Tag Archives: political theory

Conscience Revisited: Barry Goldwater and the History of the Conservative Movement in U.S. Politics

Considering how prominent of a role conservative politics has played in the closing decades of the 20th Century, and still plays in these two initial decades of the 21st Century, it would probably be strange for many contemporary observers to hear that the emergence of conservatism—as a distinct political identity—is a relatively recent phenomenon within greater American thought.

Partisan politics has been a mainstay in the American political scene since even before the contentious presidential election of 1800 between John Adams and Thomas Jefferson (and Aaron Burr).  Nonetheless, the ideological quarrels that surround the now-common left-wing/right-wing divide between the Democrats and Republicans were not so clearly defined throughout most of American history.  Originally, the differences that existed between the two leading parties usually rested more on regional, than national platforms.

In the first half of the 20th Century, an individual Democratic policymaker could be either conservative or liberal, depending on the demographic of his constituency; the same went for individual Republican policymakers.  To really understand the significant of the shift between party politics now and then, consider the fact that the American South was once largely Democratic, yet still conservative on social issues; likewise, the American North was largely Republican, yet still liberal on social issues (at least, in comparison to the South).  Obviously, it would be misleading to say that the two parties have simply switched and traded their platforms over the course of the last century.  The truth is that, even then, a noticeable fraction of the Democrats tilted liberal, and a noticeable fraction of the Republicans tilted conservative.  The real difference between the party politics today and then, is that on the national scene both major parties used to be dominated by political moderates; thereby, allowing for more variation in thought within the outlying margins of the party line on specific issues, while the main interests for both the Democratic and Republican parties remained on average centrist (with a handful of notable exceptions, of course).

When it came to conservative politics in the early-to-mid 20th Century, the underlying fact is (although there certainly existed conservative ideas, issues, and proponents) there still was no organized conservative identity among leading policymakers, or the average voter.  Moreover, due to the economic stability that followed the Second World War, public opinions on issues like taxation and the welfare state tended to be (what would now be called) left-of-center, with little overt suspicion being directed at the efficiency of the federal government to play a leading role in the socioeconomic sphere.  And the outward demeanor of both the Democratic and Republican parties reflected this general sentiment in the political realm.

As far as mainstream American culture was affected, there were no prominent, self-identified conservative voices, no talk of the inefficiency of big government regulators, and no serious calls for the transfer of federal power to smaller state authorities.  Strange as it sounds to present-day ears this was very much the reality of American politics circa 1960.  And might very well have remained the reality to this day, if Arizona Senator Barry Goldwater had not seen fit to make his views heard; views he was sure would resonate with Americans and change the course of US politics thereafter.  Although largely forgotten outside of political circles today, Barry Goldwater was the cementing force that built the backbone of a developing conservative movement that began in 1960 with his publication of Conscience of a Conservative, tested the waters with his failed 1964 bid for president, and came full circle with Ronald Reagan’s 1980 Presidential victory.

Building the Foundation for the Conservative Movement

Although post-World War II American culture was largely characterized by conservative social mores, throughout the 1940s and 1950s there existed no united or organized political movement that placed conservative interests as its guiding ideology.  That’s not to say there were no conservative voices in the era.  William F. Buckley, Jr. launched the bi-weekly right-wing magazine National Review in 1955, proclaiming in his missions statement, “It stands athwart history, yelling Stop, at a time when no one is inclined to do so, or to have much patience with those who so urge it.”[1]  And in 1957, Russell Kirk sought “to pursue a conservative policy for the sake of a liberal understanding”[2] with his Modern Age journal.  But even these were de facto reactive outliers attempting to counter the dominance of moderate (and, arguably, progressive) attitudes of the time.  Certainly, as far as a political presence is concerned, the conservative right’s influence was downright nonexistent on the national scene.

The 1950s were heavily marked by bipartisan cooperation under the leadership of President Dwight Eisenhower; where moderates from both the Democratic and Republican front worked to create an exceptional time of tranquility and political peace.[3]  It was a time of prosperity; where the calls of a disgruntled minority of individuals warning of social and economic doom were easily rebuked as delusional by the comfortable reality enjoyed by more middle-class , white Americans than ever before.  It was in this atmosphere of consumerism and comfort that Arizona Senator Barry Goldwater proclaimed the need to counter the rise of the welfare state and the economic collectivist practices of the federal government, and bring about a drastic change in the structured view of the human being and of society; or, in his words, “to put things in their proper place.”[4]

Goldwater begins his 1960 book, Conscience of a Conservative, by declaring his concern that conservatives are far too apologetic about their political convictions.[5]  He quotes Eisenhower’s stance of being, “conservative when it comes to economic problems but liberal when it comes to human problems,”[6] as evidence that conservatives are not properly represented in American politics by either of the two dominant parties.  This was a grim reality in Goldwater’s view because it was the conservatives who take account of the whole man (though he never really elaborate on this point in much detail), while the liberals tend to look only at the material side of man’s nature.[7]

Speaking in a time where there were more than enough material goods to go around (still talking primarily about the white, middle-class here), many Americans would have disagreed with Goldwater, arguing that the Government was doing more than enough to provide for its citizens whole being and needs.[8]  After all, 1960 was the dawning of the New Frontier, a symbolic rise (even if arguably a superficial one) for the liberal agenda, seeking to expand the ideals of the New Deal, organizing and regulating the socioeconomic aspects of American policy under the function of the federal government.  This was precisely the problem, Goldwater argued, “Every man, for his individual good and for the good of his society, is responsible for his development,”[9] not the government, which represents power in the hands of some men to control and regulate the lives of other men.[10]  For was it the other way around, Goldwater would argue, the outcome always results in a large national authority out of touch with the people, and removed from their control.

Goldwater cites as evidence the fact that the government takes six percent of most payrolls in Social Security taxes, “thus compelling millions of individuals to postpone until later years the enjoyment of wealth they might otherwise enjoy today.”[11]  Of course, the fact that so many people in the post-War decades were enjoying great wealth seemed to counter Goldwater’s position.  If there was ever a time to preach of a shortage in prosperity, to most observers, 1960 was not it (as Goldwater would later learn in his failed 1964 run for President).  Nonetheless, Goldwater saw his appeal as a return to the ideals of limited government, which he considered to be the core principle of the Constitution.  He saw himself as standing up for the laborer, whose earning potential is being jeopardized for the sake of a collectivist agenda, which he considered tantamount to socialism,[12] and inexcusable in the broader Cold War struggle against the Soviet Menace.[13]

But the fault for the abandonment of conservative values does not lie solely with the federal government.  Goldwater had no apprehension about declaring that we, too, share the burden of responsibility:

All too often we have put men in office who have suggested spending a little more on this, a little more than that, who have proposed a new welfare program, who have thought of another variety of security.  We have taken the bait, preferring to put off to another day the recapture of freedom and the restoration of our constitutional system.  We have gone the way of many a democratic society that lost its freedom by persuading itself that if the people rule, all is well.[14]

Goldwater’s overall message in Conscience of a Conservative is that the system is broken, we are contributing to it, and it’s time we reverse the trend for the sake of preserving our core political and ethical values.  In an era remembered for experiencing the zenith of liberal progression, and dominance of political moderates, Goldwater’s rallying cry for conservatism appeared far more radical by comparison.  His uncompromising stance that America is lacking something in the face of unparalleled abundance, served to alienate him from the electorate and moderate Republican base, yet planted the seed in the minds of a still infant right-wing movement that would champion his points in the decades to come.

Impact of the 1964 Election on Mobilizing the Conservative Base

In 1964, four years after publishing Conscience of a Conservative, Barry Goldwater would be trumpeted by a grassroots movement of conservatives, eager to oust out moderate influences from the Republican Party, and put one of their own in the White House.  The reaction to Goldwater’s rallying cry was a rise in independently (usually suburban) organized conservative groups, reflected in how the number of right-wing groups more than doubled from 1957-1965.[15]  Goldwater had struck a chord with a potentially large electorate, who saw him as “a symbol of the ambitious and growing power of the newly mobilized Right”[16], for whom he affectionately came to be known as “Mr. Conservative.”

Quite early on in the presidential primaries, both the National Review and Modern Age voiced heavily in favor of seeing Goldwater make a bid for the Presidency, and on February 16, 1963, a body of 55 conservatives organized the Draft Goldwater Committee.[17]  Thus, on September 16, 1964, Barry Goldwater stood at the stage of the Republican National Convention, as the Party’s Presidential Candidate, declaring, “The Good Lord raised this mighty Republic to be a home for the brave, and to flourish as the land of the free.  Not to stagnate in the swampland of collectivism, not to cringe before the bullying of communism,”[18] to the ovation of an enthusiastic group of conservative supporters.

The run-up to his nomination was a direct confrontation between the moderate wing of the Republican Party and the growing right-wing movement, emboldened through Goldwater’s conservative message.  Nelson Rockefeller, the liberal Republican governor of New York, was the primary candidate (next to Goldwater) who stood to gain the Republican Party’s nomination in 1964.  Rockefeller had criticized Goldwater in the past for being a captive of the radical-right, dependent only on rhetoric, and without any clear positions (claiming, among other things, that he did not know whether Goldwater was a segregationist or not).[19]  Goldwater, on the other hand, made it a rule to not respond in similar fashion to the attacks levied against him by Rockefeller, and maintained that their disagreements (and the general disagreements between the moderate and conservative wings of the Republican Party) lie strictly in their views towards the welfare state, “when [Rockefeller and I] argue, it’s in the relatively small…but…important fields.”[20]  Here, Goldwater’s tactic was docile, but calculative, in that he understood the need for a unified Republican Party to exist in order to secure a victory over the still strong Democratic base.

