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of connections between one’s actions and their results, all learning has a practical element.
But at the same time, making those connections, and making further connections between
one’s present experience and what one has previously learned, leads to more abstract and
general knowledge that constitutes theory. By basing education on experience, theory
emerges from and finds application in practice. Purely practical education would be simply
acquiring habits by rote—e.g., learning a trade but without fully grasping that industry’s
broader effects. Purely theoretical education would be devoid of any connection to experience
outside the classroom—e.g., learning to solve an equation without understanding the uses of
that mathematical activity. The ideal of education, on Dewey’s account, would always have
theory and practice mixed.
A concept of a university that rejects the theory and practice divide would be aligned
with this experiential approach to education, instead of the inconsistent mix described by
Kerr. The division of theory and practice makes the separation of vocational studies from
liberal studies seem to track an important distinction, as Brewer expresses in his criticism of
practically-minded reforms at liberal arts colleges. But it is exactly this idea, ‘that a truly
cultural or liberal education cannot have anything in common, directly at least, with industrial
affairs’,38 that Dewey’s account of education enables us to resist. Subjects that are primarily
concerned with practical applications would become opportunities for learning scientific and
humanistic studies that are traditionally treated as worthy of study intrinsically. They would
not be relegated to ‘breadth’ requirements disconnected from students’ interests, but
integrated into their subjects of study. Going the other way, the practical justification of
subjects traditionally presented as purely theoretical studies would no longer be a ‘trap’ that
38 Ibid., 266.
draws us away from the true value of these subjects and towards mere economic value, as
Collini fears. A Deweyan approach to teaching these subjects would encourage students to
find connections between their own interests and activities and the more abstract and general
subjects, deepening their appreciation for theoretical study and finding practical value of a
broader sort than job skills. We can thereby also resist the notion that ‘the education which is
fit for the masses must be a useful or practical education in a sense which opposes useful and
practical to nurture of appreciation and liberation of thought’,39 as expressed in Rubio’s
remarks about vocational education. The aim is not more welders and fewer philosophers, but
more welders with appreciation for and interest in philosophy, and vice versa.
4.2. University Teachers and Researchers
The role of the teacher, on Dewey’s account, is to facilitate the student’s having of educative
experiences. Lessons are designed with the student’s background experience in mind, so as to
draw upon but also to challenge the connections and habits the student has already learnt. The
teacher sets up conditions so that the desired ways of acting and undergoing occur to the
student, and by ‘making the individual a sharer or partner in the associated activity so that he
feels its success as his success, its failure as his failure’.40 The school, of which the university
is one kind, is a special place set up to effect these experiences. The student’s experiences in
and out of school form a closed loop: her prior experience and interests form the basis for her
experience in the classroom, which she then connects to further experiences outside the
classroom, which form the basis for her next classroom experience.
Of course, university teachers do more than just education. One element that makes
universities distinct from other educational institutions, consistent across the entire history of
39 Ibid.
40 Ibid., 18.
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did not fit in well with the institutional standards that figured as
“appropriate” formulas during the 1990s and concentrated more
on the idea of political independence.
These standards were transmitted by networks of actors moving
in an ever more globalised world, through various sectoral and
occupational dimensions. The examples taken were the Anglo-
Saxon traditions and the particular adaptations carried out by
European countries from the 1980s. This was the moment of the
confirmation of the regulatory state indicated by G. Majone when
analysing the particular constrictions in the institutional design of
European Union political bodies. The paradox is that, in both
cases, the independence criterion adopted for the regulating
authorities represented a (possibly satisfactory) response to the
highly specific conditions of their respective forms, which led to
the formation of an increasingly fragmented model of the state.
Nevertheless, given the central position of these countries in the
1990s, the formula of exception became the model to be followed
in the context of the regulatory reforms that spread throughout
the world, generally stimulating intense institutional change. It
may be concluded that, in combination with the symbolic weight
of adopting that element of the “appropriate”, the success of the
diffusion lies in the extraordinary flexibility of the processes of
adapting the new regulatory authorities to national situations,
with criteria of political independence being incorporated into
the different institutional designs adopted. Components such as
the selection and appointment systems for those in charge of
regulatory authorities are good indicators of this flexible adapta-
tion and, undoubtedly, there many different formulas. This facili-
tates the adoption of these new institutional forms in conditions
that vary considerably in relation not only to the institutions
present in each country but also international limitations. Accord-
ingly, the multiplicity of institutional constellations has become
even greater, in the light of the variety of adaptations. Moreover,
in the face of a traditional, highly hierarchical model of the state,
we are now encountering a gradual change in state structures,
with distinct degrees of internal tension and fragmentation.
It should not be forgotten that the practices used in state-build-
ing are also strongly affected by different ideological ideas and
methods regarding how public administrations should be organ-
ised. So we see that many reforms based on the creation or strength-
ening of independent regulatory institutions were spurred on by
a common cultural scheme that considered this kind of institu-
tional form the most appropriate for carrying out regulatory tasks.
The various influences exercised by the new public management
planning and the legislative proposals derived from agency and
incentive theory, which emerged from economic theory, have had
an important role in the proposition of conceptual models for the
definition of these new conceptual models6 . For example, the idea
of delegation arises from this context, in the sense of guaranteeing
regulatory authority leaders independence in their decision-mak-
ing and freedom from possible interference by the executive or
legislative branches. That idea may, however, be firmly claimed by
collective professional groups in different sectoral areas, for whom
these arguments would represent a sphere of protection in the
decision-making in their policy field.
The aspiration to institutional independence
We know that regulatory agency independence as a whole is
a myth, since there are many degrees of independence. If all the
countries in the world are considered together, on a scale from
1 to 100, we can detect a high level of variation, in which there
6 Christopher Hood, The Art of the State. Culture, Rhetoric and Public
Management, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1998
are some countries with highly independent agencies and others
with agencies possessing very little independence. For example,
it is well known that the independence of the regulatory authori-
ties created in northern European countries is greatly limited.
This is because they have a different regulating agency tradition
and have not adopted the US model with the same vigour as
certain countries in southern Europe or Latin America. The issue
here is not only a problem of political independence but also of
the breadth of the responsibilities attributed. There is also great
variation among countries. For example, there are agencies in
Spain with particularly reduced powers, almost to the point of
their being mere consultants. One aspect that can be seen to be
highly present in this whole enormous explosion in regulatory
agencies that we observe in general is the topic of professional-
isation. Regulatory agencies were not created to be filled with civil
servants and the work positions have been occupied by another
kind of professionals — economists — who possess a highly spe-
cialised knowledge of the sector and regulation and closely iden-
tify with the sector, with which they have a very direct relation-
ship. State professionals reflect a more generalist profile. This
professionalisation is a difference that can be observed every-
where and involves far stronger international connections with
sector enterprises, on account of the professional knowledge of
the sector. This characteristic is acutely present in all countries:
it is creating a new type of government that is formulating numer-
ous questions and new dilemmas such as the issue of control
between these professional groups, with their protection and
independence, and traditional state institutions. This is some-
thing new and it will possibly take a few decades to understand
how this new model of the state — an impressive phenomenon
for its extent and comprehensiveness — fits in.
