902–10014–9593–9595. Hill, P. L. & Turiano, N. A. (2014). Purpose in life as a predictor of mortality across adulthood. Psychological Sciences, 25(7), 1482–1486. doi:10.1177/0956797614531799. Ho, M. Y., Cheung, F. M. & Cheung, S. F. (2010). The role of meaning in life and optimism in promoting well-being. Personality and individual differences, 48(5), 658–663. Immordino-Yang, M. H., Christodoulou, J. A., & Singh, V. (2012). Rest is not idleness: Implications of the brain’s default mode for human development and education. Perspectives on Psychological Science, 7(4), 352–364. doi:10.1177/ 1745691612447308.

196 Kendall Cotton Bronk and Rachel Baumsteiger Kong, F., Ding, K., & Zhao, J. (2014). The relationship among gratitude, self-esteem, social support, and life satisfaction among undergraduate students. Journal of Happiness Studies, 16(2), 477–489. Koshy, S. I., & Mariano, J. M. (2011). Promoting youth purpose: A review of the literature. New Directions for Youth Development, 132, 13–30. Krause, N. (2003). Religious meaning and subjective well-being in late life. The Journals of Gerontology. Series B, Psychological Sciences and Social Sciences, 160–170. Krause, N. (2009). Meaning in life and mortality. The Journals of Gerontology Series B: Psychological Sciences and Social Sciences, 64B(4), 517–527. doi:10.1093/geronb/gbp047. Layous, K., Nelson, S. K., & Lyubomirsky, S. (2012). What is the optimal way to deliver a positive activity intervention? The case of writing about one’s best possible selves. Journal of Happiness Studies, 14, 635–654. doi:10.1007/s10902–10012–9346–9342. Mariano, J. M., & Valliant, G. E. (2012). Purpose among the ‘Greatest Generation.’ Journal of Positive Psychology, 7(4), 281–293. https://doi.org/10.1080/17439760.2012. 686624. Mayhew, R. (1996). Aristotle on civic friendships. The Society for Ancient Greek Philosophy Newsletter, 197. Accessed online 14 Feb. 2018https://orb.binghamton.edu/sagp/197. Melnechuk, T. (1988). Emotions, brain, immunity, and health: A review. In M. Clynes & J. Panksepp (Eds.), Emotions and psychopathology (pp. 181–247). New York: Plenum. Monin, B., Sawyer, P. J., & Marquez, M. J. (2008). The rejection of moral rebels: Resenting those who do the right thing. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 95, 76–93. doi:10.1037/0022-3514.95.doi:1.76. Moran, S. (2009). Purpose: Giftedness in intrapersonal intelligence. High Ability Studies, 20(2), 143–159. Parks, S. D. (2000). Big questions, worthy dreams: Mentoring young adults in their search for meaning, purpose, and faith. San Francisco, CA: Jossey Bass. Pinquart, M. (2002). Creating and maintaining purpose in life in old age: A meta-analysis. Ageing International, 27(2), 90–114. Pizzolato, J. E., Brown, E. L., & Kanny, M. A., (2011). Purpose plus: Supporting youth purpose, control, and academic achievement. New Directions in Youth Development, 132, 75–88. Ryff, C. D., Singer, B., & Love, G. D. (2004). Positive health: Connecting well-being with biology. Philosophical Transactions: Biological Sciences, 359, 1383–1394. doi:10.1098/rstb.2004.1521. Scorza, J. A. (2013). Civic friendship. The International Encyclopedia of Ethics. doi:10.1002/ 9781444367072.wbiee555. Seligman, M. E., Steen, T. A., Park, N., & Peterson, C. (2005). Positive psychology progress: empirical validation of interventions. American Psychologist, 60, 410–421. Solberg, V. S., O’Brien, K., Villareal, P., Kennel, R., and Davis, B. J. (1993). Self-efficacy and Hispanic college students: Validation of the college self-efficacy instrument. Hispanic Journal of Behavioral Sciences, 15, 80–95. Suls, J., Martin, R., & Wheeler, L. (2002). Social comparison: Why, with whom and with what effect? Current Directions in Psychological Science, 11, 159–163. http://dx.doi. org/10.1111/1467-8721.00191 Sumner, R., Burrow, A., & Hill, P. L. (2015). Identity and purpose as predictors of subjective well-being in emerging adulthood. Emerging Adulthood, 3(1), 46–54.

Cultivating civic friendship 197 Turner, A. D., Smith, C. E., & Ong, J. C. (2017). Is purpose in life associated with less sleep disturbance in older adults? Sleep Science and Practice, 1(14), https://doi.org/10. 1186/s41606-017-0015-6. Wrzesniewski, A., LoBuglio, N., Dutton, J. E., & Berg, J. M. (2013). Job crafting and cultivating positive meaning and identity in work. Advances in Positive Organizational Psychology, 1, 281–302. Yeagar, D. S. & Bundick, M. J. (2009). The role of purposeful work goals in promoting meaning in life and schoolwork during adolescence. Journal of Adolescent Research, 24 (4), 423–452. doi:10.1177/0743558409336749. Zakrzewski, V. (2013). How awe can help students develop purpose. Greater Good Magazine. Accessed online 23 March 2018https://greatergood.berkeley.edu/article/ item/how_awe_can_help_students_develop_purpose.

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Section 3

Perspectives on virtue and the public sphere Why public reason is not enough

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Chapter 14

Responding to discord Why public reason is not enough

John Haldane

I A general characterisation of virtues is as dispositions of thought, affect, and will ordered towards right judgement, feeling and choice. Rightness in the exercise of these powers is then to be understood in one or other of three ways: either teleologically, as proposed by Aristotle, Aquinas and J.S. Mill, as being directed towards the achievement of some objective good or goods1; or rationalistically, in the manner of Kant and present day philosophers such as Thomas Nagel and Tim Scanlon, as being in accord with formal principles of practical reason such as universalizability, impartiality or reasonable non-rejectibility2; or finally, empirically, as proposed by Francis Hutcheson, David Hume, Adam Smith and their followers, including among our contemporaries Simon Blackburn and Alan Gibbard, in terms of some kind of normal human psychology.3 As a Scot I would like to associate myself with the last of these traditions – Hutcheson, Hume and Smith were all of the Glasgow/Edinburgh School – but to do so I would recast it as a version of the teleological approach, in a manner that allows that feeling is in itself a form of cognition of objective goods. In fact, this is no great effort as it is a position that can be traced to Aristotle, Augustine and Aquinas all of whom recognise the role of emotion in the discernment of goods and evils.4 Whichever account of right judgement, feeling and choice one favours, one cannot appreciate the full meaning and importance of virtue without making reference to evils; in part because virtues protect us from, or enable us to cope with these; but also because virtue has an opposite, namely vice. Whether any agent of a kind capable of possessing virtue is thereby also capable, in principle, of vice is an interesting question. Absent a theory of virtue that represents it as always involving a choice to resist or reject a vicious course, I see no strictly logical argument to that conclusion; but there may be deep facts about the nature of some kinds of agents that mean they have tendencies to each. Such appears to be the case of human beings, and my own judgement is that our tendency to vice in respect of practical deliberation, feeling and choice is greater than our natural inclination towards the good, even if one wishes, somewhat implausibly, to represent all vice as privation. In saying this, it is important to read ‘vice’

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simply as the opposite of ‘virtue’ rather as synonymous with ‘wicked’: there is vice less than wickedness, just as there is virtue short of saintliness. Whatever about those issues, however, even an agent immune to deliberative, affective and volitional vices may yet have to deal with agential and natural evils, so understanding virtue involves considering what its response to these ought to be. Thus far I have spoken of virtue with an eye to pursuit and avoidance, but both ancients and moderns have distinguished between intellectual and practical virtues (and vices) ordered respectively to the true and the good, and then subdivided each of these according to areas and departments of thought and action. Part of what I am concerned with here, however, cuts across the usual distinctions insofar as I am interested in virtues relevant to the public sphere and this suggests a different kind of taxonomy to that deriving from distinctions between practices that may be engaged in publicly or non-publicly. I need then to say something about how we should understand the public sphere. My title refers to ‘public reason’ and that will suggest to those familiar with recent political philosophy ideas presented by John Rawls and adopted, modified and criticised by others. I will come to this shortly but first it is necessary to point out what is generally overlooked, namely that Rawls and his liberal interlocutors tend to assume an ahistorical conception of the category of the public where in fact this is a historical and changing notion. I make this point not simply as a barely scholarly one, but because I believe that changes within the last half-century make the Rawlsian notion outdated and unfit to enable us to understand the social challenges we face, and to direct us towards the virtues we need in order to respond. For ancient thinkers, including Aristotle and Cicero, the public represents the political (as of the polis: the body of citizens) in contrast to the domestic (of the oikos: the family household) as marking two spheres of active life each defined by its different functions, roles, responsibilities, status, and interests. By the early modern period, however, the relevant contrast is that between spheres of property: the public being that which is natural and common, and the private that which created or acquired by individuals singly or co-operatively and thereby assigned to them. For Kant and Hegel, the dominant contrast is between spheres of regulation and compliance: the public being the domain in which one is ruled externally or heteronomously, and the private or personal that in which one rules oneself, i.e., autonomously. Thereafter, things become more complex in response to the growing ramification, material and economic organisation and politicisation of social life. In her 1958 work The Human Condition Hannah Arendt has an early chapter entitled ‘The Private and the Public Realm’. Prior to this she follows Aristotle and Aquinas in distinguishing between the active and the contemplative life (vita activa and vita contemplativa). Both regarded the latter as the ideal and proper end of action, and treated the former instrumentally as providing the practical necessities required to enable and sustain contemplative life understood as philosophy or as spiritual unification with God. Marx, by contrast, prioritises the active over the contemplative, as in less ideological ways do the American pragmatists James and Dewey. For Arendt, however, these contrasts are in part outdated, but in any case

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she sees each sphere as having its own value. To explain this with regard to the vita activa she distinguishes three modes of activity: action, work and labour. Labour is ongoing and generally repetitive, involving the production, maintenance and renewal of the practical necessities of life. Work, however, is specific and purposeful production typified by design and manufacture of a separable product (somewhat analogous to poesis in the Aristotelian taxonomy of thought and action). In contrast to these productive modes, action consists of interpersonal activity, language and movements by which we communicate with others revealing to them our interests, beliefs, desires and purposes. It is through action that personal and social relationships are developed and maintained, or broken. Arendt then argues that labour and action correspond to the spheres of domestic and political life as understood by the Greeks and Romans, but observes that in the modern period a third sphere developed: the social realm which took on the traditional activities of labour but organized them through the state, and this she views as a threat to both the private and the public. She writes: The emergence of society … from the shadowy interior of the household into the light of the public sphere, has not only blurred the old borderline between private and political, it has also changed almost beyond recognition the meaning of the two terms and their significance for the life of the individual and the citizen. Not only would we not agree with the Greeks that a life spent in the privacy of “one’s own” (idion), outside the world of the common, is “idiotic” by definition, or with the Romans to whom privacy offered but a temporary refuge from the business of the res publica; we call private today a sphere of intimacy whose … peculiar manifoldness and variety were certainly unknown to any period prior to the modern age. This is not merely a matter of shifted emphasis. In ancient feeling the privative trait of privacy, indicated in the word itself, was all-important; it meant literally a state of being deprived of something, and even of the highest and most human of man’s capacities. A man who lived only a private life … was not fully human. … However, it seems even more important that modern privacy is at least as sharply opposed to the social realm – unknown to the ancients who considered its content a private matter – as it is to the political, properly speaking. The decisive historical fact is that modern privacy in its most relevant function, to shelter the intimate, was discovered as the opposite not of the political sphere but of the social, to which it is therefore more closely and authentically related. … … It is decisive that society, on all its levels, excludes the possibility of action, which formerly was excluded from the household. Instead, society expects from each of its members a certain kind of behavior, imposing innumerable and various rules, all of which tend to “normalize” its members, to make them behave, to exclude spontaneous action or outstanding achievement. … This modern equality, based on the conformism inherent in society [is] possible only because behavior has replaced action as the foremost mode of human relationship…5

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Arendt wrote this sixty years ago, since then some of the trends she was concerned about have intensified, but there have been other changes effected by the globalisation of communication and of markets in goods and services, the decline of manufacturing, the growth of the multi-ethnic, non-nation state through immigration, the resurgence of nationalism partly in response to this, and conspicuous expenditure on what until recently, if they were even conceived of, would have been viewed as luxurious commodities and lifestyles. This complex and changing context of life is familiar enough to contemporary historians, cultural theorists, economists, psychologists, and social analysts and commentators, but reference, let alone response to it has been notably absent from mainstream Anglophone moral, social and political philosophy. This may seem less surprising when one considers the continuing tendency of such philosophers to proceed rapidly through ascending levels of abstraction in search of an a priori perspective from which to view, analyse and order human thought and action. But it has resulted in serious failures to provide recognisable representations of the contemporary world or adequate normative guides to acting within it.6 So far as ‘public reason’ itself is concerned it is a term of art now largely associated with Rawls’s development of the idea of justice as is it pertains to circumstances of ideological difference and disagreement. In A Theory of Justice (1971) he had been concerned with the allocation of goods, both material resources and institutional positions; but in the writings leading up to, including, and following upon the publication of Political Liberalism (1998) his focus had shifted to matters of justice in the arbitration of claims by advocates of competing conceptions of the human good. He was rightly concerned about the increasingly fractious character of debates in the US around such issues as abortion and capital punishment, and the related disputes between adherents of traditional forms of Christianity and secular humanists, as well as with the growing prospect of conflict with additional categories of religious believers consequent upon increasing immigration. In essence, Rawls’s problematic is relatively simple: on what basis may one reasonably and justly address contested political issues where the basis of contest is different moral and or religious (here including irreligious) conceptions of the human condition and the values relevant to it? To do so on the basis of endorsing one of the disputant conceptions is problematically partial, but even to do so on the basis of another comprehensive doctrine of the good not already represented in the conflict is just to add another party to the dispute, and then to judge in its favour is again to act unjustly. Setting aside the details of his positive account the basic idea is that one has to in his words ‘apply the principle of toleration to philosophy’ itself and look for a political rather than an ideological account of justice. The former is to be found in part by looking for an overlapping consensus among disputants, and in part by specifying conditions under which conflicting parties may advance their claims. The latter is where the idea of public reason enters. In debating matters of public policy whether in legislative assemblies, courts, deliberative councils, or other political fora one may only advance arguments that meet the standard

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of public reason. This is characterised in different respects as being the reason of the public, that is to say of citizens conceived of as free and equal persons, about the public good, as represented by institutions and policies, and in being public in nature and content. It is easier to see what is intended by considering what is supposed to be excluded. One will not be making a public reason argument if one does so invoking an idea of oneself as superior to the status of, and exceptional to the constraints upon others; or if one is making a claim regarding personal goods, or if the reasoning invokes claims that others cannot be expected to recognise as reasonable. The effect of all of this is to constrain public debate so as to exclude entirely or largely, moral or religious perspectives that others can reasonably reject. But since the latter is true of every substantive view of the human good the upshot is a form of thinned out liberal discourse that privatises substantial commitments. This is not the occasion to explore the issue further, but one can summarise a range of objections by saying that the notion of public reason as a constraint on deliberation about public institutions and policies is simultaneously too strong and too weak. It is too strong because it disempowers citizens from invoking their deepest beliefs and commitments on matters to which these are clearly relevant, and it is too weak in so far as it provides no principled resolution of matters that appear to be ones of principle. By way of rejoinder, Rawls and his followers may say that while the involvement of comprehensive moral, metaphysical and religious doctrines might provide answers these would be problematically controversial and partial, and thereby unacceptable as principles of justice, and that the alternative of allowing adherents to ‘fight it out’ undermines the security and stability that a political order should aim to provide. Relevant as these responses may be, however, it is a mistake to regard them as decisive for the first is simply a reassertion of a disputed conception of justice, while the second is an empirical claim that needs to be proven and which, given the stability of non-liberal political orders in the past and today is far from established.7 Against this background, we must think more and better about the nature of the private–public and social and political contrasts, and about the nature of the resources available in the making of arguments about ethical, social, cultural and political issues. As has been noted, the intention and value of recently advocated norms of ‘public reason’ are themselves matters of contest and we need to think afresh about what is and what is not reasonable. Beyond that we need in private and public life to identify relevant intellectual and practical virtues and give priority to the advocacy and inculcation of these.