Nonetheless, the possibility of a Rockefeller victory did much to rally conservatives in the early 1960s, who foresaw a Rockefeller nomination as a return to Eisenhower bi-partisanship.[21]  Despite his appeal for party harmony, Goldwater must have been aware that his promotion as the voice of American conservatism more-or-less secured him a place in the 1964 election; thus, he could afford to play the role of the polite and loyal Republican, while urging for a reformation of the Party from within: “I realize that in the country there are people who accept me suspiciously; and some not at all.  Now, why is this true?  And I think this is important, not because it’s Barry Goldwater, but because I’m conservative and not ashamed to talk about it.”[22]

  • The Influence of Changing Demographic Trends

Goldwater’s campaign heavily restated the position he had made in Conscience of a Conservative.  His demand for Freedom for Labor,[23] where employers could operate without government interference did much to bring in support from self-employed businessmen and farmers, who were struggling to operate financially under extensive government regulations.  He also voiced his discontent about America’s involvement in distributing foreign aid, “Today your tax money is being used by the politicians in Washington to subsidized foreign aid—which in turn is robbing American workers of their livelihood.”[24]

Besides the humble conservative suburban family and simple employer who might have resented the lack of social values and welfare taxes respectively, Goldwater also had an appeal to the growing evangelist movement.  This was partly due to his stance that man’s spiritual self needs to be restored,[25] but even more so because of his hard-line, uncompromising take on eradicating the Soviet Union, which “among religious conservatives—who saw the Soviet Union as the ‘Anti-Christ’—this stance was the only form of principled anticommunism they would accept.”[26]  In contrast to his Republican counterpart, Nelson Rockefeller, Goldwater was truly seen as the first candidates of his kind; unmoving and unashamed to denounce all forms of government programs and assistance, and demand a revitalization of individual responsibility.  As one supporter put it, “It is time we have a fine candidate for president from the west for a change and not permit a few Republicans in the east to keep control of our party.”[27]

Another surprising outcome that was seen in the 1964 election was the start of a political shift in the South, which had since the time of Franklin Roosevelt been a Democratic stronghold.  The shift was partly caused by the migration of suburban Whites into the sunbelt, but more relatively it was a reaction to the Civil Rights Movement—and the liberal support of it—which had engendered bitterness in the South, and garnered growing support for Goldwater who had voted against the Civil Rights Act[28] (not so much on account of possessing any personal racist sentiments, but because he favored the state’s right to implement reform rather than the federal government).  Although, the South remained Democratic for the 1964 election, the Goldwater campaign had chiseled a crack in the region, and set the stage to where the GOP could compete and eventually overtake the electorate beneath the Mason-Dixon Line.

1964:  Harnessing Victory Out From a Loss

Goldwater’s opponent in the Presidential election, incumbent President Lyndon B. Johnson, for his part was determined to crush the other side with a decisive victory.  Having assumed office after the assassination of John F. Kennedy, Johnson felt himself in need to demonstrate his ability to actually win the Presidency through the electorate rather than a default clause.  This he did; ultimately winning 61.05% of the popular vote and 90.3% of the electoral vote[29]. By any view of the margin, it was a landslide victory for Johnson, symbolizing that in 1964 the majority of Americans were indeed satisfied with the policies of the government, as well as the national programs being implemented by the moderate-to-left policymakers of both parties.

Despite the spectacular failure of the Goldwater campaign, all was not grim for the newly emerging conservative movement, which was experiencing its first true attempt at organization.  It had managed to get one of its own in the front lines of battle, against the will of a predominantly moderate wing of the Republican Party, and without possessing any true political clout yet.  Whereas a mere four years ago it possessed virtually no representation in Washington, the conservatives were now in a position to challenge the moderates within their own Party—and actually get their way.  Gleefully boasting Goldwater’s famous soundbite as their slogan: “Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice!…Moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue.”[30]

The Decline of Liberalism and the Economic Woes of the 1970s

After 1966, Johnson’s Great Society was well on its way to the furnace, as the once dominant liberal factions began to fracture over domestic and foreign issues, allowing the rising conservative movement to steadfastly advance to political prominence.  Johnson himself was largely to blame for the decline of liberalism, as his push for war in Vietnam lagged on throughout the 1960s, and his refusal to raise taxes to support his extensive governmental programs destroyed the edge the Democrats had held since the 1960 election.[31]  Whereas in 1964 the election reflected the notion that the American people still had a substantial amount of faith in the government’s policies, the closing of the decade brought about a different picture; illustrated by protests, race riots, and growing distrust for Washington’s competence, as inflation rose and devastated the economy.[32]  The age of affluence, enjoyed by the baby boomer generation since the end of the Second World War, was dead and gone.

  • The Final Days of the Moderate Republicans

What followed in the 1970s was the once underrepresented conservative movement becoming an unrecognizable juggernaut of its former self, as it displaced the moderate factions of the GOP, and filled the void left by the decline of liberalism; drawing more and more appeal from an American public that was steadily becoming disenchanted with the promises of Johnson’s Great Society.  The final push needed to get Goldwater’s conservative movement going came from the actions of Richard Nixon, arguably the last elected moderate Republican to hold the Presidency.  Nixon capitalized on the bifurcation of once loyal Democratic factions to build a political coalition around elements of disaffected Democrats.[33]  Nixon’s strategy was to mobilize working class whites into a hopeful Republican majority, but many of his foreign policy undertakings, such as his détente position with the Soviet Union and his visit to communist China in 1972, caused conservatives to grow dissatisfied with his take on Republicanism right from the start of the 1970s.[34]

After Nixon’s resignation matters did not improve between the feuding factions of the Republican Party, as his successor Gerald Ford dealt the final blow to the moderates of the Republican Party when he nominated Nelson Rockefeller—Barry Goldwater’s liberal 1964 rival for the Party’s nomination—to be his vice-president.  The decision created uproar among conservatives who sought any and every means at their disposal to stop the Rockefeller nomination.  Still weary from the Nixon resignation, moderate Republicans had no strength to fight another battle, feeling themselves more and more outnumbered and subdued by their more conservative counterparts.[35]  What resulted was the formation of a New Right:

The New Right is not merely an election coalition concerned with winning elections and roll calls; it is the political expression of a relatively new social movement that regards itself as a depository of American values and as the exploited victim of an alliance between an entrenched elite and a ravenous proletariat.[36]

Whereas political moderation and liberalism had been the mainstay for the initial decades following the Second World War, in the mid-1970s, amid wide-scale inflation, economic downturns, and growing government security, a shift occurred within the white middle-class sector of American society, eager to dissolve the old liberal elites (which, in their opinion, had been floundering money on welfare programs) and replace it with its own sociopolitical interests; it was suburban radicalism.

Nevertheless, in 1973 the widely held believe was that Nixon’s resignation would seal the fate for the Republican Party,[37] and the 1976 presidential election victory for Democrat Jimmy Carter certainly seemed to indicate a setback for the GOP.  In reality, 1976 was the shining year for the conservative movement, as it brought to prominence the leading figure it had been waiting for since Barry Goldwater:  Ronald Reagan.

Reagan had been a strong supporter of Goldwater’s 1964 election campaign, and two years later had made his own entry into politics by becoming Governor of California, in 1966.  He had spent the great bulk of the 1970s criticizing Nixon’s détente strategy,[38] and convinced of Ford’s disastrous economic policies (which consisted of having employees wear WIN, “Whip Inflation Now”, buttons that, unsurprisingly, did not do much to end inflation),[39] he challenged the incumbent for the ’76 GOP nomination:

This collectivist, centralized approach, whatever name or party label it wears, has created our economic problems.  By taxing and consuming an ever-greater share of the national wealth, it has imposed an intolerable burden of taxation of American citizens.  By spending above and beyond even this level of taxation, it has created the horrendous inflation of the past decade.[40]

It was a statement of bold uncompromising leadership, of the Goldwater variant, but more so than that it was an answer.  Whether it was a good answer or merely vague oratory was trivial to the people who identified with it, as it was more than what Americans had been getting for nearly a decade.

Unfortunately for Reagan, after making several headways in the primaries his campaign ran into a roadblock as it became short of money and short of the spark necessary to challenge a sitting president.[41]  But, just as in 1964, the seed was planted.  Unlike then, this time around conservatives were not starting from nil, but had overtaken several key political positions, created enough think tanks, employed grassroots issues to great effect, raised money, and capitalized on internal fracturing of the liberal coalition,[42] that when it came time for the 1980 election they were ready for victory.  Carter, for his part, would be plagued with problems all throughout his one-term presidency; from high inflation (hovering around 12% in 1979)[43] to prolonged hostage negotiations with Iran[44] to high energy/gas prices,[45] everything fell into place for Reagan to make a comeback in 1980.

The Political Ascent of Ronald Reagan

Well armed to take the White House this time around, Reagan mobilized the conservative base (which had by 1980 taken control of the Republican Party) under his heartwarming slogan, “Let’s Make America Great Again.”[46]  Unlike Goldwater, Reagan approached the American public with optimism of American greatness and perseverance, and set out a simple message:  The United States is, and can continue to be, the dominant nation in the world in economic, geopolitical, and moral terms without citizen sacrifice, if it is not held back by the dead hand of government.[47]

Reagan’s political ads played up his success as California Governor, championing him as the greatest tax reformer in history who inherited and fixed a state that was near bankruptcy.[48]  Unlike Goldwater, Reagan understood the importance of appealing to the public’s self-worth.  Whereas Goldwater had no reservations about placing blame on the American public for its willingness to go along with government spending on welfare programs, Reagan discarded the dark mood by calling on the great values of a bygone era in America’s noble past (though few bothered to ask him to identify and provide the exact details of this vague Golden Age he kept referring to) that needs to be rediscovered if the country was to solve the domestic and foreign ills afflicting it.[49]  Reagan also resonated with the electorate through his good-natured sense of humor.  A famous example being when asked by reporter Sam Donaldson of ABC News, about whether or not he himself accepts any of the responsibility he seems to place on past administrations and politicians, he wittily retorted with, “Yes, because for many years I was a Democrat.”[50]

Reagan used the points made in Conscience of a Conservative and applied them as solutions for contemporary problems.  For instance, the need to reduce regulation of businesses to stimulate the economy was an idea promoted by Goldwater, but gained little enthusiasm during the time of great middle-class affluence in the early 1960s.  Another major theme he took from Goldwater’s book is the call for a decisive victory in the Cold War against the Soviet Union:  “Today, we are not equal to the Soviet Union, and that is why they were able to cross into Afghanistan / we have betrayed our friends and appeased our enemies…There will be more Taiwans and more Vietnams.”[51]  This was blatant hyperbole on Reagan’s part, as the US had a well forged industrial military complex, rival to—if not far superior of—the Soviet Union.[52]  Nonetheless, the rhetoric worked.