On the issue of the regulatory state it is important to analyse
the dynamics of the growth in the number of agencies and the
quantity of sectors in which they have sprung up, not only in
privatised sectors, since this growth has extended far beyond
these into very different sectors. In all cases, there is regulation
in various state sectors and, if we asked specialist staff if they
would like to have an independent agency, the response would
be positive, including in the health sectors. What is important
here is the distinction made above between social and economic
regulation. Independent regulatory agencies were created
where it was intended to create or stimulate markets. The basic
principle was not to safeguard the functioning of the market
but, rather, to guarantee quality, risk reduction, values etc. The
motivation to create regulatory agencies was intense and, on
many occasions, the regulatory capacity was strongly maintained
within traditional state structures. This element stresses the
relationship between the creation of independent regulatory
agencies and the creation of, or the will to stimulate or super-
vise, specialised markets — a relationship that it is important to
take into account when the topic of democratic control over
independent and autonomous regulators is assessed. We should
remember that the discussion is not so much about how the
regulators are controlled but how the market is controlled
democratically; and it is here that we find the basic problem.
Because there may be regulation by a ministry that is completely
captured by the companies in the sector, in which case demo-
cratic control would be purely formal. In practice, there would
be no democratic control by those who would be controlling the
sector (and it happens in many cases): the enterprises would be
dominant. On many occasions, the problem does not lie in
formal or non-formal independence, but in the capacity for
public intervention in one form or another and the ability to
govern, guide or correct markets, when such action is consid-
ered of public interest. Accordingly, this should be the focus of
this discussion rather than purely formal independence.
There are numerous studies on independence which distin-
guish between formal independence and real independence.
With regard to the former, various dimensions are normally con-
sidered, which have to be aggregated to arrive at an index of
independence: on the one hand, there is the appointment of
those in charge and, on the other, the organisational aspects of
the body or institution. Then there are the aspects of the financ-
ing or the agencies’ capacity to impose sanctions. And the control
aspects: who controls the regulatory entities? All these aspects are
elements of independence. Finally, there are those who devote
themselves to studying this question in quantitative terms, pro-
ducing indices to demonstrate which regulatory agencies are the
most independent, in a comparison of countries and sectors.
These dimensions should not be forgotten because, if only one
of them is considered, e.g. who appoints the regulator or if they
do so for an indefinite period or not, a distorted view of the
degree of independence may be obtained, since aspects such as
financial independence may have interactions with the question
of the independence that is related to the appointment. It is
necessary to view formal independence as a multidimensional
context and, then, real independence, which is much more dif-
ficult to measure because the formal aspects may all seem highly
independent but not be in practice. There are many examples of
this in Latin America and a certain number in Europe. How is real
independence measured? There are studies that carry out this
task, identifying the preferences of the prime minister, the gov-
ernment or parliament, the preferences applied by the regulator
and the companies’ preferences, and they try to understand
which are the most similar. In a historical sequence, this may also
show how the regulator leans more to the independent compo-
nent or that of the companies or government, depending on the
formal aspects. When we speak of independence, we must bear a
series of distinct dimensions in mind, as a multi-dimensional
concept is being dealt with and, accordingly, a certain confusion
is sometimes generated.
In all cases, there is no doubt that this idea decisively inspired
numerous designs for regulatory authorities established in the
1990s and also represents an important aspect of the political
culture of that time. Academic interpretations of the rise of inde-
pendent institutions have tended to be converted into ex-ante
explanations, e.g. the argument that the existence of independ-
ent regulators increased the credibility of regulatory policies,
thus facilitating the attraction of new inversions (on the assump-
tion that the policies would be stable and consistent, on the fringe
of influences derived from the political and electoral struggle).
Especially in economic areas where processes of privatisation and
the opening-up of markets are produced in association, this type
of argument was highly influential, though only to show the re-
spective international community, formally, that all the necessary
changes had been made to overcome the infirmities of earlier
historic periods.
Economic regulation and social regulation
On the topic of social regulation and economic regulation, the
literature offers a highly classical distinction that describes social
regulation as regulation in sectors where the principle leading to
public intervention is not an economic principle connected with
making the market function, but one involving the protection of
social and natural interests, e.g. the environment, public health or
pharmaceutical products. This is the idea of social regulation, ap-
plied in these sectors with regulation to protect the public. Thus,
the principles are not economic and may even seriously contradict
those that are — a situation that leads to the other topic: that of
gaining an understanding of what prevails when this contradiction
exists. The idea defended is that social regulation could be ex-
tended to other fields such as the social sectors. But that is another
topic. In the USA in the 1960s and 1970s, when social regulation
was applied to the environment, food sectors and work, a conflict
arose between industries that did not want this kind of regulation
and consumer associations and trade unions, who supported the
introduction of this kind of social and non-economic regulation.
Some authors understand that part of the conservative reaction of
the 1980s, following the advance of social regulation, was from the
business sectors that were protecting themselves in the areas that
this non-economic regulation was entering.
In social regulation, the measures for regulating society are
not focused on the creation and governance of markets. Accord-
ingly, if regulatory agencies are set up with the specific target of
creating and governing the market, what do these institutions
mean for other types of regulation? For these areas of regulation
that are not really economic, it is unclear if the regulatory agen-
cies are capable of performing so well. This is an important area
of debate and analysis as we do not exactly know the best ways of
creating institutions to foster areas of social regulation where
market efficiency is not the most highly valued objective. For
example, what institutions are necessary to prevent life-cycle risks,
to guide coordinated behaviour, or separate certain resources
from market assignation? All these regulatory objectives are not
economic regulation and there is no specific kind of institution
designed to work in this area and implement regulation. So we
find that, in certain places and certain countries, this type of
social regulation is still in the hands of normal, traditional min-
istries and, in other cases and other countries, we find it in new
institutions that are like regulatory agencies for economic ques-
tions but are not, in fact, focused on governing the market.
It is undoubtedly important that we manage to make the
markets efficient, make them function well and eliminate market
failures. Regulation may be the way to attain this objective and, for
this reason, may be favourable to society. But there is another
topic which it is necessary to ponder, that is to what extent we wish
to resolve all social problems through the market and whether
other social problems exist that demand public intervention, but
we consider that is not necessary or is not fitting to create a market
or to maintain a market for them all. Clearly, the alternative is
non-regulatory public policies, the traditional alternative. That is
the way it was, with subsidies, transfers, etc., generating the distri-
bution. This is fine and, certainly, may continue in many fields.
But I insist that, between economic regulation, which seeks effi-
ciency, and the distribution and redistribution of public sector
resources, there is room for social regulation. Examples are blood
and organs in the area of medicine. They are not a market. There
is an assignment system in health, based on non-economic regu-
latory criteria, according to needs. But in some countries, for
example, assignment criteria exist and assignment is sometimes
regulated with educational materials, which are not necessarily
offered by the public sector but by private or semi-private bodies;
but there is regulation to define what the system of assignment is.
These are examples of social regulation where it is considered
that, socially, is not appropriate that a market exists or that eve-
rything is controlled by the market, however efficient it is, be-
cause there are social values that conflict with the logic of the
market. This is an important issue for debate and there is room
for a kind of regulation that is distinct from economic regulation.