II Difference and disagreement, contest and dispute are common features of human interactions and relationships. Insofar as they are confined to the private sphere the inability to resolve them is often a matter for regret, and where conscience is engaged and culpability felt it is also a matter for remorse. As we all know, however, there are strategies of various sorts, and moral modalities for

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containing, coping with or evading them. These include, as well as both reasoned and sophistical resolution and conciliation: a) abandoning a claim, b) agreeing to differ, c) bartering preferences, d) negotiating a compromise, e) changing the subject, and f) providing inducements sometimes amounting to blackmail, bribery and threats of retaliation. Leaving aside the moral character of these measures, matters seems to acquire a further dimension of difficulty when deep disagreements occur in the public sphere, since they generally concern matters of broad public interest and bear on public values and policies, then tending to ramify and leading to further societal divisions and sectionalisation. The evidence of this is everywhere to be seen in disputes about beginning and ending of life issues; sexuality; personal and familial relationships; ethnic; gender; class identity and recognition; education; culture and religion; freespeech; alcohol and drug policy; crime and punishment; security and defence; immigration and social integration; even human nature: both whether there is such a thing, and if there is what ought to be one’s attitude to it: seeing it either as a foundation of value and virtue, or as a distraction from or an even impediment to them, as some in the transhumanist camp believe. Since these issues are all closely connected with questions of public values and policy, the scope for containment, coping or evasion is severely limited, and such strategies are themselves often contested: on the one hand by social conservatives who see them as manifesting faint-hearted avoidance of the need to defend traditional positions and of the duty to persuade fellow citizens of them, for their own sake as well as for the good of others and of society at large, or as symptomatic of defeatism; and on the other hand, by social radicals, now increasingly self-styled as ‘progressives’, who view them as expressions of resistance to due social change. These two hostile responses to evasion, coping or containment are also sometimes evident in attitudes to calls for toleration which until recently was viewed favourably as one of the defining values and virtues of traditional liberalism, as famously developed by John Locke and by John Stuart Mill in response to different sources of coercive threats: those of the tyrannical sovereign and of the tyrannical majority, respectively. While the objections to toleration from left and right have often been as indicated, i.e. as concessive to undesirable change, or to undesirable resistance to change, there are two further points to note in criticisms of toleration and of the hitherto generally favoured encouragement of, and education into it. The first, has been cited by both right and left, while the second has been the preserve of the latter. The former, is the idea that toleration is self-contradictory since the would-be tolerant simultaneously opposes and countenances, and to that extent at least materially co-operates with, what she judges to be bad. Historically, to tolerate meant to endure and by extension to allow, in both cases indicating forbearance.8 Originally what was tolerated could not, or not easily be avoided, so it had to be coped, or put up with; but even where it could be distanced from, it was judged appropriate, generally for prudential reasons, not to interfere with its occurrence. So we get to the idea that to tolerate is to accept

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without intrusion the existence or practice of something which one judges ought not to be, or to be done. The paradox then is that one judges evaluatively that it would be good if X were not to have been or were to cease yet one does nothing to prevent or stop it. Put in terms of a familiar challenge: how can it be rational to tolerate the intolerable? Certainly, there is tension in toleration but there need not be contradiction. First of all, judgements of goodness and badness and of ought-to-do-ness come in degrees and one may reasonably judge that while something is bad it is not that bad, and the chances or costs of stopping it outweigh the effort. Similar reasoning may apply even where one judges a situation or practice to be seriously bad. In his discussion of the question ‘Whether law should suppress all vices’ (Summa Theologiae Ia IIae, q 96 a.2) Aquinas writes: Human law is framed for a number of human beings, the majority of whom are not perfect in virtue. Therefore, human laws do not forbid all vices, from which the virtuous abstain, but only the more serious vices, from which it is possible for the majority to abstain; and chiefly those that are to the hurt of others, without the prohibition of which human society could not be maintained: thus human law prohibits murder, theft and such like. … The purpose of human law is to lead men to virtue, not suddenly, but gradually. Hence it does not impose upon the multitude of imperfect men the burdens of those who are already virtuous, viz., that they should abstain from all evil. Otherwise these imperfect ones, being unable to bear such precepts, would break out into yet greater evils. And later in discussion of the question ‘whether the rites of unbelievers ought to be tolerated’ (Summa Theologiae IIa IIae, q. 10, a. 11) he answers that … in human government, those who are in authority, rightly tolerate certain evils, lest certain goods be lost, or certain greater evils be incurred: thus Augustine says (De Ordine ii, 4): ‘If you do away with prostitutes, the world will be convulsed with lust.’9 For present purposes the relevance is not that of the examples but of the reasoning: it may be proper to permit what one judges bad because efforts to suppress it are liable to harm the public good, by imposing infeasible costs on its maintenance or lowering respect for regulation more generally. This, however, may seem to be an unsatisfactorily prudential or utilitarian justification. Can more be said? Consider then the tension in the idea of toleration as that is identified by Bernard Williams: If we are asking people to be tolerant, we are asking for something more complicated than [the elimination of attitudes of disapproval]. They will indeed have to lose something, their desire to suppress or drive out the

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rival belief [or practice]; but they will also keep something, their commitment to their own beliefs, which is what gave them that desire in the first place. There is a tension here between one’s own commitments and the acceptance that others may have other and quite distasteful commitments. This is the tension that is typical of toleration, and the tension which makes it so difficult.10 Williams speaks of the requirement of toleration as something it is reasonable to ask of people notwithstanding their commitments. This will seem unreasonable if one assumes that a judgement that some situation or practice merits moral disapproval entails that one who makes such a judgement is thereby committed to making efforts to coercively enforcing it. But apart from the prudential and greater good considerations introduced by Aquinas there are other points to be considered. First it is relevant on what basis the negative judgement is made. Suppose for example that I feel that something merits moral disapproval but am not confident that I can justify this feeling in a way that could make sense to others who do not share it. Or suppose what is another case, I do think that I can offer a justification but that I also think that a reasonable case can be made to a contrary conclusion. I am not here canvassing relativism but rational indeterminacy or underdetermination. Here I need not revert to the Rawlsian move of disavowing considerations that others do not regard as reasonable, on the contrary I may be asserting the reasonableness both of considerations I favour and of ones I reject, though of course I judge the former to be more telling not just for me but all things considered. These then are principled nonprudential grounds for refraining from attempting to eliminate or constrain by law or social sanction some situation which I believe myself to have good reason to judge bad. Additionally, I may judge that in some circumstances I should exercise deliberative abstinence, by which I mean that I should set aside my believedto-be-reasonable-judgements because the context requires impartiality as between my view and that of others. Evidently this is relevant to those in public office. The conclusion, then, is that while tolerating what one judges to be bad may involve certain tensions there is no general contradiction involved and the tensions may be eased by reference to considerations, the application of which need not undermine one’s first-order moral judgement. I turn then to the second objection to toleration which I described as generally being the preserve of the left, to which I might add and ‘progressive liberals’. This is the idea that the notion of toleration has to be rejected as failing to accept what must be accepted, or reinterpreted so to amount to acceptance. The latter is evident in the forced semantic shift in the meaning of toleration from forbearance with something judged to be bad to approval of it as acceptable, to celebration of it as desirable. This is evident in the claim that someone who is unwilling to celebrate some X is thereby shown to be intolerant. Were it not for its actual embodiment in practice and policy this would

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have no more interest as an example of persuasive definition than that of the designation of a Scotsman as one who is parsimonious or tight fisted, modified in the face of counter-examples as being the definition of a ‘true-Scotsman’. But this redefined idea of true-toleration, or simply toleration as stipulated by those with the power to censure and coerce, is now a real threat to freedom of discussion. The roots of this may lie in a discussion half-a-century ago by Herbert Marcuse in a set of essays by diverse hands entitled A Critique of Pure Tolerance. His contribution was ‘Repressive Tolerance’ in which he argued that the permitted expression of minority views in modern societies is a sham. It is allowed because it is ineffective, and its lack of efficacy is due to the fact that the majority have been ideologically conditioned in ways that disable them from understanding let alone giving credence to those views. Correspondingly ‘freedom of speech’ far from providing an impartial platform is simply a device for allowing the dominant ideological position to be broadcast. What matters according to Marcuse is truth, and free speech in these circumstances is the enemy of it and so ought to be combatted in the interest of advancing the favoured minority position by other, revolutionary means. Notice how far this stands from Mill’s view that freedom of speech is an aid to the discovery of truth. But note also that it is a license to allow voice only to what one takes to be true and so will either, in the style of the progressives I mentioned a moment ago, reject toleration where what it would allow is held to be false, or else redefine it as the affirmation of that which is held to be true. This analysis of the roots of a new revolutionary terror provides a bridge to a reflection rooted in personal experience with which I will conclude. In the spring of 2016 I was asked to take part in an Intelligence Squared Debate organised by the Sydney Ethics Centre at the City Recital Hall in Australia’s largest centre of population; it was also to be filmed by the BBC for broadcast by ABC Australia and by BBC World. I mention these organisations and the settings to indicate that responsible consideration lay behind the planning and presentation of the event. As might be imagined those involved were also of a ‘liberal’ disposition. The proposition to be debated was ‘Society Must Recognise Trans People’s Gender Identities’. The very fact that such a debate was to be held had been met with protests from various elements within the LGBTQ activist groups and with suggestions that physical measures should be taken to prevent it from occurring. For the protesters it was intolerable, and not to be tolerated that any such discussion take place. I judged that these threats were unlikely to be realised but various security provisions were put in place. In addition, however, I was invited to write an article for the Australian edition of the Guardian to be published on the day prior to that set for the debate itself, making a case not for a view on the substantive issue but for the permissibility, not even the desirability, which I also believe to be the case, of holding such an event. Evidently the subject of transgenderism touches on many issues of importance that deserve to be discussed, bringing to bear personal, scientific, moral,

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philosophical, and other insights on either side. But the organisers of an event designed to debate these matters allowing equal opportunity to speakers on either side of the proposition, whose own positions differed in relevant respects, were being denounced as transphobic for even convening a public discussion of them. Here as in other cases the strategy is to remove voices from the forum by designating them bad or mad. At the time of the event I held moral philosophy professorships on three continents: permanently in the UK and in the US, and then as a visiting professor in Sydney where I was giving a series of lectures on the theme of The Good Society. In comparing these cultures, particularly their educational and media institutions and practices, I have noticed differences but have also seen common trends, among the most concerning of which are the limiting of freedom of expression and the growth of coercive conventionalism which since it is often presented under the self-styled titles of progressive liberalism I will title ‘coercive progressivism’. On US and UK campuses there has been a growing practice of no-platforming, and demands to approve (and remove) staff, and to vet courses and syllabuses deemed ’offensive’, ‘disrespectful’ and even ‘discomforting’. In public debates there is a trend to restrict what can be discussed. In the provision of services there is coerced co-operation in practices one deeply disapproves of. These are marks of a closing culture and I believe that liberals of the kind that honour and draw inspiration from Locke and Mill have a duty to resist them. To counter and reverse such trends, our intellectuals, institutions and the media need to return to the roots of western liberalism in its traditional form – to be contrasted with restrictive political Rawlsianism and revolutionary Marcusian progressivism – so that we might live at ease with one another under its protective branches. Liberalism represents a philosophical ideal and a practical solution to a social challenge. The ideal is that of free thought and expression by which minds are formed and refined. The solution is to the challenge of deep difference and irreconcilable disagreement. Following the Reformation, Europe was torn apart by religious wars between Catholics and Protestants. No solution lay in the direction of victory by violence, but it occurred to thinkers such as John Locke that it might be possible to accept deep differences between believers while making this a basis for tolerance rather than terror. This recognised that while disagreement might be silenced by the threat of violence it would only be effective so long as that threat could be maintained everywhere and always. And that proved impossible then as it did centuries later for the tyrannous ideologies of Nazi Germany, the Soviet Union and Cambodia. A further recognition was that one can only coerce outward behaviour not inner thought and feeling. Additionally, believers on either side of a religious or moral divide can see in their opponents what their opponents can see in them, namely sincere believers trying to make sense of the human condition.

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Even if that is not enough to prompt sympathy and respect, together with the impracticality of coercion, it gave reason to liberals to develop the idea of religious tolerance. This took an age to be converted into practice but from it emerged the first amendment of the US constitution: ‘Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof’. It also prohibits ‘abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble’. This effectively addressed those who argued, as the ideologues of old and new orthodoxies tend to do, that one may silence someone on the grounds that their views are offensive. It remains a milestone on the road to the ‘good society’. While liberalism continues to be referred to in political philosophy seminars, on the campuses of English-speaking colleges and universities and in progressive blogs and among diversity and equality activists a new tyranny threatens to strangle the roots of freedom and establish orthodoxies no less intolerant than those of the past. In penal times, sovereigns punished dissent with deprivation of social position, employment, property and freedom. Today, in less centralised societies, the sources of coercion are widely distributed but they have power nonetheless to intimidate, to censor and to silence, and through education to reach into and narrow the minds of the young while they are still in formation. As well as being a philosophical ideal, liberalism is a solution to the challenge of difference and disagreement. Anglophone societies are increasingly diverse, multi-cultural, multi-moral and multi- much else besides. They can only hold together if they recover and renew the principles of toleration – not endorsing but putting up with that with which one profoundly disagrees, and accepting that one’s own convictions freely expressed without the subtle restriction of ‘public reason’ requirements may be countered in good faith. In the past, the main dividing points were religion and national identity. Today they are morality and personal integrity. Unless these are protected, there will no selves to which to be true, just a mass of unquestioning conformists. There is no time to be lost in turning back the rising forces of illiberalism, and in developing strategies for dealing with disagreement. Among these, I suggest, is that of allowing the conversation to continue and recognising that there are reasonable positions on both sides of most disputed questions. One device of those who wish to halt discussion is to entrench one position or another in law or in public norms thereby excluding by formal or informal means any further debate. That is a recipe for resentment and disassociation from society thereby furthering the trend to division and disunion. Education has an obvious role to play in countering these forces but it has to be worked out what virtues need to be cultivated and what form they should take. Rawls wrote of justice as being the first virtue of political institutions but without denying its importance I will end by saying that I think that toleration is the first virtue of a pluralistic society, without which political institutions will not long survive.

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Notes 1 For Aristotle see Nichomachean Ethics, Book 1, Chap. 2; for Aquinas see Summa Theologiae Ia IIae q. 18; and for Mill see Utilitarianism, Chap. 2. 2 For Kant see Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals, Chap. 1; for Nagel see The Possibility of Altruism (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1979) Chap. 3; and for Scanlon see What We Owe to Each Other (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000) Chap. 1. 3 For Hutcheson see An Inquiry into the Original of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue (Chicago, IL: Libery Fund, 2008), Section 1; for Hume see A Treatise of Human Nature (London: Penguin Classics, 1986), Book 3, Part 1, Sec. 2; for Smith see The Theory of Moral Sentiments (New York: Gutenberg Publishers, 2011), Chap. 1; for Blackburn see Ruling Passions: A Theory of Practical Reasoning (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998) Chap. 2; and for Alan Gibbard see Wise Choices, Apt Feelings: A Theory of Normative Judgement (Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University Press, 1992) Chap. 1. 4 In relation to Aristotle see Giles Pearson, ‘Aristotle and the Cognitive Component of Emotion’ in Brad Inwood ed. Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy Vol. 46 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014); for Augustine and Aquinas see Anastasia Scrutton, ‘Emotion in Augustine of Hippo and Thomas Aquinas’ International Journal of Systematic Theology 7 (2) 2005, and Peter King, ‘Aquinas on the Emotions’ in B. Davies and E. Stump eds. The Oxford Handbook to Aquinas (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012) Chap. 16. 5 Hannah Arendt, ‘The Rise of the Social’ The Human Condition (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1998). 6 Someone may counter that some younger philosophers have associated themselves with various social critiques surrounding issues to do with ethnic and sexual identities, but in this they are following rather than leading in contemporary social movements. 7 For detailed criticisms of the Rawlsian project consolidated in Political Liberalism see John Haldane, ‘Political Theory and the Nature of Persons’ Philosophical Papers 20 (2) 1991, ‘The Individual, the State and the Common Good’ Social Philosophy and Policy 13 (1) 1996 and ‘Public Reason, Truth and Human Fellowship’ Journal of Law, Philosophy and Culture 1 (1) 2007. 8 Deriving from the Latin tolerare: to bear or to cope, eg with pain. Note the connection with two related meanings of to suffer (suffere from sub+ferre to ‘bear-up’) a) in the sense of to bear pain or loss, and b) to permit as when a gospel reports Jesus as saying ‘Suffer [i.e. allow or permit] children to come to me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God’ Luke 16:18. 9 The texts of Aquinas are from The Summa Theologiæ of St. Thomas Aquinas Second and Revised Edition Literally translated by Fathers of the English Dominican Province (London: Burns, Oates and Washbourne, 1920). 10 Bernard Williams ‘Tolerating the Intolerable’ in Philosophy as a Humanistic Discipline (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2006) p. 127.

Chapter 15

Designing for dialogue Developing virtue through public discourse

Harry H. Jones

Introduction Each summer in the U.S., congressional representatives from the two dominant parties come together for the annual Congressional Baseball Game. In the summer of 2017, a Boston Globe article referred to this game as, “[…] one of the last vestiges of bipartisan camaraderie” but was quick to note that it takes place “[…] in a city that seems to grow more bitterly divided by the year” (McGrane & Arnett, 2017). One day prior to the 2017 game, a man motivated by political differences opened fire on one of the teams as they were practicing. This incident serves as a picture of the way those on opposing sides of the present political landscape tend to communicate in the United States. I am unsure how true this is around the world generally, but entrenched polarization around a variety of issues, especially in the political realm, is the new normal in the United States. As such, productive dialogue around contentious issues is the exception, not the rule. In what follows, I will argue that dialogue is a common experience which serves as a significant opportunity for citizens to cultivate virtues. Conversely, when we engage in dialogue poorly, we are at best squandering an opportunity to cultivate virtues and at worst actively, however unintentionally, cultivating vices. Tools from the design community of practice could help both to facilitate more productive dialogue in the public sphere and to make progress on contentious issues. In short, we need to design for dialogue. Because participating productively in dialogue is a venue for virtue development, designing for dialogue is a form of designing for virtue.