It worked because for the first time conservatives were heavily represented in both the regional and national platform, but also because of Reagan himself, who “embraced an unrealistic worldview formed in the Hollywood of bold heroes and dastardly villains during the prewar and early postwar years when patriotism and fantasy were unashamedly blended together.”[53]  And what America needed more than anything was for someone to plainly tell them who the bad guys were, something Reagan had little trouble doing.

  • The 1980 Election: The Conservative Movement Comes Full Circle

In 1980, Ronald Reagan defeated incumbent Jimmy Carter in a landslide victory, winning 489 electoral votes compared to Carter’s 49,[54] becoming the first president of the conservative movement to be elected to the Presidency. Despite having sheared Goldwater’s original message of its doom and gloom, during his inaugural address Reagan firmly stated, “In this present crisis, government is not the answer to our problem, government is the problem,” drawing a clear parallel to the arguments made by Goldwater two decades earlier.

The warning Conscience of a Conservative sounded in 1960 against the ills of consumerism and government collectivism, which during a time of prosperity was seen as pessimistic and out of touch with reality, suddenly began to find an audience among the American people in the late-1960s, leading to the election of prominent conservatives in favor of the old liberal guard.  It was in this scenario that Ronald Reagan, an enthusiastic supporter of the Goldwater campaign, emerged on the national scene.  Utilizing Goldwater’s political principles and modifying his message to resonate with a disgruntled public eager for change.  He seized the opportunity to establish a strong base in the 1970s and, in 1980, captured the White House for the movement, setting the country on a course of conservative policy that would be defined in his personal image, but never straying far in tone from Goldwater’s model first expressed within the prose of Conscience of a Conservative.

Afterword

The purpose of this post is to chronicle the founding and rise of the conservative movement from a small grassroots campaign surrounding the person of Arizona Senator Barry Goldwater, to its modern incarnation as the defining voice of the Republican Party, and a major political force on the U.S. political scene as a whole.  Yet, it would be incomplete of a narrative were this text not to have a word of mention on the development of conservatism since its ascension to the mainstream of American political culture.

For his part as the founder of the conservative movement, Barry Goldwater often experienced a gradual level of contention with the more ardent factions rising to prominence within conservatism.  Despite having insisted in his groundbreaking book that the political establishment is not doing enough to nurture the spiritual needs of the nation, by the 1980s Goldwater was openly opposing the growing influence of the Religious Right on the Republican Party; vehemently declaring:

I’m frankly sick and tired of the political preachers across this country telling me as a citizen that if I want to be a moral person, I must believe in “A,” “B,” “C” and “D.” Just who do they think they are? And from where do they presume to claim the right to dictate their moral beliefs to me?
And I am even more angry as a legislator who must endure the threats of every religious group who thinks it has some God-granted right to control my vote on every roll call in the Senate. I am warning them today: I will fight them every step of the way if they try to dictate their moral convictions to all Americans in the name of “conservatism.”[55]

He opposed anti-gay discrimination in American society, and also called for the open inclusion of gay individuals into all branches of the American military; remarking, “quit discriminating against people just because they’re gay. You don’t have to agree with it, but they have a constitutional right to be gay,”[56] and “why the hell shouldn’t they serve? They’re American citizens. As long as they’re not doing things that are harmful to anyone else,”[57] respectively.  Most surprising of all for a social conservative, Goldwater considered a woman’s right to an abortion to be strictly a personal choice, which ought to remain free of any government intervention.[58]

For these reasons (and a few others), Barry Goldwater started to look more like an outcast to the movement he helped launch; something he himself made reference to in his final years, reportedly telling his colleague Bob Dole just two years prior to his death “We’re the new liberals of the Republican party. Can you imagine that?”[59]  Considering the fact that Goldwater maintained the same basic political positions all through his life and career, this supposed “break” from what was rapidly becoming the conservative mainstream, illustrates the ideological growth and transition the conservative movement underwent from the 1980 election onward.

Goldwater’s more politically successful protégé, Ronald Reagan, has become the hallmark of the conservative politician for today’s right-wing policymakers and voters.  Although it would be accurate to point out that Reagan did not really decrease the scope of the federal government, or lower taxes to a significant level (he actually raised them throughout his Presidency),[60] the fact still remains that the popular image of Ronald Reagan (even if it’s only based on superficial idealism) stands as the ideal of conservative politics today.

Reagan’s active career in U.S. politics came to an end not long after leaving office, when he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease in early 1994.  Thus, his personal opinion of what he may have thought of the continued development of the movement his person has come to define is impossible to tell.  In a sense, it doesn’t even matter, because it the legacy of the man that has been canonized to political sainthood by its admirers, rendering any nuanced details about the man himself essentially irrelevant in the greater narrative.  It is this quasi-sainted legacy that has found itself referenced in the policies, adorations, and campaigns of just about every conservative candidate and public commentator that has appeared on the national scene of American political discourse since the Great Communicator left office.

There is, however, a noticeable change in the evolution of the conservative movement since its inception in 1960, and its political validation in 1980.  Whereas in its infancy and developmental years the movement largely tended to center around leadership figures like Goldwater and Reagan, today the conservative movement (comfortably nested in the mainstream of the Republican Party) is much less concentrated on any individual politician to carry the message home to the greater public; like most political movement that gain mainstream status, conservatism has become more ideology, than personality driven.  Furthermore, the message has shifted from calling for a reformation of America’s sociopolitical reality to a preservation of it (most likely due to the fact that conservative thought is today an indisputable part of the political order, instead of a fringe outlier).

No doubt conservative thought has changed and adapted over the years (for better or worse, depending on whose opinion is consulted on the matter).  But, given the backdrop of the ongoing 21st Century, and the continued move away from a regional to a global perspective among the coming generation of voters and policymakers, the future of conservatism in America is unlikely to be shaped by any rising figure, à la Goldwater or Reagan.  Rather, its representation and relevance will rest with the broader scope of the people and groups who choose to identify with the political message in the current and coming decade(s).  In addition, to a number of other potential circumstances and events, the sociopolitical and economic details of which are impossible to foreshadow in advance.

The very election of President Donald Trump may be a prime example of this, given that he embodies an executive whose own personal character and behaviors are of little importance to his conservative, right-wing supporters, whose steadfast allegiance appears to be solely based on President Trump’s correct recitation of standard conservative talking points, spruced up by the man’s aggressive dosage of vilification against the conservative movement’s standard political targets.  Hence, whatever failings the current Republican President has that fall short of the conservative ideal are deemed irrelevant by conservative leaders and voters on the trade-off of what they hope he will do to propagate conservative ideology and dominance in the political scene.

Only time will tell whether such developments lead the conservative movement in this country to maintain its continued public and political relevance, or if it will result in its eventual demise as a political force.

 

Footnotes

[1] William F. Buckley, Jr., “Our Mission Statement,” in National Review, November 19, 1955.

[2] Russell Kirk, “Apology for a New Review,” Modern Age, Summer 1957.

[3] Walter Williams, Reaganism and the Death of Representative Democracy (Washington D.C.:  Georgetown University Press, 2003), 82.

[4] Barry Goldwater, Conscience of a Conservative (New York:  Manor Books, 1974), 10.

[5] Goldwater, Conscience of a Conservative, 9.

[6] Goldwater, Conscience of a Conservative, 9.

[7] Goldwater, Conscience of a Conservative, 10.

[8] “Trust the Federal Government 1958-2004,” The ANES Guide to Public Opinion and Electoral Behavior, http://www.electionstudies.org/nesguide/toptable/tab5a_1.htm.

[9] Goldwater, Conscience of a Conservative, 12.

[10] Goldwater, Conscience of a Conservative, 17.

[11] Goldwater, Conscience of a Conservative, 21.

[12] Goldwater, Conscience of a Conservative, 70.

[13] Goldwater, Conscience of a Conservative, 88.

[14] Goldwater, Conscience of a Conservative, 21-22.

[15] Lisa McGirr, Suburban Warriors, (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2001), 113.

[16] McGirr, Suburban Warrior, 122.

[17] McGirr, Suburban Warrior, 123.

[18] Barry Goldwater’s Acceptance Speech at the RNC, San Francisco, July 1964.

[19] Jack Bell, Mr. Conservative (New York: MacFadden Books, 1964), 178-179.

[20] Bell, Mr. Conservative, 181.

[21] Gregory L. Schneider, The Conservative Century: From Reaction to Revolution, (New York: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2009), 106.

[22] Bell, Mr. Conservative, 173.

[23] Goldwater, Conscience of a Conservative, 45.

[24] Stephen L. Cooper, A Rhetorical Analysis of Invention in Selected Speeches by Senator Barry Goldwater in the Pre-Convention Campaign of 1964, (Thesis: The University of Texas, 1965), 106.

[25] Goldwater, Conscience of a Conservative, 10.

[26] McGirr, Suburban Warrior, 132.

[27] McGirr, Suburban Warrior, 132.

[28] Schneider, The Conservative Century, 170.

[29] 1964 Election Presidential General Election Results, 2005, http://www.uselectionatlas.org/RESULTS/national.php?f=0&year=1964.

[30] McGirr, Suburban Warrior, 140.

[31] Schneider, The Conservative Century, 120.

[32] Schneider, The Conservative Century, 120.

[33] Schneider, The Conservative Century, 126.

[34] Schneider, The Conservative Century, 127.

[35] Schneider, The Conservative Century, 127.

[36] Schneider, The Conservative Century, 128.

[37] William Safire, “G.O.P., foot-soldiers, and guilt,” Chicago Tribune, November 21, 1973, sec. 1.

[38] Schneider, The Conservative Century, 129.

[39] Schneider, The Conservative Century, 132.

[40] Craig Shirley, Reagan’s Revolution: The Untold Story of the Campaign that Started It All, (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2005), 80-81.