Conclusions
Following this explosion in regulatory agencies and regulation
instruments, we observe that the structure of the state is changing
in many countries. We have many little islands of public gover
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169
what they call the "farm population" landless workers, cottagers, and owners of
small plots of land, who have no interest in a protective tariff on agricultural
products. When the labor parties make some demand on behalf of a group of
workers, they always talk of the great mass of the working people and gloss over the
fact that the interests of trade-unionists employed in different branches of
production are not identical, but, on the contrary, actually antagonistic, and that
even within individual industries and concerns there are sharp conflicts of interest.
This is one of the two fundamental weaknesses of all parties aiming at privileges
on behalf of special interests. On the one hand, they are obliged to rely on only a
small group, because privileges cease to be privileges when they are granted to the
majority; but, on the other hand, it is only in their guise as the champions and
representatives of the majority that they have any prospect of realizing their
demands. The fact that many parties in different countries have sometimes
succeeded in overcoming this difficulty in carrying on their propaganda and have
managed to imbue each social stratum or group with the conviction that its members
may expect special advantages from the triumph of the party speaks only for the
diplomatic and tactical skill of the leadership and for the want of judgment and the
political immaturity of the voting masses. It by no means proves that a real solution
of the problem is, in fact, possible. Of course, one can simultaneously promise city-
dwellers cheaper bread and farmers higher prices for grain, but one cannot keep
both promises at the same time. It is easy enough to promise one group that one
will support an increase in certain government expenditures without a corresponding
reduction in other government expenditures, and at the same time hold out to
another group the prospect of lower taxes; but one cannot keep both these promises
at the same time either. The technique of these parties is based on the division of
society into producers and consumers. They are also wont to make use of the usual
hypostasis of the state in questions of fiscal policy that enables them to advocate
new expenditures to be paid out of the public treasury without any particular
170
concern on their part over how such expenses are to be defrayed, and at the same
time to complain about the heavy burden of taxes.
The other basic defect of these parties is that the demands they raise for each
particular group are limitless. There is, in their eyes, only one limit to the quantity
to be demanded: the resistance put up by the other side. This is entirely in keeping
with their character as parties striving for privileges on behalf of special interests.
Yet parties that follow no definite program, but come into conflict in the pursuit of
unlimited desires for privileges on behalf of some and for legal disabilities for
others, must bring about the destruction of every political system. People have been
coming to recognize this ever more clearly and have begun to speak of a crisis of the
modern state and of a crisis of the parliamentary system. In reality, what is involved
is a crisis of the ideologies of the modern parties of special interests.
3. The Crisis of Parliamentarism and the Idea of a Diet
Representing Special Groups
Parliamentarism, as it has slowly developed in England and in some of her
colonies since the seventeenth century, and on the European continent since the
overthrow of Napoleon and the July and February Revolutions, presupposes the
general acceptance of the ideology of liberalism. All who enter a parliament
charged with the responsibility of there deciding how the country shall be governed
must be imbued with the conviction that the rightly understood interests of all parts
and members of society coincide and that every kind of special privilege for
particular groups and classes of the population is detrimental to the common good
and must be eliminated. The different parties in a parliament empowered to perform
the functions assigned to it by all the constitutions of recent times may, of course,
take different sides in regard to particular political questions, but they must consider
themselves as the representatives of the whole nation, not as representatives of
particular districts or social strata. Above all their differences of opinion there must
171
prevail the conviction that, in the last analysis, they are united by a common purpose
and an identical aim and that only the means to the attainment of the goal toward
which they all aspire are in dispute. The parties are not separated by an
unbridgeable gulf nor by conflicts of interests that they are prepared to carry on to
the bitter end even if this means that the whole nation must suffer and the country be
brought to ruin. What divides the parties is the position they take in regard to
concrete problems of policy. There are, therefore, only two parties: the party in
power and the one that wants to be in power. Even the opposition does not seek to
obtain power in order to promote certain interests or to fill official posts with its
party members, but in order to translate its ideas into legislation and to put them into
effect in the administration of the country.
Only under these conditions are parliaments or parliamentary governments
practicable. For a time they were realized in the Anglo-Saxon countries, and some
traces of them can still be found there today. On the European continent, even
during the period usually characterized as the golden age of liberalism, one could
really speak only of a certain approximation to these conditions. For decades now,
conditions in the popular assemblies of Europe have been something like their direct
opposite. There are a great number of parties, and each particular party is itself
divided into various subgroups, which generally present a united front to the outside
world, but usually oppose one another within the party councils as vehemently as
they oppose the other parties publicly. Each particular party and faction feels itself
appointed to be the sole champion of certain special interests, which it undertakes to
lead to victory at any cost. To allot as much as possible from the public coffers to
"our own," to favor them by protective tariffs, immigration barriers, "social
legislation," and privileges of all kinds, at the expense of the rest of society, is the
whole sum and substance of their policy.
As their demands are, in principle, limitless, it is impossible for any one of these
parties ever to achieve all the ends it envisages. It is unthinkable that what the
agrarian or labor parties strive for could ever be entirely realized. Every party
seeks,
172
nevertheless, to attain to such influence as will permit it to satisfy its desires as far
as possible, while also taking care always to be able to justify to its electors why all
their wishes could not be fulfilled. This can be done either by seeking to give in
public the appearance of being in the opposition, although the party is actually in
power, or by striving to shift the blame to some force not answerable to its
influence: the sovereign, in the monarchical state; or, under certain circumstances,
foreign powers or the like. The Bolsheviks cannot make Russia happy nor the
socialists Austria because "western capitalism" prevents it. For at least fifty years
antiliberal parties have ruled in Germany and Austria, yet we still read in their
manifestoes and public statements, even in those of their "scientific" champions,
that all existing evils are to be blamed on the dominance of "liberal" principles.
A parliament composed of the supporters of the antiliberal parties of special
interests is not capable of carrying on its business and must, in the long run,
disappoint everyone. This is what people mean today and have meant for many
years now when they speak of the crisis of parliamentarism.
As the solution for this crisis, some demand the abolition of democracy and the
parliamentary system and the institution of a dictatorship. We do not propose to
discuss once again the objections to dictatorship. This we have already done in
sufficient detail.
A second suggestion is directed toward remedying the alleged deficiencies of a
general assembly composed of members elected directly by all the citizens, by either
supplementing or replacing it altogether with a diet composed of delegates chosen
by autonomous corporative bodies or guilds formed by the different branches of
trade, industry, and the professions. The members of a general popular assembly, it
is said, lack the requisite objectivity and the knowledge of economic affairs. What
is needed is not so much a general policy as an economic policy. The
representatives of industrial and professional guilds would be able to come to an
agreement on questions whose solution either eludes entirely the delegates of
173
constituencies formed on a merely geographical basis or becomes apparent to them
only after long delay.