Polarization and public dialogue in the U.S. A 2016 Washington Post article claims, “The sense that America is more divided than it used to be is backed by hard data” (Achenback, et al., 2016). The authors cite data collected by the Pew Research Center showing that “more than 4 in 10 Democrats and Republicans say the other party’s policies are so misguided that they pose a threat to the nation” (Achenback, et al., 2016). While polarization in the U.S. appears to be at an all-time high, it is not necessarily the case that we have

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more disagreements than in previous points in our history. It may be true that citizens do disagree more. But it may turn out that citizens merely appear to disagree more because the internet has simply given voice to far more citizens. Indeed, those with a smartphone can now operate as their own media company. So perhaps the disagreements are merely more visible than in previous eras. Whatever the case, it need not be true that disagreement itself has increased as disagreement is not equal to polarization. Polarization, in the sense intended above describes not the disagreement itself but the end result of the way we disagree. Disagreement itself is, of course, a necessary feature of a healthy liberal democracy. Disagreement can be accompanied by mutual respect and admiration or by indifference or by contempt and hate. Charitably, let us assume that most citizens and politicians do not hate one another. It does seem fair to say that those on opposite sides of the proverbial aisle tend to harbor distrust for one another. This is a substantial block to productive dialogue. Distrust of the other greatly hinders our ability to sort through our disagreements or even to understand one another at the most basic level. Though I’ll contextualize my analysis with U.S. examples, the argument I offer will be broadly applicable to other societies, even where cultural norms are markedly different. Among the problems associated with this polarization is a lack of fruitful dialogue. A lack of empathy also seems prevalent, and this perpetuates a lack of understanding (and generates misunderstanding), which creates distrust. Furthermore, where we fail to have healthy dialogue, we are at best squandering an opportunity to develop as virtuous citizens. At worst, we are cultivating vice. The focus of this chapter is to consider ways in which tools from the design community could improve the quality of our public dialogue. Beyond our individual experience and the survey data, consider two recent items that are intended to serve as anecdotal evidence of the broader problem. Each will point to a factor that contributes to unproductive dialogue. In the 2017 Wriston Lecture to the Manhattan Institute, NYU Professor Jon Haidt claimed, “Many students are given just one lens—power […] Every situation is analyzed in terms of the bad people acting to preserve their power and privilege over the good people. This is not an education” (Haidt, 2017). While Haidt made this comment in the context of a discussion of identity politics and higher education and was, as such, not directly addressing dialogue in the public sphere, his analysis highlights one of the limiting phenomena. Insofar as one insists on a single lens through which to interpret the world, one may become unwilling or unable to consider other lenses. This kind of orthodoxy blocks productive dialogue in a pluralistic society. The problem is not that one holds a particular worldview, or even holds one’s worldview to be true. Rather, the problem is when one’s own commitments prevent one from even entertaining other views fairly and respectfully. Where this occurs, productive dialogue is not possible. Such an inability or unwillingness to see the world through multiple lenses inhibits our ability to understand other citizens who, in fact, see the world very differently. Haidt’s comments suggest that a trend in higher education is a tendency to promote a single lens through which to see the world, a singular

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interpretive grid by which to make sense of one’s experience. This kind of orthodoxy cuts against the diversity that is baked into the very idea of the university, and it is inconsistent with maintaining a vibrant and healthy pluralism. One result is that fruitful dialogue is not happening. Yet, a refusal to entertain competing, or even complementary, lenses is not the only block to dialogue. A related block to dialogue occurs when parties disagree, giving voice to many views, but each fails to listen, to listen actively and with sincerity, to the other. In this case, we have not so much dialogue as we have something like multiple monologues happening simultaneously. This presents a facade of pluralism insofar as competing views are not explicitly disallowed, but it is just that—a facade. Partner and Global Managing Director for the design firm, IDEO, said in a recent article, “I’m going to posit that we are getting dialogue wrong […] Turn on any cable news program or scroll through Twitter, and it’s painfully clear that we’re often talking at each other, rather than with each other” (Anzilotti, 2017). Again, the observation is that there is plenty of “talking” happening through various media, but it is talking at rather than talking with. This phenomenon is prevalent enough that, for at least the past three years around the time of the U.S. Thanksgiving holiday, numerous authors have recommended employing hostage negotiation tactics to navigate mealtime conversation (Alford, 2014; Anderson, 2017; Shapiro, 2016). And this is in the context of dialogue largely with one’s own family! IDEO is attempting to tackle this problem through two related initiatives, Designing Dialogues and Creative Tensions or “conversations that move.”1 Dust’s comments are aimed more at the way we communicate rather than what we are communicating. As an aside, when asked what the number one obstacle to dialogue is, my students overwhelmingly say not listening. The problem here seems to lie with individual communication skills, specifically listening skills, but it is connected to the problem identified above. When one says “my view is the only correct and therefore acceptable view,” one has reason not to listen to others. But the thought that one’s view is correct is not really the problem either; each of us thinks our view is correct. One problem is overconfidence in our ability to discern the correct view. One need not give up a commitment to a particular view in order to be more willing to engage competing views in an honest way. But this requires the exercise of virtues such as humility and patience. So before considering the ways in which design tools could help us, I will turn to the connection between public dialogue to the cultivation of virtue.

Dialogue and virtue Dialogue is a venue for virtue development. Annas describes a virtue as “[…] a lasting feature of a person, a tendency for the person to be a certain way” (Annas, 2011, p. 9). She further articulates the following features of a virtue, “It is active […] And it develops through selective responses to circumstances” (Annas, 2011, p. 9). One must thoughtfully aspire to and reflectively pursue the

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development of the virtues. Developing virtues takes practice, and practice is not merely repetition. As Burnyeat notes, “[…] practice has cognitive powers, in that it is the way we learn what is noble or just” (Burnyeat, 1980, p. 73). Human interactions are ordinary opportunities for the development of virtues. Dialogue around contentious issues is a special opportunity in part because it is a more demanding context in which to exercise virtue, and the feedback is often immediate. For improving a typically contentious public dialogue then, one should consider at least two features: the lenses through which the participants view the world and the individual skills one brings to the table. Each also brings an interpretive grid and a set of individual skills. My aim here is not to suggest ways to change anyone’s interpretive grid but rather ways that we might more peaceably engage with a variety of lenses. Incidentally, engaging well those who see the world very differently will necessarily involve significantly improved listening skills. In what follows, I argue that design tools can help us advance in both areas. If we can design for productive dialogue as a first step, we will better be able to understand the views in question, why different people hold them, and what is at stake. When those elements become clear to all parties in the dialogue, we might then be able to have fruitful conversations about the merits of one worldview over another. Design can provide resources for participants to engage in productive dialogue. This is valuable not merely because productive dialogue is better than not. The way we dialogue is a venue for virtue development, and the quality of our public dialogue serves as a barometer for where we are as a nation. There are at least three ways one might engage in dialogue. I will call them productive dialogue (PD), unproductive dialogue (UD), and counterproductive dialogue (CD). I use the term “productive” to capture some minimally positive outcome, depending upon the aims of the dialogue. Where PD occurs, some minimal good is obtained through the dialogue process. The standard for success I propose here is admittedly very low. It could be as minimal as the increased curiosity of one party to explore the issue further. UD will not yield any such minimal good, but it also does not yield any negative goods. CD, by contrast, yields negative goods. CD creates additional problems, breaks down relationship, hardens one to alternative voices, erects or reinforces barriers, and otherwise hurts the overall situation. This is partly bad because it represents a kind of regress, but it is especially bad because it seems to entail an exercise of vices. It seems that PD rides on the exercise of one or more virtues. Some collection of the following virtues would surely be present for any given instance of PD: creativity, curiosity, fairness, gratitude, honesty, humility, kindness, love, self-regulation, and social intelligence.2 UD, it seems to me, is marked by indifference but perhaps not necessarily vice. Where CD obtains, one will find a lack of some or all of the virtues listed above. Lack of imagination, failure to be curious, dishonesty, pride, meanness, and other vices will likely be present for any given instance of CD. At a deeper level, CD seems to flow, at best, from a fundamental lack of regard for the other and in the worst cases, from an

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active disdain or contempt for the other. A posture of contempt often belies a functional disbelief in equality. This would seem to entail a denial of equal worth, human dignity, and the like. Waldron notes, “These terms—‘basic equality,’ ‘equal worth,’ ‘equal concern and respect,’ and ‘human dignity’—are not synonyms. But they cluster together to form a powerful body of principle” (Waldron, 2017, p. 3). Regardless of one’s theory of equality, the idea that humans have an equal moral worth, and are owed a corresponding basic level of respect, seems uncontroversial for most 21st century global citizens. If our national conversation is dominated by counterproductive dialogue, and if even much counterproductive dialogue is marked by one or more vices and entails a commitment to inequality, it seems to point to a problem much deeper than frustrated desires to “get along” or even to “find acceptable solutions” to social problems. I suggest that CD is at best a lost opportunity for virtue cultivation and at worst a form of vice habituation. As such, one might argue that our national dialogue says something powerful, for better or for worse, about our national character. One question we might ask is what sort of people do we claim to be and whether our civic conversations affirm or deny that claim. To this point, I have suggested that we, at least in the US, have a dialogue problem. I have further argued that to account for the ways dialogue happens, one must consider the virtues and vices associated with that which is productive and that which is counterproductive. This is not to say that the phenomena of counterproductive dialogue is merely a symptom such that were we to address a deeper character problem, the dialogue problem would go away. Perhaps that is true, strictly speaking, but we need not wait to become fully virtuous in order to engage in productive dialogue. The way we talk to one another just is one of the ways we develop a variety of virtues. So it would be misguided to focus on becoming more virtuous in order to have better dialogue, rather than focusing practicing productive dialogue as a way of becoming more virtuous. When we talk to one another in a way that fundamentally recognizes the equal worth of persons, we are exercising a variety of virtues such as love, humility, and so forth. It is no good merely to assent to equality or to appear to embrace equality. We must treat one another in ways consistent with the embrace of equality. If it turns out that we, as a nation, have paid massive lip service to the idea of human equality, such that we say it but do not actually believe it, we have an even deeper problem. For our purposes, let us assume that most citizens do, in fact, believe in basic human equality and aim to act in ways consistent with that belief. Despite their best efforts, they still find themselves participating in more counterproductive dialogue than not. I recognize that there are aspects of our “national conversation” that may be importantly different from dialogue between two individuals. What I have in mind here is largely the dialogue that happens in a public way around contentious issues, whether in official capacities, or through social media, or some other means that are not private. If it is true that citizens aspire to have productive dialogue, I argue that design has something to offer.

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What do we mean by “design,” and how can it help? “Design” as a term is in vogue but often used to denote a wide variety of disparate activities. The Museum of Modern Art employs design curators. Engineers apply a design process to engineering problems. Apple is known for great design. IDEO has firmly established human-centered design, or design thinking, as an essential part the business lexicon. Stanford University offers courses aimed at designing your life and even has a lab dedicated to such. This is in addition to the multidisciplinary activities that occur at the Hasso Plattner Institute of Design, better known as the Stanford d.school. Even U.S. Army has a design methodology (U. S. Army, 2012)! Some of these activities are clearly overlapping; others do not seem at all related. What have Charles and Ray Eames to do with military campaign planning? What does product design have to do with figuring out one’s future? My aim here is not to answer those questions, though I consider them worthy of a future project. I only aim to specify what I mean by design for our purposes here. “Everyone designs who devises courses of action aimed at changing existing situations into preferred ones” (Simon, 1996, p. 111). This is intentionally wide and is intended to capture a wide-range of activities. Purposefully crafting ways to shift existing conditions into preferred ones hints at the problem-solving nature of the kind of design I have in mind. But it is important to note that good design is not merely solving a narrow problem as presented (Peart, 2017). It is uncovering root causes and sometimes designing entire ecosystems if necessary. At the very least, we might say good design respects the complexity of the challenge at hand. Indeed, designers tend to talk not about “problems” so much as “problem situations” when it comes to complex human problems where the network of variables is large, and the interactions between the variables are always shifting and are difficult or impossible to map in any stable and fine-grained way (Dorst, 2015). Referring to “problem situations” invites us to make progress rather than strictly focus on solving. Progress is almost always possible, while solving, once and for all, complex human problems is typically out of reach. Problem situations tend to be far too complex for any one person or discipline to address and may be addressed by any number of “good” solutions. These problems are interesting on account of not being easily solved. In order to respect that complexity, it is helpful to frame the aim of exercising a design process as “making progress, moving forward, or moving closer” to the preferred condition. This is what I have in mind here. Our national dialogue is a complex set of phenomena that takes a variety of forms and involves participants with vastly different contexts, commitments, and skills of their own. This is not something to be “solved” so much as something we ought to work to improve in a deliberate and iterative way. That is another way of saying we ought to design our way ahead. Our existing situation with respect to dialogue leaves much to be desired. Surely each of us have had dialogue experiences that make us long for a better way. Leave aside, for the moment, what exactly might count as “better.” One

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small step is simply agreeing that we are aiming at something better. If we can generally agree that our dialogue is problematic and that we can do better, design may help in at least two ways. First, by employing design concepts such as framing, we might shift the emphasis of the dialogue and thereby curb the usual intensity that accompanies, for example, dialogue around “gun control.” Furthermore, by emphasizing keys to successful design such as empathy and active listening, design can help individuals participate in more productive dialogue. Second, by virtue of the fact that design is well-suited for complex human problems, a design process could be employed to make progress on complex and contentious problem situations.

The power of framing In politics, we tend to focus on solutions to “issues” or problems. This is good and understandable. But a too-narrow focus on solutions can have the unintended effect of limiting the number of possible solutions, sometimes blocking the best solutions. This is especially true with respect to well-worn issues or issues that seem intractable. In these cases, we need new solutions, yes. But in order to open up new solutions, we need what Dorst describes as “new approaches to problem situations” or “framing” (Dorst, 2015, p. 2). Creating new “frames” within which we might approach problems is the “key and special element of designers’ problem-solving practices” (Dorst, 2015, p. 2). Framing is a powerful tool and can be very consequential. The way we frame an issue delineates in a very concrete way the set of possible solutions. If one is given the challenge to build a boat to cross the river, there are a number of ways to do this. But there are exponentially more ways to address the challenge “devise a way to get across the river.” The solution to the former is the set of all possible boats. The solution to the latter includes the set of all possible boats in addition to all possible modes of flight, tunneling, swimming, and a variety of other options. Our national polarization is, at bottom, a human problem. It should not be surprising that an approach that focuses on the human at the center of the issue might unlock new ways forward. Human-centered design is a way of approaching complex problems that begins with empathy, under the assumption that one does not fully understand the problem being addressed. In order to understand the problem, one must engage with those who have a stake in the issue. One must listen patiently to a variety of voices in order to gain a richer understanding of the problem and all the complexities created by its context. Recall the way Dorst speaks of the “problem situation” rather than simply the “problem.” It serves as a reminder that all problems are situated in a complex collection of factors. We must respect the complexity of the problem situation and approach it with due humility. Weston describes creative problem-solving as “the art of expanding possibility” (Weston, 2007, p. 3). Similar to the way Dorst describes the concept of framing, Weston says creative-problem solving, “[…] is the ability to cast a situation in a

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new light […] and thereby open up new possibilities in it that were not evident before (Weston, 2007, p. 3). Frames are conceptual tools we can use to do this work of expanding possibilities. Reframing any given dialogue, then, is a good first step. There are at least two senses in which we might reframe a dialogue: one with respect to the topic at hand, the other with respect to our participation in the discussion. Regarding the former, take a topic such as “gun control.” It is very contentious and tends to divide participants up front into “for guns” and “not for guns.” This is unhelpful. If instead, one reframed “gun control” as “gun violence prevention,” one can immediately see how this changes the tenor of the discussion. After all, who could be for gun violence? Everyone can rally around the prevention of gun violence. Participants will still differ on what policies we ought to have with respect to guns, but at least under this reframe, participants can agree on a basic common aim. The latter sense in which one might reframe a dialogue is related to the former. When we reframe the discussion itself, it becomes more fitting to reframe our position in the discussion. If we approach the discussion as representatives of two extreme poles, we are off to a poor start. Yet, we tend to approach dialogue around contentious issues as combatants. We tend to see the other as our “opponent.” We have taken certain ground, and we are going to fight for that ground, or perhaps we are fighting to gain additional ground. We find solidarity with “our people,” and we will stand together to fight “them.” This is a kind of war in which one (intellectually and socially) kills or gets killed. This has numerous implications for the way we view the other and ourselves, and it sets certain (unhelpful) expectations for the interaction. What if we, instead, framed dialogue as collaboration? How would we approach dialogue around a contentious issue if we saw the other not as an opponent but rather as a fellow collaborator? Reframing in the two senses I suggest above would change the way we approach conversation around difficult topics.

Applying a design model to dialogue Reframing dialogue as collaboration puts participants in a different posture. With respect to contentious issues, a design-minded approach would start with patient and empathetic listening, asking powerful questions as a way to understand both the issue under consideration and the way various stakeholders approach it. There is no single model for taking a design approach to problem-solving. One well-known model is that used by the Stanford d.school. Their model proceeds along the following lines: empathize, define, ideate, prototype, test.3 This is not intended to be a linear process but rather an iterative one. What one learns during any given phase informs the whole process and may drive one from prototype back to define, for example. There are two senses in which elements of this process may help improve dialogue. The first is the shape and tenor of the dialogue itself. Having reframed dialogue as collaboration, we may approach the other as our partner in dialogue with the shared expectation that we are working together to make progress on a challenge, which, in this case,

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is the subject under discussion. If step one is to empathize, this ought to give participants pause as they seek first to understand as fully as possible the other person. About the empathize phase, the d.school “bootcamp bootleg” guide says it “[…] is the work you do to understand people […].”4 Focusing on understanding the other person first will involve more listening than talking and an honest attempt to understand where the other person is in their thinking, why they are where they are, and how they approach the world generally. Even if we were to stop here and only get empathy right in our quest for better dialogue, we would be taking a significant step in the right direction. It is only after we have understood what we are talking about that we can engage in productive dialogue. Listening actively and empathetically to one’s conversation partner would, I think, go a long way toward easing the friction that typically marks our dialogue. Only when we have listened honestly can we start to pin down what it is we are arguing about (or, the problem situation we are working together on, under our collaborative frame). Only then can we move to step two: define. The language used in the guide is geared toward designing a product or experiences for someone, so a bit of translation is required for our context. There is a sense in which when we consider this process as a way of conducting dialogue, the persons involved both form the collaborative team and serve as the subjects of investigation. One way to move through the empathy phase is to have dialogue partners interview one another. Another way, however, would be to have the would-be dialogue partners work together to conduct field research. They would identify others who represented their own views and then interview them together as a way to gain better understanding of one another. This endeavor should be marked by a genuine curiosity and an interest in understanding the other person, gathering as much information as feasible. One should make an honest attempt to understand the other person’s interpretive grid, their point of view, and why they hold that view. What are they hopeful for or afraid of? This will provide a much richer shared understanding of the issue at hand and what is, or at least perceived to be, at stake. Only then can you begin to generate ideas for the way ahead. Going further, we might investigate ways to craft dialogue conducive spaces. One could design experiences for diverse groups that lead with human connection and empathy-building prior to attempting to have substantive dialogue. The congressional baseball game is noteworthy not because it highlights our polarization. Recall that the baseball field was referred to as “[…] one of the last vestiges of bipartisan camaraderie.” It seems to me that the game itself serves as a kind of relationship reframe for those involved. For a few hours each year, they are not primarily Representative X, democrat or republican, and constrained by party lines. They are simply fellow humans participating in a longstanding American tradition. I imagine that participants see each other, if only for that one moment of the year, as fellow human beings, rather than as opposing party politicians. This is not magic. It can be deliberately arranged. We could design for this type of interaction if we chose to do so.

