Character, Community, and Politics

Character, Community, and Politics

Character, Community, and Politics

Clarke E. Cochran

The University of Alabama Press

Tuscaloosa

Copyright © 1982 by

The University of Alabama Press

All rights reserved

Manufactured in the United States of America

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Cochran, Clarke E., 1945–

    Character, community, and politics.

    Bibliography: p.

    Includes index.

    1. Consensus (Social sciences)   2. Community.   3. Character.   4. Authority.   5. Political science.   I. Title.

JC328.2.C62               320′.01′1            81-10303

ISBN 0-8173-0086-4                             AACR2

ISBN-13 978-0-8173-9049-5 (electronic)

To My Mother and Father

Contents

Preface

1. The Problem of Order

2. Human Character

3. Communion and Hospitality

4. Character and Community

5. Authority

6. Freedom

7. Pluralism and the Common Good

8. Politics, Hospitality, and Character

Notes

Bibliography

Index

Preface

The revival of political philosophy has assumed that a theory of human well-being and fulfillment is necessary, but recent work has been preoccupied with questions of epistemology and technical conceptual analysis. Where the nature of the human good has been considered, the paradigm of autonomous individualism has customarily held sway. The present book moves away from prevailing concerns to develop a communal theory of political order.

Character, Community, and Politics revives or redefines a number of fundamental but neglected ideas. Chief among them are commitment, community, responsibility, and character, concepts that I develop through discussion of authority, freedom, pluralism, and the common good. The exposition draws upon a wide variety of fields, such as philosophy, ethics, literature, moral theology, and sociology, borrowing and renewing various concepts in such a way that they come to comprehend a theory of human life and political order that is distinct from liberalism, conservatism, socialism, radicalism, or Marxism.

Political theory must begin with an understanding of human character. Character is structured by solitude, commitment, and responsibility and, to be fully human, requires a disposition toward solitude, defined as a space and time for the masks, which persons wear in everyday life, to enter into a dialogue with the center, the essential core of identity. Human character is also ordered by commitment, which relates to an ultimate center of value and so anchors life and integrates action. Without such commitment life is empty and responsible action impossible. Responsible living (commitment and solitude in action) demands accountability to self and others in terms of basic principles.

Community has the double meaning of communion and hospitality. As the former, it is a relation of persons sharing commitments, experience, ritual, and participation. These provide people with a sense of belonging and of union with their fellows. Community is also an encounter of individuals in openness of character, when deep communication may happen; such relations are characterized by tolerance and by attentiveness to the voice of the other.

Community, as communion and as hospitality, calls forth and helps to form solitude, responsibility, and commitment. It provides voices for the silent dialogue, reinforces commitment, and supports responsible action. Hospitality, moreover, has a special healing mission toward wounded character growth.

Although they are extremely important, communion and hospitality are difficult to maintain. They are in constant danger of collapsing into conformity and indifference. Only persons of mature character can form and sustain communities, because they alone are capable of the commitments and the tolerance required. The human person is a social animal, not merely in the broad sense universally acknowledged, but because communal relationships best evoke and express his identity. Only communion and hospitality can fully awaken his highest potential, as we shall see in chapters 2 through 4.

Community understood in this way is the link between individual identity and public order. All communities require authority if they are to last and to contribute to the formation of character. Political order too demands authority. Since authority is essentially related to community, both in public and in private life, it seems that politics can contribute to the development of both character and community.

Such a suggestion will immediately raise in the reader the fear of public interference in private life—that is, fear of the loss of freedom. To combat this alarm it will be necessary to explore the relation between freedom and character and between freedom and political order. I argue that the development of character depends upon a dialectic of restraint and liberty and upon freedom as self-determination. Community contributes to both of these conditions. Chapters 5 and 6 discuss authority and freedom.

It follows that politics may contribute to human development by building communion and hospitality, as the final two chapters demonstrate. Politics can aid communion by supporting social conditions which tie persons together: tradition, authority, common action, responsibility, commitment, participation, and common symbols. Because politics cannot create community directly, it must support communion where it can be found or cultivated. It nurtures the tremendous variety of communities of everyday life. Political community, then, refers to a community of communities. As we shall see, justice and the common good as comprehensive goals of public policy may be understood in a new way, with reference to policies promoting specific qualities of community and character.