In regard to an assembly composed of delegates representing different
occupational associations, the crucial question about which one must be clear is how
a vote is to be taken, or, if each member is to have one vote, how many
representatives are to be granted to each guild. This is a problem that must be
resolved before the diet convenes; but once this question is settled, one can spare
oneself the trouble of calling the assembly into session, for the outcome of the
voting is thereby already determined. To be sure, it is quite another question
whether the distribution of power among the guilds, once established, can be
maintained. It will always be—let us not cherish any delusions on this score—
unacceptable to the majority of the people. In order to create a parliament
acceptable to the majority, there is no need of an assembly divided along
occupational lines. Everything will depend on whether the discontent aroused by
the policies adopted by the deputies of the guilds is great enough to lead to the
violent overthrow of the whole system. In contrast to the democratic system, this
one offers no guarantee that a change in policy desired by the overwhelming
majority of the population will take place. In saying this, we have said everything
that needs to be said against the idea of an assembly constituted on the basis of
occupational divisions. For the liberal, any system which does not exclude every
violent interruption of peaceful development is, from the very outset, out of the
question.
Many supporters of the idea of a diet composed of guild representatives think that
conflicts should be settled, not by the submission of one faction to another, but by
the mutual adjustment of differences. But what is supposed to happen if the parties
cannot succeed in reaching agreement? Compromises come about only when the
threatening specter of an unfavorable issue induces each party to the dispute to make
some concession. No one prevents the different parties from coming to an
agreement even in a parliament composed of delegates elected directly by the whole
nation. No one will be able to compel agreement in a diet consisting of deputies
174
chosen by the members of occupational associations.
Thus, an assembly so constituted cannot function like a parliament that serves as
the organ of a democratic system. It cannot be the place where differences of
political opinion are peacefully adjusted. It is not in a position to prevent the violent
interruption of the peaceful progress of society by insurrection, revolution, and civil
war. For the crucial decisions that determine the distribution of political power in
the state are not made within its chambers or during the elections that decide its
composition. The decisive factor in determining the distribution of power is the
relative weight assigned by the constitution to the different corporate associations in
the shaping of public policy. But this is a matter that is decided outside the
chambers of the diet and without any organic relationship to the elections by which
its members are chosen.
It is therefore quite correct to withhold the name "parliament" from an assembly
consisting of representatives of corporate associations organized along occupational
lines. Political terminology has been accustomed, in the last two centuries, to make
a sharp distinction between a parliament and such an assembly. If one does not
wish to confound all the concepts of political science, one does well to adhere to this
distinction.
Sidney and Beatrice Webb, as well as a number of syndicalists and guild
socialists, following in this respect recommendations already made in earlier days
by many continental advocates of a reform in the upper chamber, have proposed
letting two chambers exist side by side, one elected directly by the whole nation,
and the other composed of deputies elected from constituencies divided along
occupational lines. However, it is obvious that this suggestion in no way remedies
the defects of the system of guild representation. In practice, the bicameral System
can function only if one house has the upper hand and has the unconditional power
to impose its will on the other, or if, when the two chambers take different positions
on an issue, an attempt at a compromise solution must be made. In the absence of
such an attempt, however, the conflict remains to be settled outside the chambers of
175
parliament, in the last resort by force alone. Twist and turn the problem as one will,
one always returns in the end to the same insurmountable difficulties. Such are the
stumbling blocks on which all proposals of this and a similar kind must come to
grief, whether they are called corporativism, guild socialism, or anything else. The
impracticability of these schemes is admitted when people finally content
themselves by recommending a completely inconsequential innovation: the
establishment of an economic council empowered to serve solely in an advisory
capacity.
The champions of the idea of an assembly composed of guild deputies labor
under a serious delusion if they think that the antagonisms that today rend the fabric
of national unity can be overcome by dividing the population and the popular
assembly along occupational lines. One cannot get rid of these antagonisms by
tinkering with technicalities in the constitution. They can be overcome only by the
liberal ideology.
4. Liberalism and the Parties of Special Interests
The parties of special interests, which see nothing more in politics than the
securing of privileges and prerogatives for their own groups, not only make the
parliamentary system impossible; they rupture the unity of the state and of society.
They lead not merely to the crisis of parliamentarism, but to a general political and
social crisis. Society cannot, in the long run, exist if it is divided into sharply
defined groups, each intent on wresting special privileges for its own members,
continually on the alert to see that it does not suffer any setback, and prepared, at
any moment, to sacrifice the most important political institutions for the sake of
winning some petty advantage.
To the parties of special interests, all political questions appear exclusively as
problems of political tactics. Their ultimate goal is fixed for them from the start.
Their aim is to obtain, at the cost of the rest of the population, the greatest possible
advantages and privileges for the groups they represent. The party platform is
176
intended to disguise this objective and give it a certain appearance of justification,
but under no circumstances to announce it publicly as the goal of party policy. The
members of the party, in any case, know what their goal is; they do not need to have
it explained to them. How much of it ought to be imparted to the world is, however,
a purely tactical question.
All antiliberal parties want nothing but to secure special favors for their own
members, in complete disregard of the resulting disintegration of the whole structure
of society. They cannot withstand for a moment the criticism that liberalism makes
of their aims. They cannot deny, when their demands are subjected to the test of
logical scrutiny, that their activity, in the last analysis, has antisocial and destructive
effects and that even on the most cursory examination it must prove impossible for
any social order to arise from the operations of parties of special interests
continually working against one another. To be sure, the obviousness of these facts
has not been able to damage the parties of special interests in the eyes of those who
lack the capacity to look beyond the immediate present. The great mass of people
do not inquire what will happen the day after tomorrow or later on. They think of
today and, at most, of the next day. They do not ask what must follow if all other
groups too, in the pursuit of their special interests, were to display the same
unconcern for the general welfare. They hope to succeed not only in realizing their
own demands, but also in beating down those of others. For the few who apply
higher standards to the activities of political parties, who demand that even in
political action the categorical imperative be followed ("Act only on that principle
which you can will at the same time to be a universal law, i.e., so that no
contradiction results from the attempt to conceive of your action as a law to be
universally complied with"), the ideology of the parties of special interests certainly
has nothing to offer.
Socialism has gained a considerable advantage from this logical deficiency in the
position adopted by the parties of special interests. For many who are unable to
grasp the great ideal of liberalism, but who think too clearly to be content with
demands for privileged treatment on behalf of particular groups, the principle of
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socialism took on a special significance. The idea of a socialist society—to which
one cannot, in spite of its necessarily inherent defects, which we have already
discussed in detail, deny a certain grandeur of conception—served to conceal and, at
the same time, to vindicate the weakness of the position taken by the parties of
special interests. It had the effect of diverting the attention of the critic from the
activities of the party to a great problem, which, whatever one may think of it, was
at all events deserving of serious and exhaustive consideration.
In the last hundred years, the socialist ideal, in one form or another, has found
adherents among many sincere and honest people. A number of the best and noblest
men and women have accepted it with enthusiasm. It has been the guiding star of
distinguished statesmen. It has achieved a dominant position at the universities and
has served as a source of inspiration to youth. It has so filled the thoughts and fed
the emotions of both the past and the present generation that
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must arise from this living together of different groups, one must restrict the state to
just those tasks that it alone can perform.
4. Nationalism
As long as nations were ruled by monarchical despots, the idea of adjusting the
boundaries of the state to coincide with the boundaries between nationalities could
not find acceptance. If a potentate desired to incorporate a province into his realm,
he cared little whether the inhabitants—the subjects—agreed to a change of rulers or
not. The only consideration that was regarded as relevant was whether the available
military forces were sufficient to conquer and hold the territory in question. One
justified one's conduct publicly by the more or less artificial construction of a legal
claim. The nationality of the inhabitants of the area concerned was not taken into
account at all.