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Conclusion The way we tend to engage in public dialogue in the U.S. is counterproductive. I have argued both that this is a much bigger problem than it at first seems and that design tools could help. Unproductive dialogue is not merely a block to real progress around difficult issues. Insofar as one contributes to unproductive dialogue, one is actually becoming a less virtuous person on account of doing so. So it has virtue implications for citizens. Additionally, counterproductive dialogue hurts citizens by effectively blocking real progress around very important issues such as healthcare and guns. I have argued that design tools can be helpfully employed to shift these norms. Specifically, reframing dialogue as collaboration rather than combat could be a powerful first step. Second, applying some elements of a design process, such as empathy, to the very act of dialogue may help foster understanding and progress, rather than escalation and anger.5 Practicing curiosity and empathy will be productive within individual dialogues and could help us get after both the problems I have identified around orthodoxy and individual skills. Beyond that, a design approach could be employed both to craft the conditions under which productive dialogue is more likely to occur as well as aid us in making progress on the problem situations represented by classic hot-button topics. The hope, of course, is that designing for productive dialogue will yield better relationships across the proverbial aisle as well as better policies for everyone. Designing for productive dialogue will provide a context in which to self-consciously talk about, practice, and develop the virtues critical to progress as a society. In other words, designing for dialogue is a way of designing for virtue. Disclaimer The views expressed here are those of the author and do not reflect the official policy position of the United States Military Academy, the Department of the Army, the Department of Defense, or the US Government.

Notes 1 2 3 4

See www.designingdialogue.com/ and https://creativetensions.com/ See www.viacharacter.org/www/Character-Strengths See https://dschool.stanford.edu/resources/the-bootcamp-bootleg Bootcamp Bootleg available for download here: https://dschool.stanford.edu/resour ces/the-bootcamp-bootleg 5 To be clear, I do not mean to imply that empathy does not uniquely belong to design. It is a critical front-end skill for designers, and, per the d.school model, is a necessary first step toward addressing a design challenge.

References Achenbach, J. & Clement, S. (2016, July 16). America Really Is More Divided Than Ever. Washington Post. Retrieved from www.washingtonpost.com/national/america -really-is-more-divided-than-ever/2016/07/17/fbfebee6-49d8-11e6-90a 8-fb84201e0645_story.html?utm_term=.02f3daa7a145

Designing for dialogue 223 Alford, H. (2014, November 21). Crisis Negotiators Give Thanksgiving Tips. New York Times. Retrieved from www.nytimes.com/2014/11/23/fashion/crisis-negotiators-gi ve-thanksgiving-tips.html Anderson, J. (2017, November 23). Expert Advice on Surviving Thanksgiving Dinner—from a Hostage Negotiator Marriage Guru and Others. Quartz. Retrieved from https://qz.com/1136395/expert-advice-on-surviving-thanksgiving-dinner-from -a-hostage-negotiator-marriage-guru-and-others/ Annas, J. (2011). Intelligent Virtue. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Anzilotti, E. (2017, October 24). Why IDEO’s Fred Dust Thinks We Must Relearn the Art of Dialogue. Fast Company. Retrieved from www.fastcompany.com/40483243/ why-ideos-fred-dust-thinks-we-must-relearn-the-art-of-dialogue Burnyeat, M.F. (1980). Aristotle on Learning to Be Good. In Amelie Rorty (Ed.), Essays on Aristotle’s Ethics (pp. 69–92). Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Dorst, K. (2015). Frame Innovation. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Haidt, J. (2017, November 23). Notable and Quotable: Jonathan Haidt on Identity Politics. Wall Street Journal. Retrieved from www.wsj.com/articles/notable-quotablejonathan-haidt-on-identity-politics-1511464920 Huppatz, DJ. (2015). Revisiting Herbert Simon’s ‘Science of Design’. Design Issues, 31 (2), 29–40. McGrane, V. & Arnett, D. (2017, June 14). Congressional Baseball Game is a Centuries Old Tradition. The Boston Globe. Retrieved from www.bostonglobe.com/2017/06/ 14/morning-practice-was-for-congressional-baseball-game-tradition-forover-century/zg6OVdlWHxWBwPLCRTcbJN/story.html Peart, R. (2017, January 19). Why Design is Not Problem Solving + Design Thinking Isn’t Always the Answer. AIGA Eye on Design. Retrieved from https://eyeondesign. aiga.org/why-design-is-not-problem-solving-design-thinking-isnt-always-the-answer/ Shapiro, D. (2016, November 22). Talking Politics at the Thanksgiving Table. Psychology Today. Retrieved from www.psychologytoday.com/blog/transforming-conflict/ 201611/talking-politics-the-thanksgiving-table Simon, H. (1996). The Sciences of the Artificial. (3rd Ed.). Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. United States Army. (2012). Army Doctrine Reference Publication (ADRP) 5–0 The Operations Process, Retrieved from www.apd.army.mil/epubs/DR_pubs/DR_a/p df/web/adrp5_0.pdf Waldron, J. (2017). One Another’s Equals: The Basis of Human Equality. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press Weston, A. (2007). Creative Problem-Solving in Ethics. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Chapter 16

Virtù revisited Edward Skidelsky

Introduction It is notorious that Machiavelli did not mean by virtù what we standardly mean by “virtue”. But what did he mean by it? According to one influential interpretation, Machiavelli’s virtù is simply the virtus of pagan antiquity, now openly distinguished from its Christian counterpart. “He is indeed rejecting Christian ethics”, writes Isaiah Berlin (1997, p. 299), “but in favour of another system, another moral universe – the world of Pericles or of Scipio, or even of the Duke of Valentino.” In a similar vein, J. G. A. Pocock (1975, p. 316) describes the outlook of Machiavelli and his circle as “a basically Aristotelian republicanism from which Machiavelli did not seem to his friends … to have greatly departed.” This view of Machiavelli – and it is still widespread – overlooks what is deepest and most troubling in his thought. Machiavelli’s virtù is not the virtus of Cicero and Sallust, though it shares some of its surface features. Its essential attribute is not beauty or nobility but utility for the advancement and maintenance of state power. This was something new and seminal. Machiavelli himself did not grasp its full implications. It fell to later thinkers, including preeminently Hobbes, to spell them out systematically. Machiavelli’s friends were very much mistaken if they saw him as a runof-the-mill Aristotelian republican. His enemies had a better measure of the man. Recent years have seen many attempts to reintroduce the concepts of virtue and character into public conversation. I am sceptical of such endeavours. Whatever its intentions, a “politics of virtue” must end up promoting the same kind of instrumentalism discernible in discernible in Machiavelli, for the modern state’s interest is not and cannot be in virtue itself, but only its consequences. There is no point trying to breathe warmth into that “coldest of all cold monsters”, as Nietzsche (1961, p. 75) called the state. Rather, we should seek out and create forms of community within which the life of virtue might still be led despite the politic organisation of our age.

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Virtus in the republican tradition To appreciate the originality of Machiavelli’s conception of virtù, we must look very briefly at the prior history of term. The Latin word virtus derives from vir, meaning “man” or “politically active man”. Originally, it meant little more than “manliness”, or “courage in war”, war being the chief testing-ground of manliness in the Roman republic. Caesar, for instance, recounts how he put off punishing two Gallic commanders convicted of embezzlement in consideration of their outstanding virtus. Clearly for him the word was not a moral accolade (McDonnell, 2006, pp. 7–8). However, from the second century BC, by the process known to linguists as “semantic calque”, virtus acquired many of the connotations of the Greek word arete, or “excellence in general” (McDonnell, 2006, pp. 72–141). This new usage was popularised above all by Cicero in his philosophical works. Elsewhere, however, virtus continued to be used in a narrowly martial sense, or in the somewhat wider but still not entirely general sense of political courage or “public spirit”. Christianity put a freeze on this semantic fluidity. For Jerome, Augustine and their medieval successors, virtus was simply the genus of which justice, prudence, courage and temperance were the four main species; its original civic meaning all but disappeared from view.1 It was only in the fifteenth century, in the hands of humanists such as Bruni and Alberti, that virtus again became what it was in the age of Cicero: the specific virtue of strenuous devotion to the public weal, with overtones of manly energy and strength. “I am the great Aristotle”, runs a not untypical inscription on the wall of the Palazzo Pubblico, Sienna, composed in 1414, “and I tell you in hexameters about the men whose virtus made Rome so great that her power reached to the sky” (Rubenstein, 1958, p. 193). Virtus in this humanist tradition was the quality by means of which rulers and citizens might, with fortune’s favour, augment the power and honour of their native land. With it, great things were possible. Without it, all was lost. This very brief history of the term virtus bears out a point well made by philosopher Sophie-Grace Chappell (2013, p. 182): thin concepts “are like the higher-numbered elements in the periodic table, artefacts of theory which do not occur naturally and which, even once isolated, are unstable under normal conditions”. Philosophers tend to forget that their uniquely thin conception of “virtue” is a theoretical abstraction from that term’s original “thick” meaning, which even now is liable to surface in non-philosophical contexts. Here, for instance, is Lionel Trilling (2008, pp. 161–162) on the aptness of referring to George Orwell as a “virtuous man”: There are few men who, in addition to being good, have the simplicity and sturdiness and activity which allow us to say of them that they are virtuous men, for somehow to say that a man “is good,” or even to speak of a man who “is virtuous,” is not the same thing as saying, “He is a virtuous man.” By some quirk of the spirit of the language, the form of that sentence brings out the primitive meaning of the word “virtuous,” which is not merely moral goodness, but also fortitude and strength in goodness.

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One could put this observation to the test by commenting, in the course of casual conversation with non-philosophers, on the “virtue” of such-or-such a man or woman. I wager that the word will be taken to signify something more concrete than Aquinas’ virtus or Aristotle’s arete – if indeed it is taken as a straightforward approbative at all.

Machiavelli’s innovation All writers in the civic republican tradition could agree that virtus was a quality supremely useful to the civic body. “With this virtus your ancestors conquered all of Italy first, then razed Carthage, overthrew Numantia, brought the most powerful kings and the most warlike people under the sway of this empire”, declared Cicero in his fourth Philippic (McDonnell, 2006, p. 3). “Virtus is the quality by means of which it is possible to maintain a stable and lasting political society” wrote the Renaissance humanist Patrizi (as cited in Skinner, 1998, p. 175). But virtus was not just useful. It had an intrinsic lustre or beauty, signified by the terms kalon in Greek and honestas in Latin. Cicero (On Duties III.11) was at pains to demonstrate that nothing is truly useful which is not also honourable, or at least not dishonourable. Properly understood, the utilis can never conflict with the honestus. His Renaissance followers tirelessly repeated the point, insisting again and again that no good can come to a prince who kills the innocent, breaks his faith, and so forth. Machiavelli followed humanist convention in identifying virtù as that which promotes the power and glory of the state. He added, however, that virtù so understood has no necessary connection with honestas, for what is useful in matters of state may patently also be dishonest, cruel, miserly etc. In The Prince (2011, pp. 77–8), for instance, he praises the virtù of Roman emperor Septimius Severus in maintaining internal peace and order over his eighteen-year reign while freely acknowledging his cruelty and trickery. In the Discourses on Livy, his focus is on the character of the citizen body, not the ruler, yet his analysis follows the same general lines: virtù in citizens is whatever promotes civic greatness, whether or not it is intrinsically valuable. It can be instilled, for example (2003, pp. 50–61), by the calculating use of religious rituals – oaths, auspices and the like – though behaviour procured in this way is clearly not virtue in Aristotle’s sense, which proceeds from a firm and unchanging love of “the fine”. Machiavelli is often praised for what is seen as his tough-minded jettisoning of ancestral pieties – a view encouraged by his own statement that it is “appropriate to go to the real truth of the matter, not to repeat other people’s fantasies” (2011, p. 60). But mere tough-mindedness is hardly adequate to explain such a revolution in values. Are we really to suppose that men like Aristotle and Cicero were just too woolly-headed or soft-hearted to see that lies and crimes sometimes pay? No – the real explanation of Machiavelli’s new morality lies in the emergence of a novel form of political organisation, the state, which he was one of the first to identify and analyse. Let me explain.

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The polis, in Aristotle’s classic account, is an association of friends, dedicated like all such associations to the achievement of a common good. The difference between the polis and other associations – dining or boating clubs, say – is simply one of scope; these latter aim at some specific, partial good, whereas the polis “takes regard to the whole of life” (Aristotle, 2002, p. 218). Political morality is an extension of personal morality, differing from it only in generality, not in kind. All this is a way of saying that the polis, for Aristotle, is not a thing distinct from the political activity of the citizen body, any more than friendship is a thing distinct from the mutual activity of friends. Conversely, political activity does not aim at the production of some entity external to itself. It belongs, in Aristotle’s terminology, to the sphere of praxis, doing, not poesis, production. As Aquinas (always an astute interpreter of Aristotle’s meaning, as well as an influential thinker in his own right) puts it in his commentary on the Politics (2007, p. 2): Reason does some things by making them, by action that extends to external matter, and this belongs strictly to skills called mechanical (e.g., those of craftsmen, shipbuilders and the like). And reason does other things by action that remains in the one acting (e.g., deliberating, choosing, willing, and the like), and such things belong to moral science. There, it is evident that political science, which considers the direction of human beings, is included in the sciences about human action (i.e., moral sciences) and not in the sciences about making things (i.e., mechanical skills). There can be, on this view of politics, no distinctly political morality, no raison d’état. Bad actions cannot in principle benefit the political association, since, as Aristotle puts it (1995, p. 106) “it is for the sake of actions valuable in themselves [kalos]… that political associations must be considered to exist”. Private friendship provides an exact analogy. It would make no sense for a man to deceive his friend “for the sake of the friendship”, though people do sometimes rationalise their conduct in this odd way. “Friendship” is nothing distinct from friendly action, so cannot be preserved by means of unfriendly action. Similarly, the polis is nothing distinct from the cooperative activity of its citizens, so cannot be preserved by deeds that undermine such activity. This interpretation of ancient political life may seem wildly idealistic. The Athens of the thirty tyrants and the Rome of Pompey and Caesar were not exactly “associations of friends”. Nonetheless, the ideal was close enough to reality to appear a plausible guide and aspiration. Greece in the classical period was divided into some 1500 city-states, most of them home to fewer than a thousand citizens. Athens, the largest by far, had between thirty and forty thousand citizens. It had “virtually no permanent officialdom whatever, administrative positions being distributed by sortation among councillors, while the diminutive police force was composed of Scythian slaves” (Anderson, 2013, p. 39). There were no palaces, no administrative headquarters, no garrisons – nothing that could be pointed to as a physical embodiment of state power. Societies of this type might be prey to all

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kinds of factionalism and corruption, but not that specific form of immorality which has as its goal the health of “the state”, for there was no such entity. “Machiavellianism” could find no foothold here. The modern conception of “the state” as an abstract entity distinct from any individual or group of individuals emerged only much later. When exactly is a matter of dispute. Some have traced it to medieval monarchy, with its symbolism of the king’s second spiritual body, or “body politic” (Kantorowicz, 2016). Others have seen the first glimmerings of it among the professional diplomatists of Renaissance Italy, anxious to bind their often erratic political masters to courses of action advantageous to the interests of il stato. Machiavelli (himself of course a Florentine diplomat) frequently used the word stato in something close to its modern sense, thereby helping to establish it as the standard term for that form of political organisation. Corresponding to this new conception of the state as something abstract and thing-like we find a new conception of statecraft as a productive activity, akin to sculpture or architecture. Again, Machiavelli sounds the characteristic note: Without doubt, anyone wishing to establish a republic at present would find it much easier among mountain people, where there is no civil society, than among men who are used to living in cities, where civil society is corrupt; a sculptor will more easily extract a beautiful statue from a rough piece of marble than he can from one badly blocked out by others. (2003, p. 52)

Analysing their [Moses, Cyrus, Romulus and the like] lives and achievements, we notice that the only part luck played was in giving them an initial opportunity: they were granted the raw material and had the chance to mould it into whatever shape they wanted. (2011, p. 22) As we said earlier on, if you haven’t laid the foundations before becoming king, it takes very special qualities to do it afterwards, and even then it will be tough for the architect and risky for the building. (2011, p. 26) This image of the statesman as a great artist, carving his state out of the unformed matter of humanity, has become such a cliché that we overlook its radical novelty. What it signifies, in effect, is that henceforth politics is to be regarded as a form of poesis, not praxis (see Singleton, 1953). Machiavelli’s immoralism is a straightforward consequence of this shift of perspective, for to regard an activity as poesis is to refer it to standards which are not moral, which may conflict with and even displace moral standards. St. Petersburg is no less beautiful for having been built using conscripted serfs, nor is a glorious state any

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less glorious for having been brought into being using the methods of Cesare Borgia. Both may be deplored for other reasons, of course, but that doesn’t take away from the specific excellence that is theirs. If politics is poesis, a potential gulf opens up between the politically useful and the honourable – a gulf that cannot arise so long as the polity is seen in Aristotelian terms, as an association of friends. Machiavellianism was not a product of unique toughmindedness or unique wickedness. It was a logical implication of the new state system, and as such would have come into existence sooner or later even without Machiavelli.