[41] Schneider, The Conservative Century, 132.

[42] Schneider, The Conservative Century, 155.

[43] Jerry Bishop, “Age of Anxiety Stress on American Life is increasingly Blamed for Economic Turmoil,” New York Times, April 16, 1979, sec. Business and Finance, D14.

[44] Adam Clymer, “GOP May gain Nationally; harder for Carter and O’Neill,” New York Times, November 6, 1978, front page.

[45] Schneider, The Conservative Century, 147.

[46] Elizabeth Drew, Portrait of an Election: The 1980 Presidential Campaign, (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1981), 113.

[47] Williams, Reaganism, 54.

[48] Ronald Reagan Campaign Commercial 1980

[49] Williams, Reaganism, 56.

[50] Press Conference, September 1982.

[51] Drew, Portrait of an Election, 115.

[52] McGirr, Suburban Warriors, 26.

[53] Walter, Reaganism, 56.

[54] James Whitson, President Elect, 1980, http://www.presidentelect.org/e1980.html

[55] Speech in the U.S. Senate, 16 September 1981.

[56] Lloyd Grove, “Barry Goldwater’s Turn Left,” Washington Post, July 28, 1994, sec. C01.

[57] Ibid.

[58] Robert A. Goldberg, Barry Goldwater (Yale University Press, 1995), 331.

[59]Michael Murphy, “Conservative Pioneer Became an Outcast,” The Arizona Republic, May 31, 1998, http://www.azcentral.com/specials/special25/articles/0531goldwater2.html.

[60] Catherine Rampell, “Tax Pledge May Scuttle a Deal or Deficit,” The New York Times, November 18, 2011, http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/19/business/economy/tax-pledge-may-scuttle-deal-to-cut-deficit-economic-memo.html.

The Social Contract Theories of Hobbes and Rousseau: A Critique

[This post makes references to two previous analyses on the social theories of Thomas Hobbes and Jean-Jacques Rousseau, which can be found here, and here, respectively.]

Social contract theorists, like Thomas Hobbes and Jean-Jacques Rousseau, aim to systematically establish the basic components that warrant the formation of human communities, giving rise to the creation of governing entities, all through an initial set of covenants a people agree to enter into, in order to strengthen their prospects for individual self-preservation by being members of a greater society; this is the social contract.

Although, Hobbes and Rousseau diverge greatly about the framework and mode of governance that is to ensue from the social contract, both agree that absent of such a pact, the individual is transported back into what can be called the state of natureTo Hobbes, this is an anarchic, cruel, savage, existence where no law or peace can exist, and a perpetual state of war is the norm (hence, giving man, as a rational animal, the incentive to enter into covenants with his fellow as a means to avoid such a dire reality).  Rousseau, on the other hand, takes a much gentler view of the state of nature.  He agrees with Hobbes that in this state man is left to a solitary existence, but instead of viewing this as a savage realm, he sees it as peaceful and ideal, where the general will of the individual was not subverted to the will of any other persons.

These fundamental disparities proposed by the two philosophers are of secondary concern to this critique, since my focus will be to show that both thinkers have failed to account for the exact means by which modern communities exist in relation to the state of nature they present as their starting premise, and therefore, have failed to give credence to intellectual integrity of social contract theory.

In Leviathan, Thomas Hobbes proposes a social system build on covenants between individuals, which subsequently form what he calls the commonwealth (i.e. society).  In this model, justice is defined as performing the agreed on covenants, thus injustice is naturally that which is counter to the established covenants of the commonwealth.  And this is to be enforced by an authoritarian sovereign, acting as proprietor of the said social contract.  Hobbes maintains that the incentive individuals have to hold to the laws of the covenants, is their desire to avoid the savage state of nature that they are bound to be banished to, in case they fail to live up to the social contract.  However, there is a problem here that Hobbes fails to demonstrate; namely, what grants the premise that a failure to perform the social covenants will automatically place one back to the state of nature, at all?

For example, in all social communities possessing established laws (i.e. covenants), there more than likely exist individuals who, at times, break these laws (i.e. fail to perform their covenants), but are not definitively banished from the community itself (i.e. the commonwealth).  Almost always, perimeters exist within the community itself that deal with the criminal perpetrators, and still allow them to retain their citizenship status within the society.  In fact, the judicial systems of much of modern society operate on the basis of punishment, yes, but also rehabilitation; Hobbes’ social contract does not give measure to this latter, important, aspect of criminal justice.  Instead, he wishes to place all breaches of social covenants on an equal plane of offense, which ultimately renders his social contract as impractical by definition, because it will be unable to adapt as issues and concerns that are bound to arise as society progresses.  Unavoidable technological, social, and political advancements will mean that with each passing generation, individuals will be born into covenants that they did not consent to, whose decrees do not pertain to their cultural orientations, but are nevertheless judged by the merits of an archaic framework with little relevance to their modern lives.  Thus, for any political model to survive the test of time, a means of amending the initial covenants must be put into place from the start.

Furthermore, Hobbes’ insistence that the enforcement of the covenants is to reside with an authoritative sovereign also fails to take into account the ever-changing demographic that occurs within the parameters of a populace, and does not give a proper account of why individuals born after the initial covenants were made–and therefore did not consent to empower the ruling sovereign as the proprietor of their commonwealth–ought to be subjected to decrees authorized prior to their existence.  As already stated, the next generation will not necessary agree with the initial pact that created the social contract, thus new covenants will be required every few decades, but this by definition subverts the entire point of Hobbes’ authoritarian system.  Hobbes’ social program is innately static, but—unfortunately for Hobbes—society and life are not.  If one was to take Hobbes’ account of the state of nature, and incorporate it into his proposed social system, the end result would be a constant calamity of communal covenants, being erected and floundering with the passing of time.  And, perhaps, such a view of society is historically defensible, but it not the sort of stable commonwealth Hobbes was arguing for.

In The Social Contract,Rousseau’s argument rests on even flimsier premises than Hobbes’.  The state of nature Rousseau depicts—peaceful, harmonious with nature, man’s ideal state of being—renders his entire proposal for setting up a proper society and government (even a popularly democratic one) redundant, since if one was to accept his account of the state of nature, the philosopher’s real task ought to be to argue for the dissolution of government and society as a whole.

Rousseau proposes that man entered into the social contract, because the conditions of his solitary state (though peaceful, and ideal) were insufficient in ensuring the individuals self-preservation; therefore, he formed into communities to strengthen his chances against the forces of nature within the safety of the group, while still retaining his general will (and without subverting the will of others).  But Rousseau’s entire basis for this premise sounds like a case of special pleading; why did man have to form a pact with other men, if his existence prior to the advent of communities was peaceful, and fruitful?  If he has already enjoyed the greatest freedom possible absent of an established society, what reason is there to argue in favor of keeping any social order, whatsoever (even one that is largely run as a direct democracy)?  Also of note, Rousseau mentions that any individual who wishes to leave the social contract is free to do so at his/her discretion.  Hence, if we follow the reasoning Rousseau outlines for us, these individuals leaving the social contract would be returning to the state of nature, where they will have peace and be free.  So, once again, what was the purpose of entering the social contract, where one’s general will is capable of being conformed to the will of the community?  The philosopher’s failure to address these questions concerning the most fundamental aspects of his argument makes his entire prose suffer as a result, and gives no good reasons as to why his proposals should be taken seriously.

Rousseau’s entire program would be much more coherent if he had given a more thorough rationale as to why man actually benefits from societal life, in contrast to a solitary one.  But to do so would, of course, undermine all the previous work in his Discourse, where he affirms that man is innately a solitary being.  (That, however, is a critique for another post, on another day.)

The problems with social contract theory, in general, is that it places too much emphasis on man’s conscious entrance into communal life, when in reality, a much more cohesive account can be made for the idea that we–by large–do not actively consent to any covenants, or social contracts, but are instead born into them.  Rather than forging social communities, we extend and modify those that we have.  Hence, the relatively slow (millennia long) progression of human civilizations.  No clear account can be given of what the initial spark was that caused sophisticated communities to emerge, but there is no reason to speculate that it must have involved a great deal of conscious sophistication on behalf of the individuals involved; remember, the original purpose of the most mundane of habits can be forgotten, and transformed into the most innate and sacred of customs within a stretch of only a generation, or two.  Thus, to attribute too much forethought to the habits of our ancestors, would be a grave submission of reasoning.  Time erodes all matters, but along the way it can also modify and sharpen things into something more pragmatic and tasteful, than how they initially began.

Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s The Social Contract, and the Will of the People

Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s The Social Contract may very well be the most fervently democratic work of all the early political treatises.  Rousseau follows in the tradition of Thomas Hobbes, and postulated a variant of the social contract theory; including a unique version of man’s early origin that sets out to negate Hobbes’s savage state of nature, and redefine the whole of political theory to align with his belief in populist governance—where true legislative power resides solely with the masses.

The Genevese philosopher opens his famous discourse with the words, “Men was born free, and everywhere he is in chains.”[1]  The diction used in this opening sentence is very important to understanding Rousseau’s entire philosophical position.  “Man was born free,” specifically stated in the past tense to indicate a contrast from mankind’s present state of existence.  This is then followed by the second part of the sentence, “and everywhere he is in chains.”  Notice now the switch to the present tense, is meant to describe our current condition.  To thoroughly explain the motivation behind Rousseau’s word choice here, one must dwell a little deeper into the man’s personal philosophy.

Rousseau, like Hobbes, believed that prior to the advent of social communities, man had resided on a plane that can be called the state of nature.  However, unlike Hobbes, Rousseau envisioned this state to have been one of harmony and peace, rather than cruelty and war, where each individual led a solitary life, with no infringement on his will by any other person [this is discussed in greater detail in his Discourse on Inequality, 1754]; hence the reference to man having been born free in the past.  Furthermore, he believes that it was mankind’s removal from this tranquil existence, through the forming of cities and nations, that has caused humanity to spiral into a perpetual mode of degradation, a trend that can only worsen as civilization progresses (since all progressions will only take humanity farther away from his ideal state of being); this degradation serves as our chains.