It was with the rise of liberalism that the question of how the boundaries of states
are to be drawn first became a problem independent of military, historical, and legal
considerations. Liberalism, which founds the state on the will of the majority of the
people living in a certain territory, disallows all military considerations that were
formerly decisive in defining the boundaries of the state. It rejects the right of
conquest. It cannot understand how people can speak of "strategic frontiers" and
finds entirely incomprehensible the demand that a piece of land be incorporated into
one's own state in order to possess a glacis. Liberalism does not acknowledge the
historical right of a prince to inherit a province. A king can rule, in the liberal sense,
only over persons and not over a certain piece of land, of which the inhabitants are
viewed as mere appendages. The monarch by the grace of God carries the title of a
territory, e.g., "King of France." The kings installed by liberalism received their
title, not from the name of the territory, but from that of the people over whom they
ruled as constitutional monarchs. Thus, Louis Philippe bore the title, "King of the
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French"; thus too, there is a "King of the Belgians," as there was once a "King of the
Hellenes."
It was liberalism that created the legal form by which the desire of the people to
belong or not to belong to a certain state could gain expression, viz., the plebiscite.
The state to which the inhabitants of a certain territory wish to belong is to be
ascertained by means of an election. But even if all the necessary economic and
political conditions (e.g., those involving the national policy in regard to education)
were fulfilled in order to prevent the plebiscite from being reduced to a farce, even
if it were possible simply to take a poll of the inhabitants of every community in
order to determine to which state they wished to attach themselves, and to repeat
such an election whenever circumstances changed, some unresolved problems
would certainly still remain as possible sources of friction between the different
nationalities. The situation of having to belong to a state to which one does not wish
to belong is no less onerous if it is the result of an election than if one must endure it
as the consequence of a military conquest. But it is doubly difficult for the
individual who is cut off from the majority of his fellow citizens by a language
barrier.
To be a member of a national minority always means that one is a second-class
citizen. Discussions of political questions must, of course, be carried on by means
of the written and spoken word—in speeches, newspaper articles, and books.
However, these means of political enlightenment and debate are not at the disposal
of the linguistic minority to the same extent as they are for those whose mother
tongue—the language used in everyday speech—is that in which the discussions
take place. The political thought of a people, after all, is the reflection of the ideas
contained in its political literature. Cast into the form of statute law, the outcome of
its political discussions acquires direct significance for the citizen who speaks a
foreign tongue, since he must obey the law; yet he has the feeling that he is excluded
from effective participation in shaping the will of the legislative authority or at least
that he is not allowed to cooperate in shaping it to the same extent as those whose
native tongue is that of the ruling majority. And when he appears before a
magistrate or any administrative official as a party to a suit or a petition, he stands
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before men whose political thought is foreign to him because it developed under
different ideological influences.
But even apart from all this, the very fact that the members of the minority are
required, in appearing before tribunals and administrative authorities, to make use of
a language foreign to them already handicaps them seriously in many respects.
There is all the difference in the world, when one is on trial, between being able to
speak in court directly to one's judges and being compelled to avail oneself of the
services of an interpreter. At every turn, the member of a national minority is made
to feel that he lives among strangers and that he is, even if the letter of the law
denies it, a second-class citizen.
All these disadvantages are felt to be very oppressive even in a state with a liberal
constitution in which the activity of the government is restricted to the protection of
the life and property of the citizens. But they become quite intolerable in an
interventionist or a socialist state. If the administrative authorities have the right to
intervene everywhere according to their free discretion, if the latitude granted to
judges and officials in reaching their decisions is so wide as to leave room also for
the operation of political prejudices, then a member of a national minority finds
himself delivered over to arbitrary judgment and oppression on the part of the public
functionaries belonging to the ruling majority. What happens when school and
church as well are not independent, but subject to regulation by the government, has
already been discussed. .
It is here that one must seek for the roots of the aggressive nationalism that we
see at work today. Efforts to trace back to natural rather than political causes the
violent antagonisms existing between nations today are altogether mistaken. All the
symptoms of supposedly innate antipathy between peoples that are customarily
offered in evidence exist also within each individual nation. The Bavarian hates the
Prussian; the Prussian, the Bavarian. No less fierce is the hatred existing among
individual groups within both France and Poland. Nevertheless, Germans, Poles,
and Frenchmen manage to live peacefully within their own countries. What gives
the antipathy of the Pole for the German and of the German for the Pole a special
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political significance is the aspiration of each of the two peoples to seize for itself
political control of the border areas in which Germans and Poles live side by side
and to use it to oppress the members of the other nationality. What has kindled the
hatred between nations to a consuming fire is the fact that people want to use the
schools to estrange children from the language of their fathers and to make use of
the courts and administrative offices, political and economic measures, and outright
expropriation to persecute those speaking a foreign tongue. Because people are
prepared to resort to violent means in order to create favorable conditions for the
political future of their own nation, they have established a system of oppression in
the polyglot areas that imperils the peace of the world.
As long as the liberal program is not completely carried out in the territories of
mixed nationality, hatred between members of different nations must become ever
fiercer and continue to ignite new wars and rebellions.
5. Imperialism
The lust for conquest on the part of the absolute monarchs of previous centuries
was aimed at an extension of their sphere of power and an increase in their wealth.
No prince could be powerful enough, for it was by force alone that he could
preserve his rule against internal and external enemies. No prince could be rich
enough, for he needed money for the maintenance of his soldiers and the upkeep of
his entourage.
For a liberal state, the question whether or not the boundaries of its territory are to
be further extended is of minor significance. Wealth cannot be won by the
annexation of new provinces, since the "revenue" derived from a territory must be
used to defray the necessary costs of its administration. For a liberal state, which
entertains no aggressive plans, a strengthening of its military power is unimportant.
Thus, liberal parliaments resisted all endeavors to increase their country's war
potential and opposed all bellicose and annexationist policies.
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But the liberal policy of peace which, in the early sixties of the last century, as
liberalism swept from one victory to another, was considered as already assured, at
least in Europe, was based on the assumption that the people of every territory
would have the right to determine for themselves the state to which they wished to
belong. However, in order to secure this right, since the absolutist powers had no
intention of peacefully relinquishing their prerogatives, a number of rather serious
wars and revolutions were first necessary. The overthrow of foreign domination in
Italy, the preservation of the Germans in Schleswig-Holstein in the face of
threatening denationalization, the liberation of the Poles and of the South Slavs
could be attempted only by force of arms. In only one of the many places where the
existing political order found itself opposed by a demand for the right of self-
determination could the issue be peacefully resolved: liberal England freed the
Ionian islands. Everywhere else the same situation resulted in wars and revolutions.
From the struggles to form a unified German state developed the disastrous modern
Franco-German conflict; the Polish question remained unresolved because the Czar
crushed one rebellion after another; the Balkan question was only partially settled;
and the impossibility of solving the problems of the Hapsburg monarchy against the
will of the ruling dynasty ultimately led to the incident that became the immediate
cause of the World War.