Virtù domesticated Machiavelli was not a consistent Machiavellian. Apart from his original and idiosyncratic use of virtù, his ethical vocabulary remained conventional. Thus he frequently extols as virtuoso conduct that is, by his own admission, cruel, avaricious, impious, dishonest and even wicked. It is hard to gage the tone of such remarks. Is this the anguish of a man forced to choose between the greatness of his native city and the salvation of his soul? Or the flippant irony of someone deploying – in inverted commas, as it were – a vocabulary that has become alien and empty to him? The debate continues to this day. One thing is clear: Machiavelli’s ambivalence was intolerable to his successors. Most responded with a vehement reassertion of classical and Christian morality, condemning Machiavelli as a satanic innovator. But the most forward-looking and influential of his successors sought harmony in the opposite direction, by bringing morality as a whole into line with civic imperatives. Hobbes, for instance, defined virtue as any habit of mind and action conducive to civil peace and defence: By a precept of reason, peace is recognised to be good, from which it follows by the same reason that all the courses of action necessary for the preservation of peace must be good. So modesty, equity, trust, humanity and mercy, which we have demonstrated to be necessary for peace, must at the same time be good practices or habits of mind, that is to say, they must be virtues. (Quoted in Skinner, 1996, p. 322) This looks on the surface like a vindication of traditional morality against Machiavellian cynicism. In truth, of course, Hobbes has avoided the appearance of cynicism only by being more consistently Machiavellian than Machiavelli himself. All the virtues, and not just virtù in Machiavelli’s special sense, are now defined in terms of political utility; thus modesty, equity, humanity etc. regain their categorical force only by being emptied of their traditional content. To be sure, Hobbes had very different political ideals to Machiavelli, from which he derived a correspondingly different set of virtues (he did not think highly of physical courage, for instance). But the structure of argument is the same in

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both cases: first a state of affairs is identified as good; then those traits necessary for its production are defined as virtues. Here is the root of a position – “virtue consequentialism”, we can call it – which remains powerful to this day, even among philosophers who might consider themselves free of such influences.2

The modern Machiavellians Recent years have seen a number of attempts to put virtue on the political agenda, including the UK government’s Character Innovation Fund and the Templeton Foundation’s Character Development project. These initiatives have gained support from across the political spectrum; concern with character is no longer a preserve of conservatives. But common to all such projects, right- and left-wing, is a characteristically Machiavellian emphasis on the effects of virtuous action, as distinct from its intrinsic quality. Virtue is commended as a means to economic growth, social justice, class mobility, etc. The Aristotelian thought that it is only for the sake of actions fine and beautiful in themselves that political society exists at all has been entirely forgotten. The new politics of virtue, unlike its ancient predecessor, is proudly “evidence-based”. It draws support from a number of psychological studies claiming to show that success in later life is best predicted not by IQ but by a range of non-intellectual qualities, including optimism, self-control, and “grit”. In 1940, 130 Harvard sophomores were asked to run for five minutes on a steeply slopping treadmill; success in this endurance test turned out to be “a surprisingly reliable predictor of psychological adjustment throughout adulthood” (Duckworth, 2016, pp. 46–7). In another famous study, four-year-olds who proved able to wait fifteen minutes for an extra marshmallow, rather than scoffing the one in front of them straight away, went on to achieve better test results throughout their school career (Tough, 2012, pp. 62–3). Experiments such as these have put the study of the virtues on a sound empirical footing, claim psychologists Christopher Peterson and Martin Seligman. They have made possible “a science of human strengths that goes beyond armchair philosophy and political rhetoric” (2004, p. 1). The work of Seligman and his colleagues is interesting enough in its own right, but it is emphatically not just a scientifically updated version of whatever Plato and Aristotle were up to. The so-called “virtues” of modern character psychology are simply dispositions to engage in certain measurable behaviours (staying on the treadmill, not scoffing the marshmallow). They lack the dimension of judgement, feeling and vision integral to the classical and Christian idea of virtue. Moreover, such virtues are strictly end-indifferent; they can just as properly be displayed in the pursuit of evil as in the pursuit of good. Hitler and Stalin were both paragons of grit, as Angela Duckworth (2016, p. 148) ruefully acknowledges. Finally, and most relevantly to my purposes, virtue as conceived by Seligman et al has only an external, causal relation to success in life, which is measured using the conventional indices of

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health, earnings and the like. What is lost is the thought that virtuous activity just is eudaimonia, or at any rate a central element in eudaimonia.3 To point this out is not, as I said, to denigrate modern character psychology, but simply to indicate its inconsistency with the tradition of the virtues as this has always been understood. Psychologists are not able, given the constraints of their method, to conceptualise virtue after the fashion of Plato and Augustine, as a deep-seated desire for the good. They are professionally bound to deal in value-free measurables. But we must not allow ourselves to forget that what the “marshmallow test” etc. test is not virtue in the classical sense but a scientifically curtailed surrogate for virtue. Peterson and Seligman (2004, pp. 9–10) are being disingenuous when they claim that their project “is grounded in a long philosophical tradition concerned with morality in terms of the virtues”. They have fundamentally changed the subject. Interestingly, it is precisely the self-proclaimed objectivity and value-neutrality of Seligman’s approach that recommends it to many on the political left, who would otherwise be wary of the moralistic overtones of terms such as “virtue” and “character”. If character is just a set of demonstrably useful life-skills, then to promote it universally is not hateful “paternalism” but an imperative of egalitarian politics. This is the burden of Richard Reeves’ “A Question of Character” (Prospect, 2008). Reeves starts by defining “character” in a narrowly technical sense, as “a sense of personal agency or self-direction; an acceptance of personal responsibility; and effective regulation of one’s own emotions, in particular the ability to resist temptation or at least defer gratification”. Understood in this way, character is both an effect and a cause of economic position; low-income homes are more likely to turn out children with “bad characters”, who in turn are more likely to end up in low-income jobs. Inequality of character perpetuates inequality of income. If we wish to reduce this latter, we must first tackle the former, if necessary by “compelling failing mothers and fathers to attend parenting classes”. Reeves’ concern with character is clearly instrumental through and through. Economic equality is what ultimately matters to him; character education is a means to this end. A string of crassly mechanical metaphors serves to hammer home the point. “The ‘stock of equipment’ which makes up character is of vital importance in the construction of a successful life.” “The family is the main ‘character factory’.” “Consistent parental love and discipline is the motor of the character production line.” Machiavelli drew his metaphors from the atelier. Reeves draws his from the factory floor. The imagery has changed, but its implication is the same: virtue is nothing but a tool for the production of politically desirable states of affairs. Of course, Reeves is just one writer among many. However, consideration of Machiavelli, Hobbes and others too numerous to mention suggests that we are dealing here not just with one person’s opinion but with a tendency of thought endemic to modernity. The modern state’s impulse is always to make use of the personal qualities of citizens for its own end, be this one of military

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aggrandizement, social justice, or whatever. Its gaze is steadfastly on the product, the “output”. “Thus it buys for itself the lustre of your virtues and the glance of your proud eyes”, wrote Nietzsche (1961, p. 76). Those of us who hold with Nietzsche that virtuous action is intrinsically valuable, perhaps supremely so, must be cautious of accepting the support of those whose use for it is purely instrumental, for in doing so we risk corrupting the very thing we most hope to preserve.

Notes 1 Virtus was very occasionally used in its original meaning of manliness in secular medieval literature. See Huntington (2013). 2 When Peter Geach, for instance, writes that “men need virtues as bees need stings” he reveals himself to be more a disciple of Machiavelli and Hobbes than of Aristotle and Aquinas. See Geach (1977), p. 17. 3 To be fair to them, Peterson and Seligman (2004, p. 18) acknowledge that “wellbeing is not a consequence of virtuous action but rather an inherent aspect of such action”, but they immediately go on to misconstrue this thought in a psychologistic manner: “For example, when you do a favor for someone, your act does not cause you to be satisfied with yourself at some later point in time; being satisfied is an inherent aspect of being helpful.”

Bibliography Anderson, P. (2013). Passages from Antiquity to Feudalism. London: Verso. Aquinas, T. (2007). Commentary on Aristotle’s Politics. (R. J. Regan, Trans.). Indianapolis, IN: Hackett. Aristotle (1995). Politics. (E. Barker, Trans.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Aristotle (2002). Nicomachean Ethics. (S. Broadie & C. Rowe, Trans.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Berlin, I. (1997). The Originality of Machiavelli. In I. Berlin (Ed.), The Proper Study of Mankind (pp. 269–325). New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Chappell, T. (2013). There Are No Thin Concepts. In S. Kirchin (Ed.), Thick Concepts (pp. 182–196). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Duckworth, A. (2016). Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance. London: Vermilion. Geach, P. (1977). The Virtues. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Huntington, J. (2013). The Quality of his Virtus Proved him a Perfect Man: Hereward ‘The Wake’ and the Representation of Lay Masculinity. In P. H. Cullum and K. J. Lewis (Eds.), Religious Men and Masculine Identity in the Middle Ages (pp. 77–93). Woodbridge, UK: Boydell Press. Kantorowicz, E. H. (2016). The King’s Two Bodies: A Study in Medieval Political Theology. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Machiavelli, N. (2003). Discourses on Livy. (J. C. Bondanella & P. Bondanella, Trans.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Machiavelli, N. (2011). The Prince. (Tim Park, Trans.). London: Penguin. McDonnell, M. (2006). Roman Manliness: Virtus and the Roman Republic. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Virtù revisted 233 Nietzsche, F. (1961). Thus Spake Zarathustra. (R. J. Hollingdale, Trans.). London: Penguin. Peterson, C., & Seligman, M. E. P. (2004). Character Strengths and Virtues: A Handbook and Classification (Vol. 1). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Pocock, J. G. A. (1975). The Machiavellian Moment: Florentine Political Thought and the Atlantic Republican Tradition. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Reeves, R. (2008, August). A Question of Character. Prospect. Retrieved from www. prospectmagazine.co.uk/magazine/aquestionofcharacter Rubinstein, N. (1958). Political Ideas in Sienese Art: The Frescoes by Ambrogio Lorenzetti and Taddeo di Bartolo in the Palazzo Pubblico. Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 21(3/4), 179–207. SingletonC. S. (1953). The Perspective of Art. The Kenyon Review 15(2), 169–189. Skinner, Q. (1996). Reason and Rhetoric in the Philosophy of Hobbes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Skinner, Q. (1998). The Foundations of Modern Political Thought (Vol. 1). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tough, P. (2012). How Children Succeed: Confidence, Curiosity and the Hidden Power of Character. London: Arrow Books. Trilling, L. (2008). George Orwell and the Politics of Truth. In L. Trilling, The Moral Obligation to be Intelligent: Selected Essays (pp. 259–274). Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press.

Chapter 17

Democratic change and ‘the referendum effect’ in the UK Reasserting the good of political participation

Joseph Ward ‘Pass the buck back to where it belongs’ (‘Don’t Know Campaign’, 1975)

Introduction The first run of a referendum on ‘the European Question’ in Britain, back in 1975, produced a campaign group of which there was no noticeable replica in the 2016 repetition. That group were called the ‘Don’t Know Campaign’, and made the argument that a decision on whether the UK should remain part of the European Communities (EC) was the responsibility of the MPs who had been elected to represent the public 9 months earlier, rather than the public themselves. The so-called ‘Don’t Knows’ argued that it was the job of their representatives to have a more extensive knowledge of the subject – especially complex legal documents such as the Treaty of Rome – as well as access to the confidential information needed to make the decision effectively (Webber, 2016). Whilst Prime Ministers Wilson and Cameron both decided to delegate this decision to the people, pursuing strikingly similar ‘renegotiation and referendum’ strategies, ultimately these leaders fared very differently in campaigning to achieve their desired outcome (see Saunders, 2016). The sentiments underpinning the argument put forward by the ‘Don’t Know Campaign’ run to the heart of debates surrounding the seemingly fragile nature of liberal democracy in contemporary Western societies. In Britain in particular, the creeping emergence of referendums as a mechanism through which policy decisions might be taken indicates a crisis of confidence in the role of political representatives – both throughout the public and, perhaps more tellingly, amongst politicians themselves. The resultant constitutional conflicts, exposed so emphatically in the aftermath of the 2016 EU referendum, raise fundamental questions about the nature of representative democracy, as well as the role of the British people as an emergent body in the UK legislature; something scholars have branded the new ‘tri-cameral Parliament’ (Bogdanor, 2012).

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Within this context, this chapter will discuss the implications of the greater use of referendums for political engagement and education in Britain. Looking at two recent examples – the 2014 vote on Scottish Independence and the nationwide referendum on European Union membership in 2016 – it will argue that whilst these changes in democratic practice may hold the potential for positive public engagement and political education, they may also increase the propensity for politicians to deploy manipulative tactics in the name of the will of the people. In the process, government elites may serve to stoke the fires of the ‘tyranny of the majority’, highlighting the potential dangers of direct democratic interventions within the Westminster parliamentary system. The chapter proceeds as follows. First, a brief historical review of the theory of political participation will be conducted in order to explore the role of the citizenry in the democratic process, the educative potential of political engagement, and the contribution participation can make to a flourishing society. Second, the role of the referendum as a distinct democratic device will be considered as both a potential opportunity and a potential threat to effective democratic participation and deliberation. Third, two recent examples from the UK will be examined to assess how these different theoretical positions may manifest in practice, using, inter alia, evidence from the Hansard Society’s audits of political engagement. Finally, the chapter concludes with a discussion of what future role the referendum might play in the British political system, and the potential for a greater focus on deliberative participation within a context of fluctuating voting trends and wider political volatility.

1 Participation, education and politics as practice The referendum first emerged in Britain in the political context of the 1970s, a time in which several longstanding territorial and constitutional questions came to a head. Principal amongst these was accession to the European Communities, an issue on which a number of MPs had advocated for a direct popular vote (Goodhart, 1971), and it was upon the adoption of a referendum policy by the opposition Labour Party that more scholarship considering the compatibility of the referendum and the British political system began to appear (Alderson, 1975; Braham and Burton, 1975). This work was set within a wider debate in contemporary political thought, concerned with a more substantive re-evaluation of democracy and democratic theory. A number of scholars were responding to what they perceived as ‘democratic revisionism’ spreading across political science and political sociology, work which attempted to move away from the normative underpinnings of democracy in classical theory in an effort to develop empirically grounded conceptions, often preoccupied with the preservation of systemic stability at the expense of popular participation1 (Pateman, 1970). Those engaged in composing a rejoinder to the so-called ‘revisionists’ were committed to reasserting the value of participation as a fundamental component of democracy, arguing that ‘the point of democratic

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procedures is not (or not just) to ensure good governmental decisions, but to widen individual experience’ (Lively, 1975: 78). This emphasis on participation as an inherently good and essential component of democratic practice thus formed the basis of a rejuvenated participatory theory of democracy, premised on the idea that the participation of citizens in the political process was good in and of itself, whilst also yielding many social benefits. Building on the philosophy of Rousseau, Mill and G.D.H. Cole, Carole Pateman was one of the proponents of this movement. For Pateman, the primary function of mass participation in political and democratic processes was educational: The major function of participation in the theory of participatory democracy is therefore an educative one, educative in the very widest sense, including both the psychological aspect and the gaining of practice in democratic skills and procedures … Participation develops and fosters the very qualities necessary for it; the more individuals participate, the better able they become to do so. (1970: 42) Pateman’s argument for democratisation proposes a radical extension of participation across industry, society and government, on the premise that increased opportunities for citizen engagement might precipitate the growth of the individual and the development of a more equal society. This point was reiterated by other scholars at the time, who drew attention to the potential impact on one’s perspective and values that might stem from participation in the political process (Bachrach, 1975, in della Porta, 2013: 42). Whilst not always couched in such radical terms, both the lineage and heritage of Pateman’s argument are strong. As mentioned above, John Stuart Mill, a proponent and architect of the representative system, presented a similar case. Mill suggested that participation might have both an educative and an ethical impact on citizens within liberal society, in that participation of the private citizen in public affairs would serve to exercise some form of ‘moral instruction’ through the reaffirmation of the citizen’s role within the wider community (Mill, 1998: 255). Rather than solely focusing on private interests, the participation and engagement of the individual might focus their energies away from themselves and towards the common good. In a similar vein, Mill discussed the educational effects of habituation into the political process in his review of de Tocqueville’s Democracy in America: The importance of school instruction is doubtless great: but it should also be recollected, that what really constitutes education is the formation of habits: and as we do not learn to read or write, to ride or swim, by being merely told how to do it…so it is only by practising popular government on a limited scale, that the people will ever learn how to exercise it on a larger. (Mill, 1977: 63)

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Mill’s conception of participation here, as with Pateman’s, is more expansive than merely casting an infrequent, ritualistic vote. Though he saw voting as vitally important, Mill was also keen to emphasise the involvement of citizens throughout local governance and civic society in order to inculcate them into the practice of democracy on a larger scale. The conviction that political participation was the principal route through which to educate the masses in moral matters motivated much of his advocacy of the extension of the franchise at a time when all women and working class men were excluded from the democratic process. Mill’s reference to the role of habituation in the educative process is also redolent of classical Aristotelian philosophy and the determination that the constitution and expression of political virtue stems from a combination of nature, habit and reason (Annas, 1996). Though at first glance one might perceive Mill’s Utilitarianism to be in conflict with an Aristotelian virtue perspective, scholars have identified an overlap or ‘hybridity’ in Mill’s thought which incorporates aspects of Aristotle’s eudaimonism (Nussbaum, 2001: xxv). Further consideration of the centrality conferred by Aristotle on citizen participation in the polis to the cultivation of human flourishing can provide greater philosophical depth to the present discussion. Aristotle viewed politics as the ‘master art’ and the ‘science of the good’ because of its concern with the development of a social environment – the polis or state – in which all citizens have the material circumstances and capabilities to live a flourishing life. He saw political participation as an essential part of this process, through which the highest human functionings of practical reason and affiliation could be cultivated (Nussbaum, 1990: 226). In connecting the Aristotelian notion of the primacy of the good to the process of political participation, the intrinsic importance of civic engagement to a flourishing life becomes apparent. This thinking has been applied to practical political arrangements more recently through the work of Martha Nussbaum, who proposes the extension of active participation to citizens wherever possible as a counterweight of individual choice to the potentially overbearing effects of government intervention in provision of welfare (Nussbaum, 1990). With this in mind the argument can return to the points made by Pateman and others with greater philosophical depth. The participation of citizens in the political process not only has the potential to bestow educational and other social benefits, but it is an essential and good component of social life through which the capacity of individuals to develop the capability to deliberate and decide on public matters can be cultivated.