Yet, despite these claims of mankind having had once enjoyed a serene peace in his solitary state, Rousseau does acknowledge that at some point in the development of the human species the obstacles to men’s self-preservation became too great for the single individual to overcome.  Therefore, “the original state can then subsist no longer, and the human race would perish if it did not change its mode of existence.”[2]  The result was the implementation of the social contract, in which originally each individual puts his power in the common good under the supreme direction of the general will, but no single individual is put into a situation in which their person is subjugated by the will of another.[3]  Rousseau’s reasoning here is to establish the basis that any form of executive that seems to undermine the will of the public is by definition unlawful, because “those to whom the executive power is committed are not the masters of the people, but its officers.”[4]  Thus, the objective of all government ought to be to yield power to the people, whose collective will serves as the true sovereign of the state.

It’s not difficult to see problems with Rousseau’s logic, even if one agrees with his reasoning and conclusion.  Firstly, if mankind started out solitary, and this was his ideal state of existence, is it not more reasonable to propose that humanity ought to abandon communities altogether, rather than argue for a populist democratic rule?  The answer one can imagine Rousseau giving to such an objection is to maintain that man has been removed from the state of nature for too long to return, thus establishing popular democratic rule is a means to bring modern man as close to his perfect form as possible.  In fact, the sort of state that Rousseau is proposing seems to not be much of a formal state at all.  Instead, it can more aptly be understood as a social gathering, “The state which is thus governed needs very few laws; and when it becomes necessary to promulgate new ones, the necessity for them is universally understood.”[5]  Rousseau is convinced that as long as the general will of man is not stifled by authority, his naturally peaceful nature will create a symbiotic unity with the will of his fellow man:  “There is never any question of vote-catching or speech-making in order to make it a law to do what everyone has already resolved that he will do himself, once he is sure that others will do the same.”[6]  But again, the question can be raised why a people ought to bother having a state at all, if they can so readily reach a consensus simply by the merit of having everyone’s general will consulted, and made clear?[7]  Why bother with having a any sort of government?

Once again it is important to try and understanding the program Rousseau is presenting from the philosopher’s point of view.  Earlier he mentioned that conditions of life are so that man could not subsist in his state of nature forever, thus his consenting to the social pact to ensure preservation.  It is the nature of this contract that must be explored to understand Rousseau’s reasoning.  He states that, “there is one sole law that by its nature demands unanimous consent:  it is the social pact.”[8]  Therefore, the social contract (or “pact”) is the only obligation that any individual is sworn to, but is never subjugated by:  “If therefore when the social pact is agreed there are those who oppose it, their opposition does not invalidate the contract, but merely prevents it from being applied to them:  they are foreigners among citizens.”[9]  This is in stark contrast to Hobbes’s covenants, whose obligations are to be enforced authoritatively, if necessary; any person in Rousseau’s society can simply opt out of the community, if he so determines.

Now, one major point still remains to be addressed by Rousseau, what happens if someone who freely reside within the community, and has consented to the social contract, finds himself in the minority opinion of a particular issue?  Rousseau approaches the question by first stating, “a majority vote is always binding on all the others; that is a direct consequence of the contract.”[10]  However, this statement seems to be irreconcilable with Rousseau’s stance on the inability to subvert someone’s general will to that of another.  The philosopher tries to rationalize this objection away by replying, “The citizen consents to every law, even those that are passed against his opposition,”[11] because, “the constant will of all the citizens of the state is the general will:  it is through the general will that they are citizens and have freedom.”[12]  But this is now starting to sound an awful lot like Hobbes’ position that the sovereign, acting as the proprietor of the social contract, gets to enforce the rules of the covenants on the citizenry, except that in Rousseau’s system the masses collectively occupy the role of the sovereign, instead of just one ruler.  Moreover, the outcome will still involve the undermining of an individual’s will by another (in this case the majority).  Rousseau is not ignorant of this disparity, and attempts to sooth it by clarifying, “When an opinion contrary to mine prevails, therefore, it proves only that I had been mistaken, and that the general will was not what I had believed it to be.”[13]  But in what way is this not an example of one individual having to subvert their will to the will of others?  Saying that because you find yourself in opposition to the general will of the majority the only conclusion is that you’re mistaken on the issue, does not negate the fact that you are then being forced to undermine your solitary will to that of the community (lest you be deemed to have forfeited your citizenship [see footnote 9]).

The main problem Rousseau fails to consider in The Social Contract, is that in such an environment, there is no reason to believe that it will be the solidarity of the people’s general will that will govern the community, rather than fear induced conformity.  And in an environment like that, the difference between a system governed by a unified majority, and a system corrupted by the whim of an influential minority, is not as readily noticeable as one might think.  In fact, in cunning hands, the will of the people, can easily be swayed to serve the will of the few; and the people might be none the wiser about it.

[1] Rousseau, Jean-Jacques. The Social Contract. “Book I: Chapter 1,” Oxford University Press (New York: 1994), p. 45.

[2] Rousseau, p. 54.

[3] Rousseau, p. 55.

[4] Rousseau, p. 132.

[5] Rousseau, p. 134.

[6] Rousseau, p. 134.

[7] Rousseau, p. 135.

[8] Rousseau, p. 137.

[9] Rousseau, p. 137.

[10] Rousseau, p. 137.

[11] Rousseau, p. 137.

[12] Rousseau, p. 137-138.

[13] Rousseau, p. 138.

Ayn Rand’s Atlass Shrugged: Analysis and Critique

Part One:  Analysis

Exposing the means by which the looters of a nation are able to exploit the abilities of the productive members of society lies at the heart of Ayn Rand’s novel Atlas Shrugged.  The plot of the novel makes a clear distinction between the two factions through the values each side exhibits for their worldview, and more importantly the imagery by which they express such ideals.  This is best illustrated in a dialogue that occurs halfway through the novel, in which the pirate character Ragner Danneskjöld—speaking to industrialist Hank Rearden—declares his intent to destroy the person of Robin Hood from human consciousness.  To him, Robin Hood is the embodiment of the misplaced mentality modern society has come to embrace.  He claims that it s through the legacy surrounding his exploits that the looters of today are offered a convenient excuse to promote their detrimental moral superiority, which encourages that the need of one man justifies the sacrifice of another.  Ragner Danneskjöld’s aim to eradicate the ideals, legend, and righteousness of Robin Hood, as a means to free mankind from his own self-imposed deprecation and provide him with the independent morale necessary to survive, stands as a perfect metaphorical expression to illustrate Rand’s philosophical stance for the virtue of self-interest over the misguided value of self-sacrifice.

Right from the start Ragner Danneskjöld makes it abundantly clear how his worldviews contrasts that of the man he is out to destroy, Robin Hood, and why these differences create an odious contempt against the man, and the ideals which are embodied by him.  He explains that where Robin Hood sought to take from the rich and give to the poor, he in turn is “the man who robs the thieving poor and gives back to the productive rich” (page 532).  Here, Danneskjöld is careful with his diction, as not to give a misconstrued representation of his words.  He uses thieving to describe the needy underprivileged poor and illustrate his belief that a group who seeks compensation, without the intent of earning their imbursements, is in fact robbing from those who have accumulated their wealth through relentless labor and resourcefulness (the productive rich).  The idea of Robin Hood, Danneskjöld states, creates a false warrant of merit where it is the inept who are justified in demanding aid from the skilled, a logic which holds little ground against objective reasoning, based on the notion that strength and intellect are factors of dominance not servitude.  Danneskjöld’s views differ in that he sees each man responsible for his own wellbeing, but realizes that this is challenged by the faux guilt hanging over the conscience of the productive few, and the widespread assurance that those with manufacturing ability have a responsibility to provide for the survival of others with lesser capabilities.  He encapsulates this partiality as, “the need of some men is the knife of a guillotine hanging over others—that all of us must live with our work, our hopes, our plans, our efforts, at the mercy of the moment when that knife will descend upon us” (p.532).  Such a grim depiction further serves to emphasize the intense abhorrence Danneskjöld feels for the looter’s ideology.  He sees the admiration of men like Robin Hood as a prime factor society has become to delude itself of the supposed inherent justice of altruism that is being offered as the only humane quality necessary for people to posses.  By encouraging these sentiments, the looters render any counterargument as nonsensical simply through the public impression that all other takes on the matter are immoral by definition.  Hence, leaving the producers and providers of society to be drained and deposed of as the needy masses see fit.

Ragner Danneskjöld’s vehement reproach towards Robin Hood stems not so much from the actual reality of the man, but the pretense which has come to symbolize him.  On page 532 he says, “It is said that he fought against the looting rulers and returned the loot to those who had been robbed, but that is not the meaning of the legend which has survived.”  Clearly, Danneskjöld is able to differentiate between the folk hero image Robin Hood represented as someone who stood against an abusive ruling authority—and even accept the gallantry associated with it—from what he sees as a prevarication created by those seeking to use his actions to elevate their own ideology amongst the populace.  His contempt is not so much aimed at eradicating the man, but the myth of him that has come to serve the plunderers of society.  Nonetheless, Danneskjöld also understands that in order to free the world from the self-deprecation brought on by the legend, no distinction can be made between man and myth.  The reason being that as long as a man like Robin Hood exists to serve as a guiding example for the looters, it is necessary to deal with the two entities as one and the same, due to the extend the myth has come to overtake every aspect of the man’s personhood.  Danneskjöld explains his rationale plainly when he gives his assessment of what Robin Hood has become, “He is held to be the first man who assumed a halo of virtue by practicing charity with wealth which he did not own, by giving goods which he had not produced, by making others pay for the luxury of his pity” (p.532).  It is through his selfless servitude that Robin Hood’s legacy evolved into the defender of the poor, rather than the robbed.  Such an image caused the distortion which Danneskjöld hopes to destroy; the idea that the true nature of mankind involves the demand for self-sacrifice.  And, although, Danneskjöld considers it complete folly, he understands the depth to which man is capable of falling if such nonsensical sentiment continues to be valued as morally correct.