Because the concepts of character, solitude, commitment, responsibility, and community are deeply personal, I have employed the first person singular frequently in the following pages. In those passages where third-person constructions seem necessary, I have generally used the traditional singular terms man and he, since plurals, he or she constructions, and other locutions are generally too impersonal to convey the meanings intended. It should go without saying that both men and women are included in all of the concepts and principles developed.

All quotations from Scripture are taken from the New American Bible translation, published by the World Publishing Company, 1970.

Portions of chapter 5 were previously published as Authority and Community: The Contributions of Carl Friedrich, Yves R. Simon, and Michael Polanyi, American Political Science Review, 71 (June 1977), pp. 546–58 (copyright ©1977 by the American Political Science Association), and are used by permission. Earlier versions of portions of chapter 7 are reprinted from Yves R. Simon and ‘The Common Good’: A Note on the Concept by permission of the University of Chicago Press. This article appeared originally in Ethics, vol. 88, no. 3, (April 1978), pp. 229–39.

Publication of this book has been made possible by a grant from Earhart Foundation, for which both author and publisher are profoundly grateful.

Many friends, students, and colleagues have read and commented on various drafts of the manuscript. I am especially grateful to Travis Billings, Carolyn Chandler, Terry Davidson, Ned Lynch, Ann McGlynn, Neal Reimer, Carol Sigelman, Lee Sigelman, Rob Sutherland, and Glenn Tinder. Marcia Brubeck’s careful reading improved the manuscript in many ways. My gratitude to my teachers, especially John Hallowell, George Morgan, Waldo Beach, and William Poteet, is profound. Their influence appears on each page of the book. Malcolm M. MacDonald, director of The University of Alabama Press, encouraged and supported the project from a very early stage.

A scholar is only as good as his typist lets him be, and I have been blessed by a number of fine secretaries over the span of the manuscript’s preparation. Donna Aldridge, Maria Do, Sheila Hatcher, Brenda Hoyle, and Eileen Saunders contributed immeasurably to the final product.

My wife and children have been models of communion and hospitality throughout the research, writing, and revision. Their love, support, and tolerance have taught me more about these realities than I have been able to convey in the following pages.

1

The Problem of Order

That there are colonies of the violent among us, devoid of any sense of communal purpose, best describes, I think, our present temporarily schizoid existence in two cultures—vacillating between dead purposes and deadly devices to escape boredom.

—Philip Rieff, The Triumph of the Therapeutic

Political philosophy explores the nature and causes of order and disorder in human living together. It is a commonplace that profound theorizing occurs during times of crisis, arising in response to a thinker’s perception of the symptoms of disease in the body politic—war, revolution, corruption, oppression, injustice, or other civic cancers. The political philosopher not only perceives the disorders of his time, as many others do, but senses the basic causes of the malady. Plato tells us that disorder in society reflects disorder in the soul; Aristotle, that it stems from erroneous understandings of justice and equality; Marx, that it proceeds from the contradictions of capitalist production and distribution. Such diagnoses are rooted in a profound encounter of the theorist with a source of order and with the human consequences of disorder. This experience forms the theorist and drives him to articulate it in symbols communicable to others. Plato is formed by a mystical experience of the Good and by the death of Socrates; Augustine, by his sin and his encounter with the grace of God; Hobbes, by the order of the new science and the disorder of the Civil War. Because he experiences both conditions, the philosopher is moved as well to describe the changes necessary for order to begin to prevail over disorder. He prescribes the regimen for alleviation of the sickness of soul and society which troubles him.¹

In saying this I do not mean to bathe my argument in the reflected glory of the great names of the past. The diagnoses of the past confer no validity on those of the present. Mention of these thinkers, however, anticipates the elements of the theory of political order which I develop through the symbols of responsibility, commitment, solitude, and community. The examples of the past show that it is possible to respond to disorder without becoming an apologist for a particular ideology. My own perception of the illnesses of contemporary life does not differ radically from that of many other observers, so I spend relatively little space on it. I do believe, however, that the prevailing responses and prescriptions offered fail because they do not reach beyond ideology to an order capable of grounding a theoretical response. The principal contemporary responses are more or less easily classified as one or another variety of ism: liberalism, socialism, conservatism, libertarianism, anarchism. They fail to articulate a theory of human order founded on an experience of existence deeper than the superficial accounts of human nature found in these ideologies. In the course of this book various concepts and symbols will be developed in unfamiliar ways, not from a love of novelty, but from a conviction that only by looking at human experience from new angles can we find any theoretical cure for our social disorders or the will to take the medicine prescribed.² In this chapter, then, I shall discuss the failure of the ideologies, particularly the prevailing liberal ideology, to understand or respond to the disorder. I shall introduce as well the ideas that will figure in succeeding chapters.