2 Participation and the referendum Aspects of this philosophy have been incorporated by constitutionalist scholar Stephen Tierney in his analysis of the referendum within a framework of revived civic republicanism and deliberative democracy. Though concerned with the wider concept of ‘public reasoning’ in deliberative processes, this work also touches on the developmental process of participation for individual

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citizens, as highlighted by Mill, Pateman and others. For the most part, deliberative theory promotes the extension of popular involvement in decisionmaking processes axiomatically, in order to maximise occasions for deliberation between citizens to take place (see Dryzek, 2000). Tierney’s specific focus on the impact of constitutional referendums as exercises in direct participation is of particular relevance to this chapter, given the focus on the rising importance of direct democracy to the British system. A critical contention of Tierney and others who have focused on the role of direct democracy more recently is that the supposed conflict that arises between representative and direct democratic systems is in fact false. Rather, the fact that direct mechanisms are ‘used increasingly to supplement’ representative in practice is testament to the compatibility of the two systems, and thus the interaction between them must be subject to analysis (Tierney, 2012: 1; see also Bogdanor, 1981). Tierney’s approach blends aspects of the more normatively conscious theoretical scholarship from popular civic republicanism and deliberative democracy with a practical orientation towards improving pre-existing democratic practices (2012: 4). Theoretically, this permits a combination of the reassertion of political participation as an inherent good, rooted in classical republican theory from Aristotle forward – reiterated and extended by Pateman and participatory theorists of the 1970s – with the deliberative advancement of the idea that political engagement entails educational or developmental potential. In combining the commitment to democratic participation with the supposition that any extension of current opportunities for citizens to engage in such activity may ameliorate perceived political apathy and ignorance amongst the citizenry, Tierney highlights how the referendum, specifically on issues of constitutional importance, can provide a counterpoint to critiques centred on the inability of voters to understand and decide on the issues presented to them (2012: 35). In a less overtly theoretical, if no less optimistic, assessment of the constitutional innovation of direct democracy in 1970s Britain, Vernon Bogdanor marshalled a series of similar participatory arguments, pinpointing the philosophy of Mill in particular, in restating his advocacy for the referendum in Britain. Bogdanor suggested that as well as enhancing the functionality of British democracy, the introduction of direct democracy might bestow a number of benefits on the citizenry in terms of political engagement. He suggested: In a democracy it is important that the citizen identify himself with the public good, with the interests of the nation as a whole. The referendum brings the voter directly into contact with these interests … The voter may ask himself not – what is the good of the party, nor perhaps even what is for my own personal good, but rather – what is for the good of the country. It may, therefore, have a profoundly educative effect upon the electorate’. (italics added, 1981: 84)

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Whilst in many ways Bogdanor simply presents a further iteration of the argument for participation and integration of citizens into the political process, the notion that a referendum offers a unique opportunity to bring the individual into contact with the public interest, moving beyond the various political institutions (parties in particular) which guard the voter from the policy issue in conventional elections, is pertinent. Bogdanor’s case may seem both simplistic and optimistic on first hearing. However, the potential for referendums to provide opportunities for fruitful deliberation and educative participation – subsequently boosting political engagement – is worth considering, as the analysis below indicates. The foregoing has demonstrated the extensive body of scholarly work that has posited the potential for participation to socialise and educate citizens into the political process, both throughout different public institutions and through the extension of decision-making processes in the form of direct democratic interventions (i.e. referendums). However, in order to illustrate some of the potential dangers of referendums it is worth revisiting some of the traditional criticisms, before moving on to assess their potential impact using evidence from two recent British cases.

3 Division through democracy: referendums and the ‘tyranny of the majority’ Many theorists, including the so-called democratic revisionists alluded to above, have made the case that occasions of direct participation should be minimised as they breed social discord and discontent, particularly within the confines of a predominantly representative system. Philosopher John Lucas eloquently summarised this position: Participation may also foment discord rather than assuage it … If the government takes decisions for me, provided they are not grossly unreasonable, I shall probably acquiesce … If the public have to be informed, it will only encourage them to object, and the last state will be worse than the first. Not only will the naturally cantankerous be given more issues to be difficult about, but often the whole nation will be divided. (1976: 156) One might argue quite legitimately that ill-considered flirtations with referendums and other such democratic interventions may result in greater social discord and disaffection, in the absence of surrounding conditions which are propitious to fruitful debate and discussion (see Haldane, this volume). Indeed, Lucas’s point seems particularly prescient in the aftermath of the 2016 EU referendum, as new divides along the lines of ‘Leave’ and ‘Remain’ have been identified in a number of accounts that have analysed the Brexit political landscape (Goodhart, 2017; also Hansard Society, 2017). It has also been suggested that the binary nature of a

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referendum vote based on a simple choice between two options can ossify latent divisions within society. This was indicated recently in evidence given to a Commons Public Administration and Constitutional Affairs Committee (PACAC) enquiry into 2016, as John Sturrock QC suggested that ‘… the binary nature of referenda serve to polarize debate, and are therefore not the most appropriate way to make decisions and move forward on major constitutional issues’ (UK Parliament, 2017: 11). Rather than presenting an opportunity for fruitful participation, deliberation and dialogue, therefore, one might contend that a referendum holds the potential to create a more hostile political atmosphere, worsening pre-existing divisions and further alienating individuals from each other. The level of control exerted by government or elites, assuming the continued presence of an executive which ultimately controls the presentation of the issue to the electorate and how the outcome is interpreted and enacted, runs to the heart of many further criticisms of the referendum, both in theory and in practice. This distinction was outlined above in discussion of the value placed on participation by theorists such as Pateman – who advocate for ‘full’, as opposed to ‘partial’, political participation throughout society – and the latter accounts which argued for the inclusion of the referendum as a supplementary mechanism in a representative system. Proponents of participatory democracy actually warn against ritualistic forms of participation, arguing that such interventions are more susceptible to manipulation by elites (Pateman, 1970: 70). Political theorist Jan-Werner Müller has also postulated, in relation to the more extreme examples from the recent surge in populist politics, how the dictation of strict parameters placed on participation by elites can illustrate the difference between referendums and plebiscites. Rather than initiating a process of (relatively) open discussion and deliberation on a particular issue as in a referendum, the populist plebiscitary use of a direct vote is simply to ‘ratify what the populist leader has already discerned to be the genuine popular interest’ (2017: 29). Tracing this critique back to the origins of the association between authoritarianism and direct democracy, Müller recounts the influence of the Schmittian concept of the popular will or Volksgeist on the use of plebiscites by fascist dictators in the early 20th century. This emphasis on an imperceptible, illusory ‘common-will’ provides the ‘conceptual bridge from democracy to nondemocracy’ (ibid. 29–30), an element that arguably inheres to direct votes whether appearing to be more referendum or plebiscite in form. Such a popular mandate may subsequently be wielded by those in power as a weapon against dissent or debate in implementing the outcome of a particular vote – even within more outwardly democratic systems (see Blick, 2016). These points also highlight how social discord might be deepened, as voices that stand against the tide of the so-called ‘will of the people’ are isolated, denigrated and shut out. This criticism evokes aspects of de Tocqueville and Mill’s concept of the ‘tyranny of the majority’, thinkers who also wrote about the value of participation in political habituation, but endorsed wider citizen participation within a representative system. In On Liberty, Mill wrote

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powerfully about the potential for majority tyranny to impinge on the ability of others to express their views. Society can and does execute its own mandates … and if it issues wrong mandates instead of right … it practises a social tyranny more formidable than many kinds of political oppression, since … it leaves fewer means of escape, penetrating much more deeply into the details of life, and enslaving the soul itself. (1998: 9) Whilst a direct democratic mandate may be used by, in Mill’s terms, ‘political functionaries’, to their advantage in terms of political management, the above point strikes at the heart of deeper socially oppressive forces that may be exerted by ‘the tyranny of prevailing opinion and feeling’ (ibid.) upon individual liberties of expression and thought. In reasserting Aristotle’s argument for the primacy of the good, Nussbaum emphasises the need for a political system to incorporate pluralism in tandem with an overarching determination of the good in order to guard against such oppressive social forces which might impede upon the ability of the individual citizen to actively participate in public deliberation (1990: 234). If one is to aggregate the criticisms presented above in considering the social and political forces which a referendum might exacerbate, the potential for a direct democratic intervention to narrow the parameters of public discussion and deliberation is clear. The condensation of complex political issues into a binary choice, combined with the manipulative exertion of elite control to dictate the terms of debate and ultimately the outcome, highlights a number of dangers for democratic practice. Having documented a number of potential benefits and barriers that increasing use of the referendum might present for political engagement and deliberation in Britain, the discussion now turns briefly to some recent examples and what they might tell us about the implications for political practice.

4 Recent examples from British politics The discussion below focuses on two referendums that were held in the UK under the Conservative-led Coalition government (2010–2015) and the subsequent Conservative government (2015–) under the stewardship of Prime Minister David Cameron; the first on Scottish Independence (2014) and the second on membership of the European Union (2016). The circumstances surrounding each vote were very different, particularly the makeup of the electorate in each case, which was exclusively Scottish residents in 2014 (of ages 16 +) and all UK citizens in 2016 (18+). However, this is not the place for a detailed discussion of the origins or background to each vote. Rather the brief review below focuses on the role of the referendum on wider political engagement

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analysed primarily using the annual Hansard Society Audit of Political Engagement. Whilst these audits attempt to cover the complex nature of this process – including responses regarding levels of satisfaction with the wider political system – for the purposes of this chapter the focus is limited to criteria around knowledge and interest in politics which are essential for effective deliberation, as opposed to the more partisan questions on efficacy of the system. Other secondary sources are also included for the purposes of discussion. I Scottish Independence referendum, 2014 A review of the data collected by the Hansard Society suggests that the 2014 referendum on Scottish Independence constitutes a good example of how a referendum might have a substantial and (somewhat2) lasting effect on the political education and engagement of an electorate. The two audits produced in the years following the vote recorded a marked upturn in the criteria of ‘knowledge of politics’, ‘interest in politics’, and ‘certainty to vote’. By the time of the 2016 audit, each of these criteria had increased by well over 10 percentage points (pp), particularly with regard to political knowledge and interest which started to significantly move away from the UK as a whole (‘knowledge of politics’ = Scot: 65% vs. UK: 55%; ‘interest in politics’ = Scot: 74% vs. UK: 57%) (Hansard Society, 2016)3. The Hansard Society dubbed this change in Scotland the ‘referendum effect’, declaring: The Scottish independence referendum on 18 September 2014 was a remarkable demonstration of political engagement: 97% of the population registered to vote; nearly 85% actually did so; 16 and 17 year olds participated for the first time; and there was a vibrant grassroots civil society campaign on both sides of the debate. (Hansard Society, 2015: 18) The most recent edition of the audit, which includes a review of the 15 previous iterations, proposed that this ‘referendum effect’ was the ‘most remarkable change in political engagement in the Audit series’ (Hansard Society, 2018: 12). The Electoral Commission also collected data in the aftermath of the vote which suggested that 90% of those voting felt they knew ‘a great deal/fair amount’ about the subject of the referendum (Brett, 2016: 48). Seemingly the referendum was instrumental in inspiring a significant change in levels of engagement and political education. Amongst the multitude of reasons mustered by scholars in an attempt to explain this apparent politicisation, one in particular stands out as pertinent to the referendum as an instrument. It has been speculated that the referendum in this case was able to ‘… remove the hold political parties, political elites and mass media “opinion leaders” have on politics which, in most cases, simply reinforce patterns of authority on political issues’ (Crowther, 2015: 181).

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A more cynical eye might emphasise the role of the Scottish National Party (SNP) in pushing the vote in the first instance, and its dominance of the Scottish Parliament through which, one might argue, it attempted to control and commandeer the debate. It would certainly be difficult to deny the party political factors underpinning the initial motivations for the vote (see Dardanelli and Mitchell, 2014). However, the transparency and openness with which the referendum was ultimately regulated and conducted provides some evidence to counter accusations of elite control and manipulation. Over the course of over two years, information was disseminated – both through school political literacy programmes (to 16–17-year-old voters), and via the Electoral Commission – in an environment perceived to be more balanced and fruitful for deliberation. Stephen Tierney’s notion of the constitutional referendum playing an essential role in engaging and ‘empowering’ citizens into the deliberative democratic process thus seems to apply in this context (Tierney, 2015: 226). One might also suggest the argument stands in this case that public debate was to some extent unshackled from the stranglehold of conventional opinion formers, connecting the individual voter directly with the issues at hand, corroborating Bogdanor’s hypothesis above. The involvement of 16–17-year-olds in the voting process is a further significant factor to consider in the 2014 case. Studies have suggested that up to 25% of those below 18 that could vote in the referendum joined a political party as a result (Black, 2015), indicating sustained rather than transient engagement. More recently, research investigating the effects of participation of this younger demographic in greater detail has highlighted the positive impact of early enfranchisement – along with political socialisation through schooling and parents – on the potential for participation in young people (Eichhorn, 2018). This work also emphasises, without providing conclusive evidence, the potential for habituation into the political process through participation, suggesting the combination of an important constitutional vote along with participation at a young age contributed to the boost in political engagement detected by the audit (ibid. 368). II EU referendum, 2016 One might contrast the above with the experience of the 2016 EU referendum. In December 2017, Theresa May’s fragile administration published a ‘Democratic Engagement Plan’, a report which presented data on political participation collected in workshops nationwide. A glance through this substantial document might give the reader the impression that the EU referendum was a similarly positive enterprise to the Scottish vote above. It suggests that ‘The EU Referendum was the largest single exercise in democracy that modern British politics has ever witnessed … the unprecedented levels of participation … demonstrated that the British public retain faith that their vote does count’ (2017: 31). Indeed, an examination of statistics on voter registration and turnout alone might lead one to

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judge that 2016 was the most successful participatory exercise in Britain’s recent past, with 3 million more people voting than in the general election of 2015 (Evans and Menon, 2017: 80). On this basis alone, one might argue that the EU referendum further corroborates the case presented by Bogdanor and Tierney that referendums are positive opportunities for political participation and deliberation. However, a review of the Hansard Society’s first post-referendum audit in 2017 showed the vote had either no effect or a negative effect on the same criteria of ‘knowledge of politics’, ‘interest in politics’, and ‘certainty to vote’ across the UK. Statistics show a decline in the proportion of the public reporting at least ‘a fair amount’ of knowledge about politics from 55% in 2016 to 49%, a decline in those describing themselves as at least ‘fairly interested’ in politics from 57% in 2016 to 53%, and figures on certainty to vote remaining static at 59% from 2016 to 2017. This leads the report to conclude, ‘There has been no “EU referendum effect” of the kind we witnessed after the Scottish independence referendum of 2014’ (Hansard Society, 2017: 14). It is important to qualify that these statistics are slightly more difficult to interpret than those concerning the Scottish vote. This is partly due to the broader geographical base under consideration, but also when looking long-term into 2018, the recent spate of democratic events – characterised as ‘electric shock therapy’ for political engagement (Hansard Society, 2018: 15) – muddy the waters to some extent. The 2018 audit identifies a slight change in the opposite direction on the same three criteria, though this is for the most part attributed to the 2017 general election. In looking to understand why 2016 seemed to have the opposite effect to Scotland, a central factor identified in the audit and elsewhere is the conduct and content of the campaign, which was characterised as ‘bitter and divisive’ (ibid. 14). Such concerns were flagged a week before the vote had even taken place in an open letter signed by over 250 academics and published in The Telegraph newspaper. The letter suggested that only if the public were able to make an ‘informed decision’ would the outcome be considered legitimate, and that ‘the level of misinformation in the current campaign is so great that democratic legitimacy is called into question’ (Renwick et al., 2016). Similar concerns were voiced in a report produced in the aftermath by the Electoral Reform Society (ERS), which stated: Above all, our analysis has demonstrated the need for a much greater level of citizen involvement and deliberation, not only during referendums themselves but throughout the workings of our wider democracy. An informed and engaged electorate is the first step towards a political system that can tolerate the divisive aspects of a binary referendum debate. (Brett, 2016: 8–9) The concerns raised in the ERS report were serious enough to trigger the PACAC enquiry into the 2016 vote, to consider lessons for the future conduct

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of referendums in the UK. This primarily focused on issues around the regulatory and governance structure, but did feature some evidence concerned with the quality of the debate. It is evident from these accounts that concerns outlined above around elite control and the binary nature of the question appeared to combine in the case of 2016 to undermine the potential for an effective deliberative and educative participatory exercise. The dominance of the elites – both through campaign groups (and political parties by affiliation), and through biased media reportage – led to the perception throughout the campaign that people did not have impartial information available to them. Whilst there was a high-level of interest, therefore, there was a ‘huge shortage of people feeling they were well informed about the issues’ (Brett, 2016: 22), in part due to the relatively short time frame within which information could be disseminated. This was a hugely inhibiting factor in the capacity of the electorate to effectively deliberate. One further concern in the aftermath of 2016, and the conduction of the 2017 general election in relation to it, raised the spectre of how the tyranny of the majority might be invoked by government if insufficient constitutional protections are in place. This manifested in attempts by the May government to override those traditional mechanisms of democracy already in place in the UK that might permit further debate and consideration of the decision, if only at the level of the representative. The debate around the extension of executive and ministerial powers that were deemed a necessary part of implementing the so-called ‘will of the people’ in leaving the European Union is a good example of this; something constitutional scholars in Britain initially branded the ‘May Doctrine’ (Blick, 2016). The way in which May wielded the mandate from the referendum against politicians who opposed any aspects of government strategy in order to shut down debates was particularly concerning from the perspective of democratic deliberation and openness.