The righteousness of Robin Hood is the ultimate goal Ragner Danneskjöld wishes to remove from human consciousness.  Considering it a personal duty to relieve man of the foul virtues he has accepted through centuries of fanciful tales, which have caused the discarding of realistic sensibility.  Danneskjöld argues against an ideology that considers the preservation of the self immoral, yet praises the believe that, “in order to be placed above rights, above principles, above morality, placed where anything is permitted to him, even plunder and murder, all a man has to do is to be in need” (p.533).  The championing of need is in Danneskjöld eyes the greatest depravity luring mankind away from realizing the importance of personal interest.  A world where all men are held accountable to provide for themselves, Danneskjöld argues, is a world where every member of society will labor to achieve highest proficiency, rather than depend on someone else’s productive output.  He sees the preservation of egotism not just as a necessity for his own values to survive, but the existence of mankind as a whole.  This is best summarized by Danneskjöld in his closing words, “Until men learn that of all human symbols, Robin Hood is the most immoral and the most contemptible, there will be no justice on earth and no way for mankind to survive” (p.533).  To remove Robin Hood from the moral pedestal society has set him on, would deprive the looters of a functioning symbol to hold over the head of men striving to earn their wealth instead of waiting for free hand-outs.  As long as the idolization of someone like Robin Hood persists amongst the general public, no hope lies for the true providers of society—working not to serve another man’s needs, but solely their own interest.

The fundamental plot of Ayn Rand’s novel Atlas Shrugged exhibits the struggle between those few in society who have rejected the moral superiority of altruistic self-sacrifice, and the looters who use the concept of need to subjugate any trace of personal interest and basic individuality.  The character of Ragner Danneskjöld serves to illustrate the idea of what man should strive to be; resourceful, fearless, and nondependent on other men’s capabilities.  He declares Robin Hood as the one man he is out to destroy as his personal mission to rid the world of its unyielding thirst for need.  He views the ideals, legend, and righteousness of the Sherwood Forest archer as the primary symbol serving the looters false ethical cause.  Ragner Danneskjöld reasons that the fatal blow necessary for man to see through the gilded façade the looters have erected to cover their noxious ideology is the death of their idol, the original offender against the nature of man, Robin Hood.

Part Two:  Critique

Although the brief exchange between Hank Rearden and Ragner Danneskjöld is meant by Ayn Rand to logically outline her philosophical position concerning the destitute nature of altruism, a number of apparent logical faults can be found right in the midst of the impassioned dialogue.  On page 532, Ragner Danneskjöld explains how he has never robbed a single private or military vessel during his pirate campaigns against the looters of society.  The reason for the first is self-evident by the stance of Rand’s ideals on capitalism, as to why military vessels are not to be attacked, Danneskjöld notes, “because the purpose of a military fleet is to protect from violence the citizens who paid for it, which is the proper function of a government” (p.532).  However, on the same page, the pirate names his ideological foe as “the idea that need is a sacred idol requiring human sacrifice.”  The problem with this line is that it seemingly negates the point he has made about the necessity of preserving the military, since the military is a prime example of an institution that operates primarily on the notion of self-sacrifice for the sake of a particular society/country/community as a whole.  Danneskjöld’s acceptance of the need for such an establishment runs counter to his vehement promotion of individual self-interest.

Rand might argue that this is irrelevant, on account that Ragner Danneskjöld specifically mentions that the military is supposed to protect those who “paid for it,” but such a rationalization does not solve the philosophical dilemma at hand, and even leads to a number of more conundrums.  Namely, it does not address the fact that in a world where self-interest is heralded as the ideal standard of behavior, the fundamental principles of military combatants will be eradicated, because it is universally understood that a soldier is expected to give his life for his brothers in arms, and for his country, if the situation calls for it; the interests of the individual are secondary to the interest of the unit as a whole.  And, on the point of the military serving those who paid for it, one is left bemused by what exactly Danneskjöld means by this.  He mentions that such is the proper function of government, thus it implies he does support the notion that the government is to be the arbitrator of the armed forces.  However, further on in the text, Danneskjöld firmly rejects taxation as a form of robbery (p.534), suggesting that the method by which citizens are to pay for their military protection must come from some other means—more than likely, what is implied is a direct payment of some sort.  This leads to a major problem that is left ignored by Rand throughout the dialogue; the possibility that if the military is privatized to protect those who have paid for their service, the result will be unmanageable disparity that can lead to losses amongst all economical sectors of society.

As a thought experiment, say, for example, that the East Coast of the U.S. is the more affluent part of the country (let us assume it is due to it having more entrepreneurs investing into a growing industrial economy) and uses its affluence to thoroughly protect its shores from any possible threats that might harm its source of wealth; while the West Coast is significantly less affluent, and, as a result, cannot afford as much military protection for its shores.  Let’s also set that the material resources the industrial centers on the East Coast use to produce their wealth is located on the uncultivated areas of the West Coast.  Since, presumably, the entrepreneurs of the East Coast would have a vested interest in keeping the West Coast as nonindustrial as possible, so as to keep the production costs of their products lower than the selling price.  But, because the West Coast cannot afford to properly protect its shores, their material resources (which are used by the East Coast) lie more vulnerable to external threats of theft.  Should the East Coast pay for the needed military protection of the West Coast?  And, if so, in whose individual self-interest is it to cover the cost?  Ideally, the West Coast should be expected to cover the cost itself, but in order for it to produce the wealth necessary to properly protect its shore it will need to increase prices on its material goods; at the expense of the East Coast.  Thus, it would appear, the East Coast is left picking up the bill no matter the angle one chooses to lock at this dilemma.

Now, since the government is the arbitrator of the military (as implied by Danneskjöld), one would be justified in proposing that it should also bear the responsibility of paying for the expenses that go into deploying its forces.  But where would the government get the revenue to make such payments?  Presumably taxes, but Danneskjöld has already established that taxation is equivalent to robbery, therefore for the government to tax its citizens would be criminal in nature.  It is true that the average worker has some interest in keeping the resources of their employer protected, lest they risk losing their place of employment.  However, to what degree should a menial employee be expected to pay for the protection of resources, whose total revenue potential he will only receive a fraction of (in comparison to the individuals who run the company)?  Perhaps, the wealthy entrepreneurs and industrialists, who have the greatest interest in protecting the West Coast, can be expected to provide the greatest payment to the government in order to finance the needed military protection (and, yes, it would have to be given through the government, since Danneskjöld has already acknowledged that the government’s function is to be in charge of the military).  Thus, the burden to pay falls on those who earn the most from the protected resources.  This seems like a viable position, but the question then becomes, how, in practice, is this any different from taxation?  It would appear that the only difference would be a lack of coercion on behalf of the wealthy, and maybe that’s the underlying point, but if the end result is still the same as before, what sense is there in pretending that the current system is a form of tyranny since the solution will essentially be the exact same thing only promoted by the tenets of a different ideological principle?

Another major point of contention arises through the message Ayn Rand is trying to present through Ragner Danneskjöld’s condemnation of Robin Hood (and altruism in general).  In his dialogue with Hank Rearden, Ragner Danneskjöld makes the case that wealth is an inherent indication of productivity.  Implying that due to the competitive nature of the market those who are wealthiest will also be those who possess the greater intellect and talent, and, thereby, are by definition the most deserving of all the riches and power they can accumulate; while those who occupy the lower ranks of society do so by the merits of their own failures.  However, this is clearly not as absolute as Danneskjöld is making it sound, and as the Robin Hood fables are meant to convey.  The rich Robin Hood stole from were corrupt monarchs who demanded servitude from the lower classes of society, not because they had gained their wealth by the merit of their work, but due to an arbitrary right of birth.  In this scenario, the most productive members of society were the underprivileged poor, the looters as Ragner Danneskjöld would call them, but who had no means to benefit from their productivity due solely to the fact that they were born in poor households.  Hence, in such a system, it would be fundamentally disingenuous to claim that the lower-classes lack of economic motility is the result of a lack of productivity, just as it would be insincere to proclaim that wealth to be a representations of intellect or work ethic.

The question of inherited vs. earned wealth is an issue that Ayn Rand never dwells into in Atlas Shrugged, even though any defense of her philosophy demands a clarification on this point; especially if one branches out to the greater narrative of the novel.  For example, two of the main characters in the novel, Dagney Taggert and Francisco d’Anconia (both of whom are presented throughout the prose as the epitome of the productive capitalist) lay claim to their fortune strictly by an accident of birth.  Both have inherited their wealth through the work of their productive ancestors, not through, shall we say, the sweat of their brow.  It is true that they are shown to be ardent entrepreneurs (although, for the aristocratic d’Anconia, this is more a matter that the reader is just suppose to grant as a given for the sake of the narrative; he is never actually shown creating anything industrially successful throughout the plot), but the question of how these characters would have succeeded if they had not been born in such a privileged position remains open to question.  This is particularly noteworthy, since the majority of the named antagonists in the novel (who seek to undermine all the values the Rand’s protagonists hold dear) are also wealthy industrialists, thus, the plot subtly acknowledges the point that the possession of wealth is not an ideal indicator of productivity.

The pivotal event Atlas Shrugged is leading up to is the point at which the productive few of society unanimously go on strike, and allow the looters of society to fully see the catastrophic fate that their self-sacrificing policies will inevitably lead to; i.e. the complete collapse of civilization.  Although the novel ends at this point, in his dialogue with Rearden, Danneskjöld gives the reader a glimpse of what is to follow thereafter.  He states, “When we are free and have to start rebuilding from out of the ruins, I want to see the world reborn as fast as possible” (p.535).  Here, he is giving justification for his work as a pirate, he is simply collecting the money that has been looted away from the productive to be utilized by them to remold society after the coming collapse (ironically drawing parallels with the criminal aspects of Robin Hood).  He continues, “If there is, then, some working capital in the right hands—in the hands of our best, our most productive—it will save years for the rest of us and, incidentally centuries for the history of the country” (p.535).  Thereby, those productive few who currently are held down by the looting majority will be well compensated in the imminent future.  However, this once again brings up the topic of earned vs. inherited wealth.  While those who Danneskjöld sees worthy today are bound to continue accumulating their wealth in this approaching utopia, what exactly will happen to those who might possess the potential to be entrepreneurs, but were unfortunate enough to have been born amongst the looting majority?  The narrative seems to imply that once the virtue of self-sacrifice has been thoroughly annihilated in favor of self-interest, those who deserve to rise through the social ladder will be able to do so.  However, it goes without saying that, whether or not the potential advancement exists, few will be able to actually occupy the ranks of the rich, simply because the number of available spots will always pale in comparison to the number of lower-ranking poor.  Therefore, most people will have to be content with the lower position they occupy in society, and these will be the ones upon whom the fortunes of the rich few will be founded on; meaning that, once more, the social reality that is to arise from the coming collapse will not be much different from the society that exists today.