Modern imperialism is distinguished from the expansionist tendencies of the
absolute principalities by the fact that its moving spirits are not the members of the
ruling dynasty, nor even of the nobility, the bureaucracy, or the officers' corps of the
army bent on personal enrichment and aggrandizement by plundering the resources
of conquered territories, but the mass of the people, who look upon it as the most
appropriate means for the preservation of national independence. In the complex
network of antiliberal policies, which have so far expanded the functions of the state
as to leave hardly any field of human activity free of government interference, it is
futile to hope for even a moderately satisfactory solution of the political problems of
the areas in which members of several nationalities live side by side. If the
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government of these territories is not conducted along completely liberal lines, there
can be no question of even an approach to equality of rights in the treatment of the
various national groups. There can then be only rulers and those ruled. The only
choice is whether one will be hammer or anvil. Thus, the striving, for as strong a
national state as possible—one that can extend its control to all territories of mixed
nationality—becomes an indispensable requirement of national self-preservation.
But the problem of linguistically mixed areas is not limited to countries long
settled. Capitalism opens up for civilization new lands offering more favorable
conditions of production than great parts of the countries that have been long
inhabited. Capital and labor flow to the most favorable location. The migratory
movement thus initiated exceeds by far all the previous migrations of the peoples of
the world. Only a few nations can have their emigrants move to lands in which
political power is in the hands of their compatriots. Where, however, this condition
does not prevail, the migration gives rise once again to all those conflicts that
generally develop in polyglot territories. In particular cases, into which we shall not
enter here, matters are somewhat different in the areas of overseas colonization than
in the long-settled countries of Europe. Nevertheless, the conflicts that spring from
the unsatisfactory situation of national minorities are, in the last analysis, identical.
The desire of each country to preserve its own nationals from such a fate leads, on
the one hand, to the struggle for the acquisition of colonies suitable for settlement by
Europeans, and, on the other hand, to the adoption of the policy of using import
duties to protect domestic production operating under less favorable conditions
against the superior competition of foreign industry, in the hope of thereby making
the emigration of workers unnecessary. Indeed, in order to expand the protected
market as far as possible, efforts are made to acquire even territories that are not
regarded as suitable for European settlement. We may date the beginning of
modern imperialism from the late seventies of the last century, when the industrial
countries of Europe started to abandon the policy of free trade and to engage in the
race for colonial "markets" in Africa and Asia.
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It was in reference to England that the term "imperialism" was first employed to
characterize the modern policy of territorial expansion. England's imperialism, to be
sure, was primarily directed not so much toward the incorporation of new territories
as toward the creation of an area of uniform commercial policy out of the various
possessions subject to the King of England. This was the result of the peculiar
situation in which England found itself as the mother country Of the most extensive
colonial settlements in the world. Nevertheless, the end that the English imperialists
sought to attain in the creation of a customs union embracing the dominions and the
mother country was the same as that which the colonial acquisitions of Germany,
Italy, France, Belgium, and other European countries were intended to serve, viz.,
the creation of protected export markets.
The grand commercial objectives aimed at by the policy of imperialism were
nowhere attained. The dream of an all-British customs union remained unrealized.
The territories annexed by European countries in the last decades, as well as those in
which they were able to obtain "concessions," play such a subordinate role in the
provision of raw materials and half-manufactured goods for the world market and in
their corresponding consumption of industrial products that no essential change in
conditions could be brought about by such arrangements. In order to attain the goals
that imperialism aimed at, it was not enough for the nations of Europe to occupy
areas inhabited by savages incapable of resistance. They had to reach out for
territories that were in the possession of peoples ready and able to defend
themselves. And it is here that the policy of imperialism suffered shipwreck, or will
soon do so. In Abyssinia, in Mexico, in the Caucasus, in Persia, in China—
everywhere we see the imperialist aggressors in retreat or at least already in great
difficulties.
6. Colonial Policy
The considerations and objectives that have guided the colonial policy of the
European powers since the age of the great discoveries stand in the sharpest contrast
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to all the principles of liberalism. The basic idea of colonial policy was to take
advantage of the military superiority of the white race over the members of other
races. The Europeans set out, equipped with all the weapons and contrivances that
their civilization placed at their disposal, to subjugate weaker peoples, to rob them
of their property, and to enslave them. Attempts have been made to extenuate and
gloss over the true motive of colonial policy with the excuse that its sole object was
to make it possible for primitive peoples to share in the blessings of European
civilization. Even assuming that this was the real objective of the governments that
sent out conquerors to distant parts of the world, the liberal could still not see any
adequate basis for regarding this kind of colonization as useful or beneficial. If, as
we believe, European civilization really is superior to that of the primitive tribes of
Africa or to the civilizations of Asia—estimable though the latter may be in their
own way—it should be able to prove its superiority by inspiring these peoples to
adopt it of their own accord. Could there be a more doleful proof of the sterility of
European civilization than that it can be spread by no other means than fire and
sword?
No chapter of history is steeped further in blood than the history of colonialism.
Blood was shed uselessly and senselessly. Flourishing lands were laid waste; whole
peoples destroyed and exterminated. All this can in no way be extenuated or
justified. The dominion of Europeans in Africa and in important parts of Asia is
absolute. It stands in the sharpest contrast to all the principles of liberalism and
democracy, and there can be no doubt that we must strive for its abolition. The only
question is how the elimination of this intolerable condition can be accomplished in
the least harmful way possible.
The most simple and radical solution would be for the European governments to
withdraw their officials, soldiers, and police from these areas and to leave the
inhabitants to themselves. It is of no consequence whether this is done immediately
or whether a freely held plebiscite of the natives is made to precede the surrender of
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the colonies. For there can scarcely be any doubt as to the outcome of a truly free
election. European rule in the overseas colonies cannot count on the consent of its
subjects.
The immediate consequence of this radical solution would be, if not outright
anarchy, then at least continual conflicts in the areas evacuated by the Europeans. It
may be safely taken for granted that up to now the natives have learned only evil
ways from the Europeans, and not good ones. This is not the fault of the natives,
but rather of their European conquerors, who have taught them nothing but evil.
They have brought arms and engines of destruction of all kinds to the colonies; they
have sent out their worst and most brutal individuals as officials and officers; at the
point of the sword they have set up a colonial rule that in its sanguinary cruelty
rivals the despotic system of the Bolsheviks. Europeans must not be surprised if the
bad example that they themselves have set in their colonies now bears evil fruit. In
any case, they have no right to complain pharisaically about the low state of public
morals among the natives. Nor would they be justifi
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murderers. No liberal has ever called this into question. What distinguishes liberal
from Fascist political tactics is not a difference of opinion in regard to the necessity
of using armed force to resist armed attackers, but a difference in the fundamental
estimation of the role of violence in a struggle for power. The great danger
threatening domestic policy from the side of Fascism lies in its complete faith in the
decisive power of violence. In order to assure success, one must be imbued with the
will to victory and always proceed violently. This is its highest principle. What
happens, however, when one's opponent, similarly animated by the will to be
victorious, acts just as violently? The result must be a battle, a civil war. The
ultimate victor to emerge from such conflicts will be the faction strongest in
number. In the long run, a minority—even if it is composed of the most capable and
energetic—cannot succeed in resisting the majority. The decisive question,
therefore, always remains: How does one obtain a majority for one's own party?