The forms taken by the sickness in personal and social life are all too well known. Tales of political corruption have become the news media’s staple. Rootlessness, geographical mobility, high rates of divorce, abuse of child and spouse, and abortion have made the distressed family a primary subject of dissection, diagnosis, and prescription in popular and academic journals of opinion. Loneliness, alienation, anomic violence, and the daily development of new forms of therapy and self-help testify to the loss of a sense of order.

Politically most symptomatic is the increased manipulation of the agenda and of policymaking by interest groups—not that such dominance is new, but it has become the accepted ideology of public life.³ We attempt to insure fairness in regulatory decisions by insuring that all affected interests have guaranteed access to centers of decision. Nothing seems incongruous about a president’s employing staff members whose sole function is liaison with specific groups. The stalemate of conflicting interests prevented the development of a national energy policy for at least five years after the need for it was generally acknowledged. The policy ultimately produced was a complicated nightmare which pleased none and called for no hard sacrifices by any group or by the country as a whole.

Experts and citizens of almost every ideological stripe agree that welfare programs are wasteful, a bureaucratic morass, and an injustice to those who are poor and those who are not. Interest-group infighting, however, prevents significant reform. The situation is identical in health care policy. Likewise, it has been clear for years that fundamental reform of transportation regulation is necessary, but interest-group power has confined such reform to air carriers. In short, acceptance of interest-group domination in terms of the conventional wisdom means that questions of principle, justice, community, common good, and human rights find scant welcome in the political arena.

The rest of this chapter will diagnose the illness signaled by these symptoms. The remaining chapters prescribe the theoretical basis for treatment. But first a word of caution. For me to claim a complete diagnosis would be a symptom of terminal hubris. Surely our ills have many causes, including social and economic conditions, psychological and familial predispositions, and failures of socialization. We cannot, for example, blame the energy crisis simply on government interference, or oil company greed, or God’s failure to provide an infinite supply of oil, or on interest-group stalemate. Similarly, anomie may have its roots in modern economic conditions, mental illness, urban living conditions, individual psychological weakness, or other causes. In this book I contend only that ideas have consequences; they do not simply follow history, economics, and social change. How man thinks about himself does affect, in conjunction with other forces, how he behaves. How he views society does influence, in conjunction with other elements, the kind of society in which he will live. The disorders I have mentioned above are not fated but rather result from human choices and pride. My analysis, then, will focus on intellectual causes, not in order to disparage other putative reasons, but to stress what I believe are the important theoretical tendencies which contribute significantly to the totality of the disease.

The Idea of Autonomous Individualism

At the heart of our troubles is autonomous individualism and the ideas of political order which proceed from it. My understanding of this theoretical disorder begins from Tocqueville’s diagnosis of democratic individualism:

Individualism is a mature and calm feeling, which disposes each member of the community to sever himself from the mass of his fellow-creatures; and to draw apart with his family and his friends; so that, after he has thus formed a little circle of his own, he willingly leaves society at large to itself. Egotism originates in blind instinct: individualism proceeds from erroneous judgment more than from depraved feelings; it originates as much in the deficiencies of the mind as in the perversity of the heart.

Egotism blights the germ of all virtue: individualism, at first, only saps the virtues of public life; but, in the long run, it attacks and destroys all others, and is at length absorbed in downright egotism. . . .