Furthermore, the question is still open as to how someone such as the aristocratic Francisco d’Anconia, who has never been shown to produce anything of worth, whose entire fortune is based on the merits of his last name, deserves to be amongst the ranks of the productive few, other than strictly through his association with the other protagonists in the narrative?  How is someone born poor in this post-looter society, expected to compete with the generations worth of wealth that d’Anconia has inherited from his ancestors? (This point still stands even if one takes into account the fact that d’Anconia’s mission is to undermine the current social order by wasting the wealth he has, because Danneskjöld’s words to Rearden clearly imply that he will be reimbursing all the productive rich in the coming era for their present losses.)  While a reader can speculate one scenario after another, the truth is that all of these points remain unaddressed by the plot itself.

Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged is meant to convince the reader of the superiority of promoting strict capitalism in all aspects of a person’s life.  It is a simple philosophy, best articulated by the pirate character Ragner Danneskjöld, in his dialogue against the legend of Robin Hood, and the virtue of self-sacrifice the looting masses have accepted as morally viable.  Although there are times in which Danneskjöld seems to be conveying a deeper truth pertinent to the advancement of an industrial society, upon scrutiny, much of the foundation that he sets to build this new ideology of self-interest on is based on flimsy premises that leaves too many factors unexamined (two of which, the proper function of government and the dilemma of inherited vs. earned wealth, are pointed out here).  As such this simple philosophy comes across as overly simplistic to hold any practical application.

Bibliography

Rand, Ayn. Atlas Shrugged. Signet Book (New York: 1992, original 1957).

Niccolo Machiavelli’s The Prince and the Political Utility of Religion

Niccolo Machiavelli is one the many writers in history fortunate enough to be extensively quoted by individuals who have little patience to actually read his large body of work.  Most (in)famous of the man’s oft cited prose is his 1513 political tract advising ruling figures on how to govern, simply titled The Prince.  In it he boldly states that when it comes to exercising one’s authority, the ruler needs to adhere to the basic principle that the ends always justify the means; with the ends always being a retention of power, and means being whatever will bring about that desired end.

Although at face value the work is a clear promotion of totalitarianism, there exist several peculiarities with the way Machiavelli formats his dictatorial learner’s manual.  For instance, despite it being address to the ruling classes of society, the book is actually written in the plain Italian of Machiavelli’s day, making its sensitive instructions to rulers available to the very commoners whose exploitation Machiavelli is encouraging.  Granted, literacy wasn’t too high among the lower classes, but for a manuscript aiming to teach governing sovereigns how to be more deceitful, one would think that Machiavelli would at least have bothered to make the message a bit more cryptic to the masses (possibly by writing it in Latin, which was already in disuse outside of aristocratic functions).  Even stranger is the fact that only six years later Machiavelli wrote Discourses on Levi, a political book that enthusiastically taunts the superiority of democratic republicanism over monarchical forms of governance; completely contradicting the authoritarian advise he offers in The Prince.  It’s possible that between 1513 and 1519, Machiavelli changed his preference from despotism to republicanism, but I think it is also very likely the allegations labeling The Prince a clever work of political satire should not be so quickly brushed aside, as it appears to be the most plausible answer to account for the discrepancies mentioned above.  If it is true that The Prince is nothing more but a satirical revelation of the aristocratic mindset, meant to convey to the lowly subjects the true nature of their rulers’ motivations, then Machiavelli deserves to be acknowledged as the greatest writer in all of history for composing a piece of satire that continues to fool people (scholars and laypersons alike) to this day.

Although Machiavelli’s politics might be evasive, his views on religion appear to be fairly consistent throughout his writing career.  In The Prince, Machiavelli refers to religion as a tool of the ruler, to be used as a method by which he can convince the masses of his benignity.  Machiavelli makes it clear that the sincerity of the ruler’s piety is of no importance:

Every one knows how praiseworthy it is in a Prince to keep faith, and to live uprightly and not craftily.  Nevertheless, we see from what has taken place in our own days that Princes who have set little store by their word, but have known how to overreach men by their cunning, have accomplished great things, and in the end got the better of those who trusted to honest dealings (Machiavelli, Niccolo.  The Prince.  Chapter XVIII, “How Princes Should Keep Faith,” (Pocket Books:  New York) 2004 reprint, p.83).

Machiavelli does not dispute the notion that faithfulness is a popular virtue, but he is arguing that while the Prince (i.e. the ruler) should take care to be seen as ideally faithful by his subjects, his actual actions need not be limited by any pious restraints.  In other words, if left to choose between preserving one’s crown and staying true to one’s religious principle, the competent ruler will always choose the former over the latter, “a prudent Prince neither can nor ought to keep his word when to keep it is hurtful to him and the causes which led him to pledge it are removed” (Machiavelli, The Prince, p. 84).  While Machiavelli’s words sound odious to our most basic sentiments concerning decorum and public honesty, it needs to be remembered that the writer is merely stating a fact that holds true for almost every person living, then and now.  Few of us are unwilling to amend even our most cherished convictions if opportunity demands it of us.  I will even go so far as to say that every single person, functioning in society, has at one point or another been faced with a situation in which s/he has gone against a core principle s/he claims to adhere to.  Of course, when confronted with our obvious hypocrisy we will find some way to rationalize it away as irrelevant, but what Machiavelli is advising is for the Prince to fully embrace his hypocrisy as a necessary part of his position.

On the topic of religion, Machiavelli considers it important for a ruler to exhibit the outwardly qualities that are popularly associated with the practice:

A Prince should therefore be very careful that nothing ever escapes his lips which is not replete with the five qualities above named, so that to see and hear him one would think him the embodiment of mercy, good, faith, integrity, and religion.  And there is no virtue which it is more necessary for him to seem to posses than the last (Machiavelli, The Prince, p.85).

Special attention should be given to Machiavelli’s word choice at the end of the above quote; note he says it is necessary for the Prince to merely seem religious, not to be personally sincere about it.   The reason being that people look for commonality when identifying with other individuals, and religiosity is a widespread system by which a variety of people pledge some base level of identification with one another.  Hence, an open proclamation of religiosity by the ruler is a key way for him (or any public figure for that matter) to retain support from the populace.  But it is inevitable that at some point the ruler will be faced with having to violate some religious decree, and according to Machiavelli this is perfectly acceptable, as long as he gives of the impression of being pious it is enough to convince the masses; actions are meaningless, “Everyone sees what you seem, but few know what you are, and these few dare not oppose themselves to the opinion of the many who have the majesty of the State to back them” (p. 85).  This is especially true for leaders who gain endorsement from the main religious institution, like the church, since such organizations often hold the final word on what is pious and what is not (religious belief itself is usually a secondary concern in these sort of church-state relations, if it is a concern at all).

It needs to be remembered that Machiavelli’s aim is not to teach how to deceive the common folk; rather what the writer is doing is measuring the worth of a Prince/ruler by the merits of his efficiency, “Wherefore if a Prince succeeds in establishing and maintaining his authority, the means will always be judged honourable and approved by everyone” (p. 86).  People don’t mind being lied to as long as it is a blissful experience.  Nor do they care about the piety of their leaders actions, as long as her/his words align with what they want to hear and their living standard remain comfortable.

I suspect–though I can’t be sure–that Machiavelli’s other aim was to openly document the method by which the lowly masses are kept content by their deceitful figure heads.  Perhaps his intention was to alarm the common man into action, but judging by the way political leaders to this day swoon their constituencies by a never-ending array of appeals to their personal piety (all while being documented adulterers, liars, frauds, cheaters, warmongers and war-propagators, and a whole lot of other “moral” transgressions), I doubt we really want anything else but to be deceived.  Or as Machiavelli himself put it, “”men are so simple, and governed so absolutely by their present needs, that he who wishes to deceive will never fail in finding willing dupes” (p.84).

Bibliography

Machiavelli, Niccolo.  The Prince. Chapter XVIII, “How Princes Should Keep Faith,” (Pocket Books:  New York), 2004 reprint.  Original publication 1513.

John Locke’s Call for the Dissolution of Bad Government, Through Strictly Lawful Means

Part One: Analysis

John Locke’s “Second Treatise of Government”, in his Two Treatises of Government, makes a clear point that the people of a commonwealth grant authority to their governing body, and thereby have an inherent right to bring about the dissolution of that body, if it violates the principles upon which it was initially established.  But Locke goes further than to simply condone the overthrow of a bad government.  He examines and rationalizes the tenets and limits to authority of government; what sort of situations would constitute a government that has overstepped the authority designated to it.  And concludes how it is by peaceful, legislative means that the people who constitute the society being governed can dissolve the governing body, which has become alien to their will and interests.

Locke’s view of governing authority is that it should serve the will of the people that make up the commonwealth, because they are the ones who grant legislative authority in exchange for security and protection.  This is stated in Chapter 9, paragraph 131, “And so whosoever has the legislative or supreme power of a commonwealth, is bound to govern by establishing standing laws, promulgated and known to the people / to be directed to no other end, but the peace, safety, and public good of the people.”  Furthermore, since legislative authority ultimately resides with the will of the people, the dissolution of such authority is subsequently reserved by the people as well.

Locke makes a distinction though between the dissolution of government and dissolution of society (TT.II.211).  In regard to the dissolution of society, the union can only be disrupted through the conquest of a foreign force, thus if a government is dissolved, the society it governs can continue to exist and authorize a new legislature.  The dissolution of the government is different however, in that the legislative powers, who have been granted authority to make laws for the good of the people, are themselves subject to the laws they have made (TT.II.143).  Since the governing body is dependent on the people’s will, it can only function as long as the commonwealth of people sees fit to maintain it.  If the actions of the government are counter to the will, or good, of the people, then it is also counter to the laws by which it itself is bound, and thus can be dissolved by the society that has empowered it, because it no longer upholds the interest of the commonwealth (TT.II.202).