5 Conclusion: the future of participation In neither 2014 nor 2016 did a campaign group emerged that revisited the arguments of the ‘Don’t Know Campaign’ in 1975. From this one might infer, as posited by many scholars of direct democracy, that there has been a broader shift in British democracy towards ‘cognitive mobilisation’ (Tierney, 2012: 34), the idea that citizens have become less deferential as a result of increasing access to education online and elsewhere, and as a result they are more critical of the representative system and keen to make independent judgements on political matters. This phenomenon was highlighted by Gordon Brown’s government in a Green Paper which stated: ‘In the past, people interested in change have joined the Labour Party largely to elect agents for change. Today they want to be agents of change themselves’ (UK Government, 2009, in Bogdanor, 2009: 298). However, the fact that research focused on the demise of the already foundering levels of public trust in politicians continues to report record high levels despite the advancement of direct democracy, suggests that

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fundamental change going beyond tinkering with the political system is required to address levels of political discontent and disaffection in Britain (Seyd, Curtice and Rose, 2018). Yet the so-called ‘referendum effect’ on engagement levels which the Scottish case seemed to engender is quite remarkable in an era of such cynicism and reported political disaffection. It may well be that the Scottish Independence referendum simply constituted an anomalous example of specific contextual factors combining to contribute to a boost in political engagement. Indeed, some accounts suggest it was such a unique occurrence, as Jim Crowther has argued: ‘The cultural politics of communities … engaged with the political culture of the state and the dialectic between the two generated educational experiences and opened up new political possibilities’ (Crowther, 2015). However, other studies have suggested it was the more transparent, considered governance of the 2014 vote that created the space for more fruitful deliberation, discussion and debate; and thus there is the potential for the extension of direct participation, if properly considered, to have a positive impact on British democracy (Tierney, 2015; Tierney, 2018). In the aftermath of Brexit and the election of Donald Trump, some scholarship appears once again to be straying from any strong normative commitment to the good of popular democratic participation in and of itself, as a flurry of studies have emerged that question whether any suppositions of democratic theory accurately describe democratic realities (Achen and Bartels, 2017; Brennan, 2016). Similar sentiments have been expressed in the tendency throughout public discourse to dismiss the result of the EU vote as a mistake, motivated only by racist tropes and falsehoods propagated by the Leave campaign (Evans and Menon, 2017). Whilst much of the evidence from 2016 suggests such manipulative tactics were employed by elites in the campaign and in the aftermath, arguments which extend these points to make a case against participation should be confronted on point of principle as they were in the debates of 1970s, but strengthened by the backing of a hopeful vision for how participation might be integrated within the wider institutions of direct and representative democracy in order to rejuvenate broader political engagement. One intellectual component of this project should be a strongly constituted theory of political participation as a good which can bestow both instrumental and intrinsic benefits upon society. Seen in this light, a commitment to enhancing and increasing the political engagement of citizens takes on a fresh impetus and aligns with a broader vision of a good life. As highlighted by Nussbaum, ‘… good functioning in accordance with practical reason requires that every citizen should have the opportunity to make choices concerning this (political) plan’ (1990: 233). Concluding his seminal 1976 work, Democracy and Participation, philosopher John Lucas highlighted a number of the dangers that might arise through the engagement of citizens in the democratic process. Lucas wrote: ‘The fabric of society needs to be strong to stand up to the politicizing engendered by democracy; in many societies the bonds of unity are fragile and should not be

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exposed to unnecessary strain’ (1976: 253). The fluid nature of the bonds which Lucas describes gives them the potential to fray in any society – even the most experienced democracies. It is with this in mind that measures to amend and secure political institutions and frameworks that can tolerate and cultivate the circumstances for effective democratic deliberation to take place must take precedence in political reform. Evidence of the positive role played by enfranchisement and participation amongst 16–17-year-olds in the Scottish Independence referendum – combined with recent, if inconclusive, evidence of re-engagement with younger voters in the 2017 election – might provide one fruitful route to developing a more amenable political system (Henn and Hart, 2017; British Election Study, 2018). Opening up the possibility of formal engagement and participation for younger voters might incentivise involvement and encourage the formative process of participation and political habituation to develop more fruitfully. The cloud that continues to hang over such progress is whether those who currently occupy positions of power are truly interested in enabling democracy to flourish, or their vision continues to be blinkered by the myopia of party-politics and personal status.

Notes 1 Many of the so-called democratic revisionist accounts referred to build on Schumpeter’s theory of democratic elitism, developed in Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy, 1943. 2 The most recent Audit of Political Engagement suggests that in Scotland the ‘postreferendum upsurge has not been maintained’ (Hansard Society, 2018); although this is mainly regarding criteria around satisfaction with the political system, with levels of political interest and knowledge remaining higher in Scotland. 3 In the year after the referendum (2015), there was an increase of 16pp in political interest, of 6pp in political knowledge, and of 10pp in certainty to vote. Responses for the first two of these criteria increased again in 2016, with a further 12pp rise in political interest, 10pp rise in political knowledge, and certainty to vote levelling out with an increase of just 2pp.

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Democratic change and the ‘referendum effect’ 249 Mill, J. S. (1977), Collected Works of John Stuart Mill, Vol XVII: Essays on Politics and Society, Robson, J. M. (Ed.), Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Mill, J.S. (1998), On Liberty and Other Essays, Gray, J. (Ed.), Oxford: Oxford University Press. Müller, J. (2017), What is Populism?London: Penguin. Nussbaum, M. (1990), ‘Aristotelian social democracy’, in Bruce Douglass, R., Mara, M, G. and Richardson, H.S. (eds.), Liberalism and the Good, London: Routledge, 203–252. Nussbaum, M. (2001), The Fragility of Goodness: Luck and Ethics in Greek Tragedy and Philosophy, (Revised Ed.), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pateman, C. (1970), Participation and Democratic Theory, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Renwick et al. (2016), ‘Both Remain and Leave are propagating falsehoods at public expense’, The Telegraph (14/06/16), [online] accessed 20/11/17 at www.telegraph.co.uk/ opinion/2016/06/13/letters-both-remain-and-leave-are-propagating-falsehoods-at-publ/. Saunders, R. (2016). A Tale of Two Referendums: 1975 and 2016. The Political Quarterly, 87(3), 318–322. Schumpeter, J. (1943), Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy, London: Allen and Unwin. Seyd, B., Curtice, J. & Rose, J. (2018), ‘How might reform of the political system appeal to discontented citizens?’, British Journal of Political Science and International Relations [Advanced Online]. Tierney, S. (2012), Constitutional Referendums: The Theory and Practice of Republican Deliberation, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tierney, S. (2015), ‘Reclaiming Politics: Popular Democracy in Britain after the Scottish Referendum’, The Political Quarterly, 86(2), 226–233. Tierney, S. (2018), ‘Democratic Credentials and Deficits of Referendums: A case study of the Scottish independence vote’, in Morel, L. and Qvortrup, M. (eds.), The Routledge Handbook to Referendums and Direct Democracy, Abingdon: Routledge, pp. 192–209. UK Parliament (2017), Lessons Learned from the EU Referendum inquiry (12/02/18) [online] accessed at www.parliament.uk/business/committees/committees-a-z/comm ons-select/public-administration-and-constitutional-affairs-committee/inquiries/pa rliament-2015/lessons-learned-from-the-eu-referendum-16-17/. Webber, E. (2016), ‘EU referendum: The 1975 ‘don’t know’ campaign’, BBC News (11/06/16) [online], accessed 18/10/17 at www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-eu-r eferendum-36418605.

Concluding remarks James Arthur

As Randall Curren says, the theme of this volume invites a virtue-focused response to the crises of liberal democracy. It is therefore not surprising that definitions of virtue have inevitably varied across these chapters, but they are united largely by the idea that virtuous people hold fast to a moral code above their base instincts. Aristotle concluded that most human activities are essentially about politics and philosophy, but he meant this in an inclusive sense: that every reasoning person ought to participate in decision-making and problem solving in society. He also believed that the good of a community is greater than the good of an individual, because a good community provides the environment or culture in which everyone has the opportunity to realize their personal excellence and are thus able to freely flourish. However, many of the authors in this volume recognize that political leaders who lack virtue sometimes do the right thing either involuntarily or through ignorance – but they cannot be recognized as virtuous even if they are effective leaders. Leadership that incorporates the virtues, according to Aristotle, must be acquired because effective leaders must pursue a moral end – this moral dimension of political leadership is the capacity to discern and provide the people with justice. Many of the authors in this volume have also spoken about the deterioration of political discourse through ill-tempered and polarized debates. For Aristotle friendship is a broad category including relationships in one’s community, in political life, leisure and at work. The essence of friendship, as illustrated by Bronk and Baumsteiger, is selflessness which leads to generosity in interactions – something that has become rare in public debate. John Milbank goes so far to say that modern political theory and debate involves a reversion to barbarism. Indeed, Milbank believes the ‘political order is based upon a refusal of the founding of political order in virtue’. It seems that the disposition to desire the right things, those virtues that we need in order to flourish, are often perceived to be less evident in society and within individuals and are therefore not being cultivated in schools and universities. The foundational texts of the Western tradition focused on the question of how to constrain selfishness which led to the attempt at inculcating a profound commitment to certain higher principles (virtues) than our baser instincts i.e. doing the

Concluding remarks 251

right thing. This tradition understood self-government as a continuity from the individual to the polity and believed that this was only possible if certain virtues such as temperance, moderation, wisdom and justice were sustained and promoted. Paideia, or education in virtue, was needed to control our impulse to selfishness. Christianity retained the Greek emphasis upon the cultivation of virtue as a check on the power of leaders. By the eighteenth century this was increasingly rejected as paternalistic and ineffectual and as Skidelsky shows it was Machiavelli who broke with the classical and Christian tradition of an education in virtue. Machiavelli’s political philosophy was grounded in pride, selfishness and greed with a distinct quest for self-glory. Human selfishness and the desire for material goods were to be harnessed not moderated as a means of controlling the public, resulting in what Skidelsky calls ‘the modern Machivellians’. Descartes and Hobbes argued that Christian virtues were really sources of oppression, arbitrariness and limitation which led to poor government and religious conflicts and were therefore obstacles to human flourishing as well as to building a responsible society. The birth of liberalism, meaning a political society grounded in right bearing individuals who pursue their own version of the good life, merely increased this suspicion of cultivating virtue. Today liberal democracies are facing near revolt against their political establishments. Many citizens are increasingly viewing their elected leaders and representatives as distant figures who are largely unresponsive to their needs. Some believe that liberalism itself is in crisis as many of the authors in this collection indicate. John Haldane observes: In penal times, sovereigns punished dissent with deprivation of social position, employment, property and freedom. Today, in less centralised societies, the sources of coercion are widely distributed but they have power nonetheless to intimidate, to censor and to silence, and through education to reach into and narrow the minds of the young while they are still in formation. His claim that education is being used to ‘reach into and narrow’ the minds of young people is a strong one. Haldane is effectively arguing that liberalism is undermining education by detaching the educational enterprise from culture and making it an instrument of anti-culture. In other words, education is focused on living in and for the present and appears disconnected from our cultural inheritance which ensures that our culture does not cultivate those virtues essential for our free choice to flourish. Haldane ends with a warning for us all on education: In the past, the main dividing points were religion and national identity. Today they are morality and personal integrity. Unless these are protected, there will no selves to which to be true, just a mass of unquestioning conformists. There is no time to be lost in turning back the rising forces of

252 James Arthur

illiberalism, and in developing strategies for dealing with disagreement. Among these, I suggest, is that of allowing the conversation to continue and recognising that there are reasonable positions on both sides of most disputed questions. One device of those who wish to halt discussion is to entrench one position or another in law or in public norms thereby excluding, by formal or informal means, any further debate. That is a recipe for resentment and disassociation from society thereby furthering the trend to division and disunion. Education has an obvious role to play in countering these forces, but it has to be worked out what virtues need to be cultivated and what form they should take. Rawls wrote of justice as being the first virtue of political institutions but without denying its importance I will end by saying that I think that toleration is the first virtue of a pluralistic society, without which political institutions will not long survive. The authors in this collection agree that virtues and politics are interlinked and therefore have implications for education. They agree that children need to acquire the habits that make them virtuous and that this will require an appropriate upbringing through family and schooling. They agree also that this education in family and school needs societal and political support because it is the responsibility of the polis to educate its children. The polis must agree a common conception of what constitutes virtuous actions that all children in the polis should be expected to maintain. This will in turn require teachers who do not simply teach skills for economic success, but are able to educate their students in the importance of practical wisdom and good character. Otherwise superficiality in the form of ‘virtue signaling’, which does not require anything that is actually virtuous, will dominate with people saying things to suggest that they are virtuous, particularly in the political sphere.

Index

Note: page references in italics indicate figures; bold indicates tables; ‘n’ indicates chapter notes. absolutism 5, 6, 8–11, 15, 18 accountability 87, 93 ‘accountability commitment’ in public debate 29–31, 36n7 action 203 Affordable Care Act (Obamacare) 69–70, 72 Agamben, Giorgio 8, 12, 24n46 agency, hopeful 129, 130, 135–6 aggression 83–4 Althusius, Johannes 14, 25n56 American Revolution 15 Annas, J. 215 ‘answerability commitment’ in public debate 29–31 antipluralism 99 appetite 54–5 Aquinas, Thomas 53, 54, 129, 137n3, 207, 227 Arendt, Hannah 5, 175–6, 202–4 Aristotle 4, 6, 12, 13, 19, 250; on demagoguery 92–8; and diversity 109, 113–18; homonoia (like-mindedness) 81; and Machiavelli’s virtú 226–7, 229, 230; and misery and vice 51, 52, 53–9, 59–60n5–10, 60n20; philia (civic friendship) 79, 81, 96–7; polis (citizens) 95, 202, 227, 237, 252; and political parties 63, 66–7, 72; politike- philia (civic friendship) 79, 81, 86; prohairesis (choice) 55–6, 58–9, 60n16, 60n20; and public goods 176; and referendums 237, 238, 241; remedies to populism 103–5, 105n1 arrogance in public debate 28–35 assertions in public debate 29–30, 36nn2–5

attitudes 31–3, 144 Augustine d’Ancona 9, 21n27 Australia 187 authoritarianism 99–102, 104 awareness of fellow citizens 117 Balakrishna, Kanya 187 barbarism 4–6, 13, 23n40 Bartolini, S. 65 Baumsteiger, Rachel 250 Bekkers, R. 117 belief 31, 45, 54–5, 66, 111, 143–5, 147, 149, 152–4; see also religion belief-desire model of hope 128–9 Berlin, Isaiah 224 betrayal 152–3 Blair, Tony 110 Bloch, Ernst 130–1 Bodin, Jean 5, 6–8, 10–11, 17, 22n35, 25n56, 25n65 Bogdanor, Vernon 238–9, 243, 244 Bommarito, N. 72 Boston Globe, The 213 Braithwaite, John 41 Brexit 17, 235, 239–46 “Britishness”/“British values”, promotion of in schools 110–13, 116–20 Broadie, S. 56, 60n20 Bronk, Kendall Cotton 250 Brown, Gordon 110, 245 Burke, Edmund 15, 16, 18 Burnyeat, M.F. 216 Byerly, M. 66 Byerly, T. R. 66