Thus not only does democracy make every man forget his ancestors, but it hides his descendants, and separates his contemporaries, from him; it throws him back for ever upon himself alone, and threatens in the end to confine him entirely within the solitude of his own heart.⁴

The solitude of one’s own heart (i.e., the loneliness meant by Tocqueville) is the locus of anomie. The heart is lonely because autonomous individualism teaches that each person is to make himself, to define himself, and to form and live his own moral and spiritual principles. As such, this idea is originally liberal and continues to be so, but it can be found in other ideologies as well, some of them bitter enemies of liberalism in political practice.⁵ Conservatism includes the notion as a principal part of its doctrines, though it is in uneasy tension with the stress on tradition and organicism. Libertarianism, of course, is the political reductio ad absurdum of autonomous individualism. Anarchism, particularly its noncommunitarian variants, holds dear a pristine conception of individuality. Even Marxian and non-Marxian socialism have strains of this idea, though they are not as prominent as in the other ideologies. Socialism attacks the oppression of capitalism, that is, the bourgeois economic institutions which prevent the emergence of the full, individual humanity of persons. Human beings are unable under capitalism to achieve self-development or to enjoy the exercise of their natural capacities.

More generally, this conception of individuality has become widespread in culture as an emphasis on the self. A couple of decades ago Martin Buber remarked that the I of [the I-It relation], an I that possesses all, makes all, succeeds with all, this I that is unable to say Thou, unable to meet a being essentially, is the lord of the hour. More recently, Tom Wolfe has called the 1970s The Me Decade, pointing to Jerry Brown and Jimmy Carter and such phenomena as communes, encounter groups, drug usage, and the recent spate of confessional novels, and migration across the land by thousands in trailers. The new alchemical dream is: changing one’s personality—remaking, remodeling, elevating, and polishing one’s very self . . . and observing, studying, and doting on it. (Me!). The evolution of this concept of the self, separate and opposed to social roles, and the notion of authenticity which goes with it, have been treated profoundly by Lionel Trilling.⁶ Those who promote authenticity as the aim of life represent, according to Trilling, the disintegration of a self defined in relation to society. Authentic selfhood is believed to lie in rejection of social conventions and in the autonomous definition of one’s own laws of being in conjunction with spirit and freedom. The self is assumed to lie hidden under the layers of social custom; to liberate it is to reveal it in all its uniqueness and purity, to break the roles and masks which keep it hidden. The authentic individual is a law unto himself; inauthenticity means giving up one’s self-legislating freedom to someone or something outside.

The idea of authentic selfhood is made more plausible by social conditions which sunder the inner life from the outer—impersonal institutions, disintegrated families, rootless living, and fragmented, cynical politics. Since identity is social, the inward focus of the search for authenticity is evidence of social failure as much as of individual pathology. The dominant ideology of autonomous individualism has constructed political and social institutions which do not satisfy the human hunger for identity. The appetite must, then, be sated in unorthodox and unfulfilling ways.

Philip Rieff has perceived a similar notion of selfhood at work in contemporary culture, particularly in the psychoanalytic movement. Modern culture, he argues, reveals the triumph of the therapeutic mode, the triumph of therapies of self. Having rejected traditional faiths and released himself from their restrictions, psychological man (authentic man) goes about seeking self-satisfaction, though he seeks as well some refuge from the doubts and the loneliness such a search produces. In the age of psychologizing, clarity about oneself supersedes devotion to an ideal as the model of right conduct. Such men seek a manipulatable sense of well-being. Religious man is born to be saved; psychological man is born to be pleased. And the psychotherapist becomes a secular, spiritual guide, teaching man how to please himself while remaining on even keel, avoiding anxiety over his loss of faith.⁷ Rieff argues that the therapeutic mode has destroyed the possibility of therapies based on faith or commitment. The dilemma is that this mode exalts the releasing mechanisms of culture but offers (so far) no ground for reestablishing any controlling mechanisms. No previous culture has survived without a balance of these two mechanisms; yet faith can no longer supply the balance, nor does it seem possible for the psychoanalytic mode to create controls from its own resources. Rieff offers an accurate, if pessimistic, diagnosis of the dilemmas raised by the cultural triumph of the idea of autonomous individualism.