This, however, is a purely intellectual matter. It is a victory that can be won only
with the weapons of the intellect, never by force. The suppression of all opposition
by sheer violence is a most unsuitable way to win adherents to one's cause. Resort
to naked force—that is, without justification in terms of intellectual arguments
accepted by public opinion—merely gains new friends for those whom one is
thereby trying to combat. In a battle between force and an idea, the latter always
prevails.
Fascism can triumph today because universal indignation at the infamies
committed by the socialists and communists has obtained for it the sympathies of
wide circles. But when the fresh impression of the crimes of the Bolsheviks has
paled, the socialist program will once again exercise its power of attraction on the
masses. For Fascism does nothing to combat it except to suppress socialist ideas
and to persecute the people who spread them. If it wanted really to combat
socialism, it would have to oppose it with ideas. There is, however, only one idea
that can be effectively opposed to socialism, viz., that of liberalism.
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It has often been said that nothing furthers a cause more than creating, martyrs for
it. This is only approximately correct. What strengthens the cause of the persecuted
faction is not the martyrdom of its adherents, but the fact that they are being
attacked by force, and not by intellectual weapons. Repression by brute force is
always a confession of the inability to make use of the better weapons of the
intellect—better because they alone give promise of final success. This is the
fundamental error from which Fascism suffers and which will ultimately cause its
downfall. The victory of Fascism in a number of countries is only an episode in the
long series of struggles over the problem of property. The next episode will be the
victory of Communism. The ultimate outcome of the struggle, however, will not be
decided by arms, but by ideas. It is ideas that group men into fighting factions, that
press the weapons into their hands, and that determine against whom and for whom
the weapons shall be used. It is they alone, and not arms, that, in the last analysis,
turn the scales.
So much for the domestic policy of Fascism. That its foreign policy, based as it is
on the avowed principle of force in international relations, cannot fail to give rise to
an endless series of wars that must destroy all of modern civilization requires no
further discussion. To maintain and further raise our present level of economic
development, peace among nations must be assured. But they cannot live together
in peace if the basic tenet of the ideology by which they are governed is the belief
that one's own nation can secure its place in the community of nations by force
alone.
It cannot be denied that Fascism and similar movements aiming at the
establishment of dictatorships are full of the best intentions and that their
intervention has, for the moment, saved European civilization. The merit that
Fascism has thereby won for itself will live on eternally in history. But though its
policy has brought salvation for the moment, it is not of the kind which could
promise continued success. Fascism was an emergency makeshift. To view it as
something more would be a fatal error.
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11. The Limits of Governmental Activity
As the liberal sees it, the task of the state consists solely
and exclusively in guaranteeing the protection of life, health, liberty, and private
property against violent attacks. Everything that goes beyond this is an evil. A
government that, instead of fulfilling its task, sought to go so far as actually to
infringe on personal security of life and health, freedom, and property would, of
course, be altogether bad.
Still, as Jacob Burckhardt says, power is evil in itself, no matter who exercises it.
It tends to corrupt those who wield it and leads to abuse. Not only absolute
sovereigns and aristocrats, but the masses also, in whose hands democracy entrusts
the supreme power of government, are only too easily inclined to excesses.
In the United States, the manufacture and sale of alcoholic beverages are
prohibited. Other countries do not go so far, but nearly everywhere some
restrictions are imposed on the sale of opium, cocaine, and similar narcotics. It is
universally deemed one of the tasks of legislation and government to protect the
individual from himself. Even those who otherwise generally have misgivings
about extending the area of governmental activity consider it quite proper that the
freedom of the individual should be curtailed in this respect, and they think that only
a benighted doctrinairism could oppose such prohibitions. Indeed, so general is the
acceptance of this kind of interference by the authorities in the life of the individual
that those who, are opposed to liberalism on principle are prone to base their
argument on the ostensibly undisputed acknowledgment of the necessity of such
prohibitions and to draw from it the conclusion that complete freedom is an evil and
that some measure of restriction must be imposed upon the freedom of the
individual by the governmental authorities in their capacity as guardians of his
welfare. The question cannot be whether the authorities ought to impose restrictions
upon the freedom of the individual, but only how far they ought to go in this respect.
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No words need be wasted over the fact that all these narcotics are harmful. The
question whether even a small quantity of alcohol is harmful or whether the harm
results only from the abuse of alcoholic beverages is not at issue here. It is an
established fact that alcoholism, cocainism, and morphinism are deadly enemies of
life, of health, and of the capacity for work and enjoyment; and a utilitarian must
therefore consider them as vices. But this is far from demonstrating that the
authorities must interpose to suppress these vices by commercial prohibitions, nor is
it by any means evident that such intervention on the part of the government is
really capable of suppressing them or that, even if this end could be attained, it
might not therewith open up a Pandora's box of other dangers, no less mischievous
than alcoholism and morphinism.
Whoever is convinced that indulgence or excessive indulgence in these poisons is
pernicious is not hindered from living abstemiously or temperately. This question
cannot be treated exclusively in reference to alcoholism, morphinism, cocainism,
etc., which all reasonable men acknowledge to be evils. For if the majority of
citizens is, in principle, conceded the right to impose its way of life upon a minority,
it is impossible to stop at prohibitions against indulgence in alcohol, morphine,
cocaine, and similar poisons. Why should not what is valid for these poisons be
valid also for nicotine, caffeine, and the like? Why should not the state generally
prescribe which foods may be indulged in and which must be avoided because they
are injurious? In sports too, many people are prone to carry their indulgence further
than their strength will allow. Why should not the state interfere here as well? Few
men know how to be temperate in their *******ual life, and it seems especially difficult
for aging persons to understand that they should cease entirely to indulge in such
pleasures or, at least, do so in moderation. Should not the state intervene here too?
More harmful still than all these pleasures, many will say, is the reading of evil
literature. Should a press pandering to the lowest instincts of man be allowed to
corrupt the soul? Should not the exhibition of *******graphic pictures, of obscene
plays, in short, of all allurements to immorality, be prohibited? And is not the
dissemination of false sociological doctrines just as injurious to men and nations?
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Should men be permitted to incite others to civil war and to wars against foreign
countries? And should scurrilous lampoons and blasphemous diatribes be allowed
to undermine respect for God and the Church?
We see that as soon as we surrender the principle that the state should not
interfere in any questions touching on the individual's mode of life, we end by
regulating and restricting the latter down to the smallest detail. The personal
freedom of the individual is abrogated. He becomes a slave of the community,
bound to obey the dictates of the majority. It is hardly necessary to expatiate on the
ways in which such powers could be abused by malevolent persons in authority.
The wielding, of powers of this kind even by men imbued with the best of intentions
must needs reduce the world to a graveyard of the spirit. All mankind's progress has
been achieved as a result of the initiative of a small minority that began to deviate
from the ideas and customs of the majority until their example finally moved the
others to accept the innovation themselves. To give the majority the right to dictate
to the minority what it is to think, to read, and to do is to put a stop to progress once
and for all.