254 Index Callan, E. 67 Cameron, David 234, 241 Cannan, John 69, 72 Cantle, T. 110 capitalism 18, 20, 130 Casey Review, Opportunity and Integration, UK 112 Chappell, Sophie-Grace 225 character 97–8, 117–18, 230–1 China 16, 187 choice 55–6, 58–9, 60n16, 60n20, 142–3 Christianity 9, 11, 12, 14, 18, 20, 21n27, 225, 251 Cicero 224–6 citizens (polis) 95, 202, 227, 237, 252 citizens, moral education of 39, 44, 48, 157–68 citizenship 5, 110, 112, 177–8, 181; equal 94, 102, 104, 105, 130, 136 civic commitment 118, 119 civic empathy 119 civic friendship 79–88, 92–105, 109, 113–20, 120n3, 184–94 civic knowledge 118 civic listening 119 civic speaking 118 civil disobedience 44, 130 Civil Rights movement 130, 136, 137n6 civility, skills of 39–49 clientelism 100 Clinton, Bill 70 Clinton, Hillary 99 closed-mindedness 28, 36n15 coercion 210–11 coercive progressivism 210 collaboration 220–2 common, cultivating the 177–81, 182n8 common aims 84, 88, 220 common goods 94, 95, 98, 170, 175, 181, 182n11 communities 81, 112, 173–4, 180, 181, 250; identity of 141–2, 145, 150, 152, 154 competition 179–80 compliance 86 concern and care for fellow citizens 117–18 concord 115, 116–20 conformity 86 conservatism 16, 17, 206, 230 Conservative government 111, 112, 241 consumerism 179, 180–1

contempt 217 CONTEST counter-terrorism strategy 111, 120n2 control 140 Conyers, John 70–1 Cook-Deegan, Patrick 186 Cooper, John 60n12 cooperation 84–5, 87, 105, 154 co-operatives, homeschooling 178–81, 182n10 counterproductive dialogue 216–17, 222 Courtine, Jean-François 8, 23n36 cowardice 51–2, 71 Cowling, Maurice 8 criminal justice 41, 43–4, 46, 50n7 criminalization 43, 47 crises of trust 141, 142–5, 150 Crowther, Jim 246 ‘cunning of trust’ 153, 154 curiosity 216, 221, 222 Curren, Randall 118, 250 Curzer, Howard 58 cynicism 229 debate see public debate ‘defensive high self-esteem’ 32–3, 34, 35 defensiveness in public debate 28, 32, 33–4 deliberation 60n20, 116–20 deliberative democracy 237–8, 245 demagoguery 84, 92, 94–8 democracy 6, 14–16, 87, 92, 95–6, 101–5, 181, 239–41, 245; deliberative 237–8, 245; direct 14, 235, 238, 241, 245–6; liberal 39, 44, 46–9, 92–4, 170, 175, 177, 181, 214, 234, 250, 251; political participation 235–7; political parties 63–6, 69 ‘democratic revisionism’ 235, 247n1 dependency 140, 143 Derrida, Jacques 14, 25n55 Descartes, René 251 Dewey, John 131 dialectics in Plato’s Laws for good citizens 162–4 dialogue 162–5, 167, 213–22; ‘designing for dialogue’ 213, 218–22; see also public debate direct democracy 14, 235, 238, 241, 245–6 disagreement 213–14 discrimination 93–4, 130, 136

Index 255 dispositionality 132–4 disrespect in public debate 29, 30–1, 33 dissent 44, 211 distrust in politics 63, 214 diversity 44–6, 49n2, 108 divine power 6, 8, 10, 11, 13 dominion 7, 12 ‘Don’t Know Campaign’, European Community membership referendum (UK, 1975) 234, 245 Dorst, K. 219 Dostoevsky, Fyodor, The Brothers Karamazov 146–7 Driver, Julia 61n21 Duckworth, Angela 124, 230 Duff, Antony 44 duties to trust 152–4 ECJ see European Court of Justice economic goods 176–7 economic inequality 112 education 39–49, 177–81, 214–15, 251–2; “British values” in the United Kingdom 108–20; homeschooling 170–81, 171, 172; and Plato’s Laws for good citizens 157–68 ego-defensive attitudes 31–3 Electoral Reform Society (ERS) 244–5 elites 6, 16, 17, 92, 96, 98–9, 104, 240, 245, 247n1 empathy 214, 219, 220, 221, 222, 222n5 envy 34, 51–2, 57, 60n19 epiphanies of virtue 165–8 equality 102, 103, 105, 217; see also inequality ethics of virtue 3–4, 20 European Community membership referendum (UK, 1975) 234, 245 European Court of Justice (ECJ) 19 European Union, sovereignty 18–20 European Union membership referendum (UK, 2016) 17, 235, 239–46 exploitation 84–5, 87 external sanctions 148–9 extremism, violent 103, 108, 109, 111, 119 ‘fake news’ xv, 150–1 Fallon, Jimmy 190, 193 feudalism 11–12, 23nn36–7 Figgis, John Neville 9, 11, 23n37 financial crisis (2007–08) 102, 140, 142

flourishing 3, 66–7, 71–3, 141, 150 Fostering Purpose Project 189–94 Foucault, Michel 10 framing for dialogue (design concept) 219–20 France 19 Franken, Al 70–1 freedom of speech 209–11 friendship 87, 154, 227, 250; see also civic friendship Future Project 187–9, 192–4 game-changers 136 Geach, Peter 232n2 Gekko, Gordon 51 generalized trust 151 Gentili, Alberico 7 Germany 19 gift-exchange 11, 23n37 Gill, Eric 20 globalisation 18, 20, 26n68, 93–4 goals, shared 87–8 Goldie, Mark 14 goodwill 82–4, 87, 88, 93, 97 gossip 86 Gothicism 14–15, 17, 19; ‘distorted gothic’ 8–12, 23n40 governance 14–16, 18–19, 23n36, 65, 104, 132, 237, 245 government 5, 7, 10–11, 17, 23n38, 140, 141 Greece, ancient 176, 227–8, 251 greed 51, 251 grit (character) 230 Grönroos, Gösta 54–5, 60n14 Grotius, Hugo 7, 8, 11, 12, 17, 23n38, 25n65 habituation in virtue 158, 160, 164–7 Haidt, Jon 214 Haldane, John 251–2 Hansard Society, Audit of Political Engagement 235, 242, 244, 247n2 Hardin, Russell 145–8, 153 Hegel, G. W. F. 202 Henri de Lubac 9 Hill, Geoffrey 24n46 Hobbes, Thomas 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 17, 18, 22n35, 24n46, 25n55, 25n65, 224, 229, 251 Hogg, M. A. 83

256 Index homeschooling 170–81, 171, 172, 181n1, 182n5, 182nn10–11 homonoia (like-mindedness) 81 hope 124–36, 137nn3–5 Hopkins, N. 119 human nature 79–80, 81 humility 28, 34, 215 idealism 3, 115, 227 identity formation 184, 185 identity politics 45, 46, 83, 214 IDEO (design firm) 215, 218 ideology 42, 46–8, 85, 103, 104, 119, 204, 209–11 Ignatieff, Michael 93–4, 103 immigration 99–100, 103 imperialism 8 individualism 85, 250 inequality 94, 105; economic 112; see also equality ingroups/outgroups 80, 82–4, 86 institutions 93–4, 96, 98, 140, 142, 148–9 integration 111–12 internal-reflection 119 international government 7, 17 interruptions 28, 29, 36n1 Irerra, E. 86 Johnson, Alan 110 judgement 144, 149, 201, 207–8 justice 3, 87, 115, 204–5, 211 Kant, Immanuel 6, 202 Kantorowicz, Ernst 8 Keltner, Dacher 193 Kennedy, Ted 69 kinesis 20, 27n74 Kraut, R. 60n20 Kupfer, J. H. 67, 68, 71 labour 203 Labour Party 110, 235, 245; Prevent initiative 108, 109, 111–12, 116, 117, 119 Lackey, Jennifer 36n2 LaShaw, Amanda 131–2 law enforcement 41, 42–4 leadership 157–68, 250 legislation 11, 16–17, 19, 22n35, 97–8; see also rule of law Lenard, Patti 150 Levitsky, Steven 100, 104

Lewis, C. S. 56–7 liberal democracy 39, 44, 46–9, 92–4, 170, 175, 177, 181, 214, 234, 250, 251 liberal political/legal order 41–2, 44–5, 48, 49 liberal polity 39–40, 44–5, 49, 50n6 liberalism 8, 12–13, 15–18, 23n40, 44–6, 50n6, 210–11, 251 listening 28, 30, 33, 215, 216, 221 Locke, John 210 Loughlin, Martin 4–5, 8, 18 Lubienski, C. 170 Lucas, John 239, 246–7 Luce, Edward 100–1 Machiavelli, Niccolò 6, 9, 251; virtú 224–32 Machiavellians, modern 230–2, 251 MacIntyre, Alasdair 4, 182n8 Mair, P. 65 Mandeville, B., ‘The Grumbling Hive’ 51 Mangino, Andrew 187 Marcuse, Herbert 209 Masten, Ann 125 Mauss, Marcel 23n37 May, Theresa 243, 245 McGeer, Victoria 129, 135 meaning see purpose media 140, 142, 150; ‘fake news’ xv, 150–1 Mexico 187 Meyer, Susan 55–6 Middle Ages 4–6, 8–11, 23n37, 25n56 Milbank, John 250 Mill, John Stuart 236–8, 240–1 misery 51–9 mixed constitutions 10, 15, 19, 22n35, 94, 95, 104, 105 ‘mixed polity’ concept 6 Miyazaki, Hirokazu 131 Moller, Dan 127 Monnet, Jean 19 Moore, Roy 70–1 moral character 97–8, 117–18, 230–1 moral codes 250 moral education 39–49, 158, 164–5, 167 moral psychology 79–88 morality 6, 45, 81, 226–9, 231, 250 motivation 55 Mounier, Emmanuel 19 Müller, Jan-Werner 99–100, 240 mutual awareness 82, 85–6 mutual confidence 153–4

Index 257 nationalism 8, 18, 20, 93, 204 nature 53–4 negative narratives 175, 182n5 Nielsen, K. M. 56 Nietzsche, F. 224, 232 Norman, Jesse 19 norms, social 28, 29, 30, 36n4, 85–6, 87, 142, 144, 145, 149, 152 nourishment 55 Nussbaum, Martha 237, 241, 246 Oakland school movement, California 131–5, 137n6 Obama, Barack 99, 102 Obamacare (Affordable Care Act) 69–70, 72 Oettingen, Gabrielle 131 oligarchy 95–6 O’Neill, Onora 142 open-mindedness 28 ordained power 9–10 Orwell, George 51, 60n1, 225 outgroups/ingroups 80, 82–4, 86 ownership see property paganism/neo-paganism 8, 10–11 Palin, Sarah 99 Pangallo, A. 125–6 Panter-Brick, Catherine 125, 126 Parekh, B. 110 Parks, Sharon Daloz 193 parliamentary government 15, 17, 19, 235 participation, political 235–7 particularized trust 151, 152 Pateman, Carole 236–8, 240 patience 63–73, 215 personalism 18–20 Peterson, Christopher 230–1, 232n3 Pettit, Philip 153 philia (civic friendship) 79, 81, 96–7 Plato 4, 5–6, 13, 19; Laws and political leadership 157–68 pleasure 55, 57–8 plebiscites 240 Plotinus 19–20, 27n74 pluralism 44–6, 50n6, 108, 109, 215 Pocock, J. G. A. 224 polarization, political 213–15, 219 policy 43–4, 46–8 polis (citizens) 95, 202, 227, 237, 252 politeia (polity) 6, 95 political parties 63–73, 73n2

politics, modern 4–6, 8, 12, 39–49, 63–73, 83–4, 250, 252; see also dialogue; public debate politics of virtue 3–18 politike- philia (civic friendship) 79, 81, 86 polity (politeia) 6, 95 polity, liberal 39–40, 44–5, 49, 50n6 Polybius 6 popes 9, 21n27 populism 14–18, 92–105, 105n1, 240 ‘post-truth’ xv power 6, 7, 9, 10, 17, 18, 22n35, 65, 70–1, 73n3, 214 Prevent initiative, Labour Government 108, 109, 111–12, 116, 117, 119 pride 251 primitivism 9 problem situations 218–19 problem-solving 219–20 productive dialogue 216–17, 222 progressive liberalism 206, 208, 209–11 prohairesis (choice) 55–6, 58–9, 60n16, 60n20 Project Wayfinder 186–7, 192–4 property 5, 7–8, 11–12, 202 prosociality 80, 82–3, 86–7 public debate 16, 28–35, 250; see also dialogue public good 51–9, 60n3, 60nn18–20, 170–8, 181, 182n8 public reason 64–5, 202, 204–5, 208, 211 public schools 170, 173 public–private dichotomy xiv–xv, 11, 170–1, 181, 202–3, 205 Pufendorf, Samuel 17, 24n51, 25n65 punishment 86 purpose 184–94; Fostering Purpose Project 189–92; Future Project 187–9; Project Wayfinder 186–7 racism 99, 102–3 radicalisation 109, 111 Rawls, John 64, 67–8, 202, 204–5, 208, 211 realism 3–4 reason 159; see also public reason reasonable pluralism 64, 67–8 receptivity theories of hope 129, 130, 134–5 reciprocity 82, 84–5, 87, 88 Reeves, Richard 231

258 Index referendums 235–47; EC membership referendum, 1975, UK 234, 245; EU membership referendum, 2016, UK 17, 235, 239–46; Scottish Independence referendum, 2016 235, 241–7, 247n2; ‘tyranny of the majority’ 235, 239–41, 245 reform 94–8 regulation 202 Reicher, S. 119 relativism 45 reliance 143, 146 religion 3, 6, 8, 44, 49n2, 96–7, 103–4, 108, 137n6, 226; Christianity 9, 11, 12, 14, 18, 20, 21n27, 225, 251; homeschooling 174, 177, 178, 179; tolerance 204–6, 210–11; see also belief Renaissance 226, 228 representationalism 14–16, 18, 25n55 reputation 85–6 resilience 124–36 resilience ethics 124 rhetoric 49 rightness 201, 207 Riley, Patrick 24n51 risk 140–1 rivalry 13 role models 34, 168 Rome, ancient 5, 7, 8, 225 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques 13–14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 24n51, 25n55, 25n65 rule of law 40–6, 48–9, 50n3, 93 rules 5–6 Rutter, M. 125 Schmitt, Carl 23n43 Schwarzenbach, S. A. 86, 120n4 Scottish Independence referendum, 2016 235, 241–7, 247n2 Scottish National Party (SNP) 243 Segvic, Heda 60n20 self, the 28, 32–3, 35, 52, 57 self-affirmation techniques 28, 33–5, 36nn11–15 self-conception 32, 35 self-enhancement 34 self-esteem 31, 32–3, 34, 36n9, 52, 57 self-glory 251 self-government 251 self-interest 173–6, 180 selfishness 180, 250–1 Seligman, Martin 230–1, 232n3

sexual assault 70–1, 73n6 Shade, Patrick 130 sharing 87–8 Skidelsky, Edward 251 slavery 8 Smith, Adam 175, 182n6 Snow, Nancy E. 131–2 Snyder, C. R. 129, 131, 135 Snyder, M. 83 social capital 108, 110, 141, 150–1 social categorization 83–4, 85 social cohesion 109–13, 116–20 social comparisons 33, 34 social realm, the 203 social-adjustive attitudes 31–2 Southwick, Steven M. 124–5 sovereignty 3–20, 22n35, 23n38 state, the 228–9, 231–2 status 9, 34, 47, 52, 86, 146, 205 stinginess 51–2, 57 Strayer, Joseph R. 23n36 Strong Misery Thesis 52 ‘strong-thin’ modes of trust 141 Stürmer, S. 83 Sturrock, John 240 sub-resilience 127–8, 136n2 Suetonius 52 superficiality 252 super-resilience 127–8, 136n2 surveillance 85, 87, 140 Swift, Jonathan 15 Taylor, Gabriele 52, 57 technocracy 16, 17, 19–20 technology, trust in 140–2 temperance in political parties 63–73 Thomas, P. 112, 119 threat, perceived 33, 35 Tierney, Stephen 237, 243, 244 Tocqueville, Alexis de 176 toleration 206–11, 212n8 totalitarianism 16, 133 transgenderism 209–10 transparency 243 Trilling, Lionel 225 Trump, Donald 18, 70–1, 73n6, 99–103, 246 trust 29–30, 39–40, 42, 46, 85, 118, 140–54, 245 trustworthiness 40, 42, 141–3, 145–9, 152, 154

Index 259 Tuck, Richard 7, 8, 10–11, 14, 17, 19, 24n51, 25n55, 25n65 tyranny 96 ‘tyranny of the majority’ 235, 239–41, 245 UK Parliament: Identity and Diversity: Living Together in the UK 110–11; Integrated Communities Green Paper 112–13, 116–17, 245; Public Administration and Constitutional Affairs Committee enquiry (PACAC, 2016) 240, 244–5 unhappiness 51–3, 58 United Kingdom: “British values” in education 108–13, 116–20; Conservative government 111, 112, 241; CONTEST counter-terrorism strategy 111, 120n2; Curriculum Review: Diversity and Citizenship (Ajegbo Review) 110; governance in 15–16, 18; moral education in 39, 42–3, 46–7; referendums in 17, 234–47 United States of America: Affordable Care Act (Obamacare) 69–70, 72; American Revolution 15; Civic Rights movement 130, 136, 137n6; Congressional Baseball Game 213, 221; cultivating the common 178; genesis of populism in 98–103; homeschooling in 170–81, 171, 172; hope in 130–6; moral education and skills of civility 39, 42–3, 46–7, 50n7; Oakland school movement, California 131–5, 137n6; polarization and public dialogue in 213–15, 219, 220–1; political parties 63, 68–73, 73n2; Reconstruction 101–2; the root of public goods 176; segregation 102 unproductive dialogue 216–17, 222 unschooling 173, 175, 179, 182n4 utilitarianism 176, 180 utility friendship 120n3

values 34–5, 36n13, 42–3, 49, 108–13, 116–20, 152, 206 vanity 51 vice 13, 51–9, 81, 201–2, 207, 213, 214, 216–17 violations of trust 151–2 violent extremism 103, 108, 109, 111, 119 virtú (Machiavelli) 224–32, 232n1 ‘virtue signalling’ 252 virtues xiv–xv, 250–2 volunteering 179–80 vulnerability 141, 144 Waldron, J. 217 Walker, Margaret Urban 129 Wallace, George 102 Washington Post, The 213 Weak Unhappiness Thesis 52, 58 wealth 57 well-being 93, 141, 150 well-wishing 82 Weston, A. 219 white supremacy 99–102 Whitman, Walt 131 Wilhelm, M. O. 117 Wilkes, M.J. 9, 21n27 Williams, Bernard 51, 207–8 wisdom 5, 6, 13, 93, 157, 159–61, 163, 251, 252 wish (boule-sis) 53–5, 58–9 Wolf, Susan 66–7 work 203 worldviews 58–9, 214–16, 221 Yack, B. 115 young people, purpose in 184–94 Ziblatt, Daniel 100, 104