On the issue of altering legislation, Locke equates the act similarly to a foreign conquest, which in itself is, “as far from setting up any government, as demolishing a house is from building a new one in the place” (TT.II.175).  And generally dismisses belligerent disobedience against the laws of government, either by ruler or subject, as vile and criminally despicable (TT.II.230).  As far as Locke is concerned the only legitimate law is one that derives from the consent of the people; if a law does not derive from, or stands in opposition to, the original framework consented by the people of the commonwealth, it is a breach in contract and the authority bestowed upon the guilty party is automatically invalid:

By this breach of trust they forfeit the power, the people had put into their hands, for quite contrary ends, and it devolves to the people, who have a right to resume their original liberty, and, by the establishment of a new legislative (such as they shall think fit) provided for their own safety and security, which is the end for which they are in society (TT.II.222).

The function of the government is to serve as a representative to the interest of the commonwealth.  If the government chooses to behave in a self-serving arbitrary manner, neglecting the good of the people, it is breaking the principles upon which it was founded.  The people have a fundamental right to oppose any force that is contrary and harmful to the principles that they have agreed to build their commonwealth on, and if that force happens to be reflected in the actions of their current government, then the government can be opposed by its subjects since that government has ceased to be their government.  Although, this might seem like a defense for revolutionaries, Locke also notes how this revelation does not invite the incessant dissolution of one government for another, because, “People are not so easily got out of their old forms, as some are apt to suggest” (TT.II.223).  He uses Britain as an example, where even through countless government scandals, administrative corruptions, and calls for revolution, the monarchial system of king, lords, commons, has yet to be replaced.

How then can a people, by Locke’s doctrine, rebel against a government that no longer serves their interest?  Not by force, because, as already stated, a violent strike against an existing legislature will produce effects similarly to foreign conquest (TT.II.218).  That is to say, the resulting structure will be rendered as invalid on the grounds that whatever new institution is erected in place of the old is not compatible with the original foundation consented to by the commonwealth.  In truth, Locke views this doctrine, where power is authorized by the people who alone hold the right to dissolve a legislature that is not protecting their property and providing their safety, or is acting in any way contrary to their trust, as the ultimate barrier against rebellion (TT.II.226).  If the people see fit to dissolve the government, because the legislators have altered laws that have been agreed upon by the people, it is the legislators who are the dissenters by rebelling against the government that has been authorized by the people, who alone are the authority on what is to be their society’s ways of governance:

When they, who were set up for the protection, and preservation of the people, their liberties and properties, shall by force invade, and endeavor to take them away; and so they putting themselves into a state of war with those, who made them the protectors and guardians of their peace, are properly, and with the greatest aggravation, rebellantes rebels (TT.II.227).

The people do not need to rebel, because once the actions of the government no longer represent the will of the commonwealth, the people who make up the commonwealth have no obligation to remain subjects of what has now become a de facto foreign power to them.  And if violence does occur when a people consciously rise against a corrupt legislature, the fault cannot lie with the honest man who is trying to preserve his rights and the rights on which his society was formed, but will always fall on the conscience of the invading force, invading his rights and the rights of his neighbors (TT.II.228).

John Locke’s treatise is a proclamation for majority governance, where ruling authority rests with the commonwealth, the people, who have the rights to determine what is best for their society.  As it is their right to establish, for their own good, whichever sort of government they see fit; it is also inherit in their authority to be able to dissolve an existing legislature, when it no longer serves their good, as they are not obligated to be subjects of a government whose priorities are not representative of their own.

Part Two: Critique

As already mentioned, Locke pronounces that the people of the commonwealth grant authority to the legislature and thereby reserve the right to determine whether or not it is legitimate, and if deemed illegitimate by the commonwealth, the governing body relinquishes its legislative powers back to the people who can then install a new sovereign to represent their interests.  All of this sounds sensible, but Locke also mentions that, “acting for the preservation of the community, there can be but one supreme power, which is the legislative, to which all the rest are and must be subordinate” (TT.II.149).  This seems to be an implicit contradiction to his appeal for majority governance, in which it is the people who are the sovereigns of the land, and the legislative is an institution through which they protect and preserve their rights.  Locke goes on to say, reconcilably, that, “the legislative being only a fiduciary power to act for certain ends, there remains still in the people a supreme power to remove or alter the legislative, when they find the legislative act contrary to the trust repose them” (TT.II.149).  This statement appears to have been made by Locke in order to smooth out the discrepancy of his earlier statement and keep his proposed form of government consistent with democratic theory, but despite this attempt the sentence is still a non sequitur.

If Locke wants to identify the legislative body as the supreme power in the commonwealth, then its authority cannot be limited by the people of the commonwealth, because once a power is limited then by definition it is no longer supreme.  Perhaps, Locke meant that the people authorize the legislative with supreme power to institute laws favorable to the general good of the commonwealth, while the commonwealth still retains a certain trait of supreme power giving it the ability to pass judgment over the governing body: a separation of powers.  However, this is still unsatisfactory and only works if one is willing to be charitable to Locke, who did not bother to define his reasoning or assessment of how or why both the people and the legislator can hold supreme power in the commonwealth and in certain passages seems to refute any such claim:

In all cases, whilst the government subsists, the legislative is the supreme power.  For what can give laws to another, must needs be superior to him: and since the legislative is no otherwise legislative of the society, but by the right it has to make laws for all the parts and for every member of the society / and all other powers in any members or parts of the society, derived from and subordinate to it (TT.II.150).

Even if we are charitable towards Locke in this one statement, the fact still remains that the rest of his treatise treats the legislative authority as subordinate to the will of the commonwealth, which is composed of the interests of the people.  His occasional divergence from this point, rather than strengthening his argument, renders it moot.

This also causes a fundamental problem to arise when one looks at Locke’s views on how the people retain a basic right to dissolve the government that they have authorized to begin with.  When you have the ability to depose of an entity, then you do in fact hold some sort of dominion over that entity, making it subordinate to you.  A point Locke himself might reject according to the above quote, but a Lockean would have to accept if he or she follows Locke’s reasoning throughout the treatise.

Locke explicitly states that when a government is destroyed the commonwealth remains in full form (TT.II.211), meaning that supreme power cannot be equally shared between the two (separate or otherwise); for if the roles were balanced, then it would also be true that the government can theoretically dissolve the people just as readily as the people can dissolve the government.  But this is not true, because the people hold ultimate authority on how the government behaves/exists.  The relationship between the two is one in which the legislative body cannot act on its own will (such as deciding to destroy the commonwealth), because that will is dependent on the will of the people, going so far as to be composed solely of the will of the people (TT.II.142).

Locke creates a similar problem when he mentions that the legislative is what combines the commonwealth into one coherent living body, “This is the soul that gives form, life, and unity to the commonwealth: from hence the several members have their mutual influence, sympathy, and connection: and therefore when the legislative is broken, or dissolved, dissolution and death follow” (TT.II.212).  Here, it is implied that as the product of the society’s communal interest, the legislative is the representation (or soul, if one was keen on a more metaphorical prose) of the society’s will.  It is the uniting agent by which the commonwealth expresses its founding principles, operating as a physical embodiment to exercise the people’s collective will, and were it destroyed the resulting conclusion would be the removal of the commonwealths ability to physically exercise that will.

To Locke’s political theory of majority governance, this is disastrous, and the Lockean responds would be swift to counter the reasoning with the following:  First, one could argue that the statement made was Locke’s way of assessing all possible scenarios of the dissolution of government.  Rather than conceding that the destruction of the legislative body leaves the commonwealth without the ability to exercise their will, Locke was applying deductive reasoning to the situation.  This is supported by how in subsequent paragraphs Locke truly does explore varies alternative forms of existing and dissolving governments, the possible approaches that can be taken when they are no longer in line with the people’s will, and what results from each possible approach.  The second defense would be that since Locke ultimately concludes that, “the people have a right to act supreme, and continue the legislative in themselves, or erect a new form, or under the old form place it in new hands, as they think good” (TT.II.243).  Thereby, the will of the commonwealth is not entirely tied in with the existence of legislative and the intermediary scenarios are irrelevant to Locke’s ability to reach his wanted outcome; the defense of majority governance.  Now, as fervent as such defenses may be, they do little but try to redirect from the issue at hand.  If it can be supposed that as the representative entity of the commonwealth’s will, the legislative is a needed component in order for that will to be organized in a coherent way, then it goes to show that Locke’s insistence on the readily manner by which the commonwealth can dissolve a governing body is not universally applicable in theory or practice.

The Lockean dismissal of the major faults with Locke’s theory as irrelevant due to its focus on the semantics of Locke’s premises, rather than his conclusions, reveals a great deal about the flaws of John Locke’s argument as a whole.  It is in the ways a philosopher constructs his argument that deems it coherent or not.  Locke’s final conclusion in the Two Treatise of Government, of a governing body that is authorized by the people for its own interest and protection, and who retain the right to judge, mediate, and dissolve said legislative once it no longer serves the will of the people, is an idea that resonance favorably with the masses; not to mention an idea that was quite radical in Locke’s time of monarchial governance.  Nevertheless, as shown here, the manner by which Locke constructs his premises is far from consistent, and nowhere near as articulate as he indeed could have made it.  He sets out to defend the core part of his theory, the need for a limited government preceded in authority by the will of the people of the commonwealth, and fails by breaking from this premise and designating both parties (government and commonwealth) separate but equally supreme in authority (actually maintaining that it is the legislative that is the supreme power, though somehow still limited in authority).  Only to falter again by concluding that it is really the legislative that is dependent on the will of the commonwealth after all, despite stating that this will is correlated to the existence of the legislative.

Bibliography

Locke, John.  1993.  “Second Treatise of Government,” Two Treatises of Government, ed. Mark Goldie.  Churchill College, Cambridge:  Everyman.