Let no one object that the struggle against morphinism and the struggle against
"evil" literature are two quite different things. The only difference between them is
that some of the same people who favor the prohibition of the former will not agree
to the prohibition of the latter. In the United States, the Methodists and
Fundamentalists, right after the passage of the law prohibiting the manufacture and
sale of alcoholic beverages, took up the struggle for the suppression of the theory of
evolution, and they have already succeeded in ousting Darwinism from the schools
in a number of states. In Soviet Russia, every free expression of opinion is
suppressed. Whether or not permission is granted for a book to be published
depends on the discretion of a number of uneducated and uncultivated fanatics who
have been placed in charge of the arm of the government empowered to concern
itself with such matters.
The propensity of our contemporaries to demand authoritarian prohibition as soon
as something does not please them, and their readiness to submit to such
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prohibitions even when what is prohibited is quite agreeable to them shows how
deeply ingrained the spirit of servility still remains within them. It will require
many long years of self-education until the subject can turn himself into the citizen.
A free man must be able to endure it when his fellow men act and live otherwise
than he considers proper. He must free himself from the habit, just as soon as
something does not please him, of calling for the police.
12. Tolerance
Liberalism limits its concern entirely and exclusively to earthly life and earthly
endeavor. The kingdom of religion, on the other hand, is not of this world. Thus,
liberalism and religion could both exist side by side without their spheres' touching.
That they should have reached the point of collision was not the fault of liberalism.
It did not transgress its proper sphere; it did not intrude into the domain of religious
faith or of metaphysical doctrine. Nevertheless, it encountered the church as a
political power claiming the right to regulate according to its judgment
not only the relationship of man to the world to come, but also the affairs of this
world. It was at this point that the battle lines had to be drawn.
So overwhelming was the victory won by liberalism in this conflict that the
church had to give up, once and for all, claims that it had vigorously maintained for
thousands of years. The burning of heretics, inquisitorial persecutions, religious
wars these today belong to history. No one can understand any longer how quiet
people, who practiced their devotions as they believed right within the four walls of
their own home, could have been dragged before courts, incarcerated, martyred, and
burned. But even if no more stakes are kindled ad majorem Dei gloriam, a great
deal of intolerance still persists.
Liberalism, however, must be intolerant of every kind of intolerance. If one
considers the peaceful cooperation of all men as the goal of social evolution, one
cannot permit the peace to be disturbed by priests and fanatics. Liberalism
proclaims tolerance for every religious faith and every metaphysical belief, not out
56
of indifference for these "higher" things, but from the conviction that the assurance
of peace within society must take precedence over everything and everyone. And
because it demands toleration of all opinions and all churches and sects, it must
recall them all to their proper bounds whenever they venture intolerantly beyond
them. In a social order based on peaceful cooperation, there is no room for the
claim of the churches to monopolize the instruction and education of the young.
Everything that their supporters accord them of their own free will may and must be
granted to the churches; nothing, may be permitted to them in respect to persons
who want to have nothing to do with them.
It is difficult to understand how these principles of liberalism could make enemies
among the communicants of the various faiths. If they make it impossible for a
church to make converts by force, whether its own or that placed at its disposal by
the state, on the other hand they also protect that church against coercive
proselytization by other churches and sects. What liberalism takes from the church
with one hand it gives back again with the other. Even religious zealots must
concede that liberalism takes nothing from faith of what belongs to its proper
sphere.
To be sure, the churches and sects that, where they have the upper hand, cannot
do enough in their persecution of dissenters, also demand, where they find
themselves in the minority, tolerance at least for themselves. However, this demand
for tolerance has nothing whatever in common with the liberal demand for
tolerance. Liberalism demands tolerance as a matter of principle, not from
opportunism. It demands toleration even of obviously nonsensical teachings, absurd
forms of heterodoxy, and childishly silly superstitions. It demands toleration for
doctrines and opinions that it deems detrimental and ruinous to society and even for
movements that it indefatigably combats. For what impels liberalism to demand and
accord toleration is not consideration for the content of the doctrine to be tolerated,
but the knowledge that only tolerance can create and preserve the condition of social
peace without which humanity must relapse into the barbarism and penury of
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centuries long past.
Against what is stupid, nonsensical, erroneous, and evil, liberalism fights with the
weapons of the mind, and not with brute force and repression.
13. The State and Antisocial Conduct
The state is the apparatus of compulsion and coercion. This holds not only for the
"night-watchman" state, but just as much for every other, and most of all for the
socialist state. Everything that the state is capable of doing it does by compulsion
and the application of force. To suppress conduct dangerous to the existence of the
social order is the sum and substance of state activity; to this is added, in a socialist
community, control over the means of production.
The sober logic of the Romans expressed this fact symbolically by adopting the
axe and the bundle of rods as the emblem of the state. Abstruse mysticism, calling
itself philosophy, has done as much as possible in modern times to obscure the truth
of the matter. For Schelling, the state is the direct and visible image of absolute life,
a phase in the revelation of the Absolute or World Soul. It exists only for its own
sake, and its activity is directed exclusively to the maintenance of both the substance
and the form of its existence. For Hegel, Absolute Reason reveals itself in the state,
and Objective Spirit realizes itself in it. It is ethical mind developed into an organic
reality—reality and the ethical idea as the revealed substantial will intelligible to
itself. The epigones of idealist philosophy outdid even their masters in their
deification of the state. To be sure, one comes no closer to the truth if, in reaction to
these and similar doctrines, one calls the state, with Nietzsche, the coldest of all cold
monsters. The state is neither cold nor warm, for it is an abstract concept in whose
name living men—the organs of the state, the government—act. All state activity is
human action, an evil inflicted by men on men. The goal—the preservation of
society—justifies the action of the organs of the state, but the evils inflicted are not
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felt as any less evil by those who suffer under them.
The evil that a man inflicts on his fellow man injures both—not only the one to
whom it is done, but also the one who does it. Nothing corrupts a man so much as
being an arm of the law and making men suffer. The lot of the subject is anxiety, a
spirit of servility and fawning adulation; but the pharisaical self-righteousness,
conceit, and arrogance of the master are no better.
Liberalism seeks to take the sting out of the relationship of the government
official to the citizen. In doing so, of course, it does not follow in the footsteps of
those romantics who defend the antisocial behavior of the lawbreaker and condemn
not only judges and policemen, but also the social order as such. Liberalism neither
wishes to nor can deny that the coercive power of the state and the lawful
punishment of criminals are institutions that society could never, under any
circumstances, do without. However, the liberal believes that the purpose of
punishment is solely to rule out, as far as possible, behavior dangerous to society.
Punishment should not be vindictive or retaliatory. The criminal has incurred the
penalties of the law, but not the hate and sadism of the judge, the policeman, and the
ever lynch-thirsty mob.
What is most mischievous about the coercive power that justifies itself in the
name of the "state" is that, because it is always of necessity ultimately sustained by
the consent of the majority, it directs its attack against germinating innovations.
Human society cannot do without the apparatus of the state, but the whole of
mankind's progress has had to be achieved against the resistance and opposition of
the state and its power of coercion. No wonder that all who have had something
new to offer humanity have had nothing good to say of the state or its laws
Incorrigible etatist mystics and state-worshippers may hold this against them;
liberals will understand their position even if they cannot approve it. Yet every
liberal must oppose this understandable aversion to everything that pertains to jailers
and policemen when it is carried to the point of such overweening self-esteem as to
proclaim the right of the individual to rebel against the state. Violent resistanc
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