Such an idea of self, producing such consequences, is flawed. In chapter 2 I shall suggest an alternative idea in which, pace Rieff, commitment can and must play a central part. Here only one critical point may be mentioned. The ideas of authenticity and self-satisfaction are empty: the self they define seeks self-fulfillment, which is impossible, since it has no natural content. A satisfaction which depends upon subjective experiences of pleasure has no ontological grounding and so misses final or even approximate completion. Such a self can never be at peace because the subjective grounds of pleasure constantly shift, calling to mind the futility inherent in Hobbes’s definition of felicity as a continual progress of the desire, from one object to another; the attaining of the former, being still but the way to the latter.⁸ Moreover, because those who promote the ideals of authenticity and autonomy have no coherent idea of the self, they are unable to reconcile the pursuit of individual satisfaction with the requirements of political order. Because there are no grounds for denying the self any desire, there are no grounds for regulation. Because the self may assume a different shape tomorrow, there can be no cohesive political order, which necessarily refers to human constants.⁹ The origin of the politics of interest lies in a faulty conception of human nature. Such a vision shatters the links between person and community.

The notion of self just described is not restricted to liberalism, but its original roots are liberal, as is its dominant political manifestation. Thus despite my focus, my critical remarks should be understood to extend to autonomous individualism wherever it is found. Liberalism, like the Snark, is hard to pin down. It cannot be isolated from other ideological movements of the last two hundred years. The features it exhibits at any one time may be obscure at another. Moreover, the resurgence of radicalism in recent years has reminded us that liberals oppose and are opposed by both the Right and the Left. Liberal is a term of disparagement, out of fashion with both conservatives and radicals. Yet the liberal norm of individual autonomy is alive, as I argued above, and we can begin to understand our disorders only by focusing directly on this norm itself.

The ideal of individual autonomy originates in the early liberal rejection of revelation and dogma as sources of truth and in confidence in immanent human reason as the source of knowledge.¹⁰ The individual is admonished to stand on his own and to discover for himself the answers to basic questions. While the contemporary affirmation of feeling and emotion as bases of action has weakened the position of reason, it has not thereby lessened the stress upon the autonomous use of rational or affective processes. Liberalism demands that the individual be free from arbitrary restraints on his thoughts, his speech, and his action. Such restrictions of course, are those based on convention rather than on nature. Since conventional reasons may often be given for natural distinctions and since the authority of convention is in principle illegitimate for the autonomous individual, it is not surprising to find liberalism in revolt against tradition and authority themselves as needlessly curbing thought and action.

Certainly, not every tradition or authority has been seen as arbitrary at every time in the history of liberalism. The trend, however, is more and more in this direction. Liberals generally condemn restrictions on individual and group life, as do libertarians, anarchists, and most socialists as well, given the heritage of individualism which they also possess. Thus liberals support more extensive freedoms under the First Amendment, abolition of compulsory school prayer, of laws restricting private sexual practices, and of racial and economic discrimination. The women’s liberation movement receives liberal sympathy in its fight to rid society of traditional customs defining the role and place of women and of laws which support these customs. Such laws and traditions are unreasonable, and hence arbitrary and unjustifiable, constraints on the freedom of individual women to create their own ways of life and to make their own role decisions.¹¹ It is not to praise or condemn any of these movements that I call them liberal, but only to exemplify liberalism’s continuing attack on tradition and authority. Yet as I shall argue in chapter 5, authority and tradition are necessary for individuality. They provide a stable base for personal decision and development.

If the logic of autonomous individualism points toward rejection of tradition and authority, it also signals abandonment of the ideal of community as a union of individuals in affection, trust, sharing, and sacrifice. The liberal tendency is to distrust community because it seems to demand a loyalty and commitment incompatible with personal freedom. Communities seem to mean a submergence rather than a flowering of individuality. Exclusivity and intolerance seem to characterize them. Yet there are societies in which community has been the condition for freedom and in which its decline seems to entail the disappearance of freedom. The liberal attitude toward community is unfortunate, I shall argue, because communal ties are an indispensable condition for the development of individual personality. Moreover, to reject community is to turn away from an important source of social unity and moral development, which play a role in personal maturation that cannot be replaced by wholly rational group affiliations or morality.¹²

The concept of autonomy tends to focus on the unique aspects of each individual and on their protection and development. This emphasis is understandable and even laudable in certain contexts. Yet as a theoretical account of personality it is too narrow. Although it is relatively recent in the history of social thought, this account has become extremely influential. Liberalism sets the self against others, failing to remember how much the personality of each is defined and shaped by human relationships. The individual is unique partly because of his supporting links with particular primary and secondary communities.

So far I have criticized liberalism for its view of individuality in relation to authority and community. I turn now to the main failure of liberalism as a political theory—its inability to articulate a vision of the good society.