Monthly Archives: January 2012

Ron Paul’s appeal to young men

In Libby Copeland’s Slate article about Ron Paul’s appeal to young men, I say that this demographic group tends to be “interested in simpler, more abstract and pure philosophies.” I am sure I did say that, but I am not sure I like what I said.

  • I didn’t really have evidence from developmental psychology for my empirical claim that young men are drawn to simpler, more abstract, and purer philosophies.
  • I haven’t made a close enough study of Ron Paul’s positions to know whether he in fact represents a simple, abstract version of libertarianism.
  • I generally don’t like to make psychological generalizations about people who hold political views, especially if the generalizations are critical and the views are opposed to my own. That rhetorical style seems un-deliberative: it rejects a position as a character flaw instead of taking its reasons seriously.
  • I don’t necessarily think that libertarianism is simpler or more abstract than other political philosophies; that depends on the flavor of libertarian thought.

But I have observed all my life that Ayn Rand-style libertarianism appeals to a subset of young men. Thus Ron Paul’s 8,800 young voters in Iowa may not reflect a historical change or a growth of  libertarianism. Rather, a subculture that I remember vividly from the 1980s recently had an opportunity to make a splash in a low-turnout, multi-candidate election.

Also, to my very core, I am a moral pluralist, in the tradition of Isaiah Berlin. I believe that human foxes are more mature than human hedgehogs–that every situation requires a different response. Thus I am willing to say that some versions of libertarianism (just like some versions of liberalism and socialism) are more mature than others, the measure being how many valid but conflicting principles they can accommodate and how sensitive they are to context.

So one can become a libertarian because, like Hayek, one doubts that central planners can accumulate enough information to govern wisely; and because, like James C. Scott, one has observed horrible results when even idealistic leaders “see like a state”; and because, like Milton Friedman, one recognizes that human freedom is implicit in reciprocal exchange; and because, like Ronald Coase and many others, one believes that markets are maximally efficient, and efficiency yields human goods. One might look with real anger at cases like democratic India and Tanzania before they embraced market freedoms and draw the conclusion that liberalization is good for human flourishing.

But these are not the only valid or relevant insights. Even if states and planners can never see or know everything important, neither can markets. Even if freedom is implicit in exchanges, it does not merely lie there, for people are not only producers, traders, and consumers. Besides, even if freedom is infinitely precious, so is happiness, and that is more likely to come from belonging to a community than from having myriad choices. Even if markets are maximally productive, they also destroy people and nature.

So without sacrificing fundamental libertarian insights, one can develop a theory that encompasses a personal ethic of philanthropy, a positive stance toward communities and their norms, and policy proposals that direct their benefits at poor communities (such as government-funded vouchers for education, microfinance loans, or giving slum-dwellers land titles). And if these policy proposals don’t work out, one can adjust. In that case, a sophisticated, nuanced libertarianism emerges. Although it is not my view, I would never disparage its proponents’ personalities.

In contrast, there is a view that sees all obligations to assist or care for other people (other than honoring contracts) as burdens and threats to liberty. It opposes not only central planning but also ethical and emotional entanglements. To me, that is an immature theory, much as socialism is immature when it ignores the need for incentives and limits on power. I do not think that embracing the simplest version of libertarianism is typical of young people, but I do suspect that a certain type of young man who is hyper-confident about his own capacities and alienated by human entanglements is drawn to the simplest version. And I am willing to say that that is immature.

Seamus Heaney, The Republic of Conscience (questions for a discussion)

Below is the text of Seamus Heaney, “From the Republic of Conscience,” which was commissioned by Amnesty International and published on Human Rights Day, 1985. The text is from David Pierce (ed.), Irish Writing in the Twentieth Century: A Reader (Cork University Press, 2000), p. 1033. It makes an excellent stimulus for reflecting on your relationship to the political world, ideally in conversation with peers.

Seamus Heaney, The Republic of Conscience
Questions:

What literally happens in the poem? What is the plot?

Why do the immigration authorities show the narrator a picture of his grandfather and ask him for his traditional cures and charms?

What would it be like to have citizenship only in the Republic of Conscience?

Where do the salt and seawater that they hold sacred (and use for writing) in the Republic of Conscience come from originally?

Why is lightning good and fog, bad?

What shows that the Republic is “frugal,” and why is it so?

Why were the visitor’s arms different lengths when he arrived?

What is the significance of the Republic’s “sacred symbol,” the boat?

I think the language of the poem is beautiful, and it describes beautiful things. What is the relationship between aesthetics and conscience? Can you have a conscience and not appreciate beauty or express yourself beautifully? (Does it matter that this statement is a poem?)

What does the visitor think about power? Is the Republic of Conscience actually an anarchy?

What does it mean that the ambassadors are never “relieved”? Is that a good thing for them, or a bad thing? (or both?)

Are you a dual citizen of the Republic of Conscience?

(One final note about this poem, which is generally free of specialized vocabulary. Apparently, curlews are impressively migratory birds, traveling across continents and oceans. The Call of the Curlew is also the title of a novel, which I do not know, by Taha Hussein.)

Mill’s question: If you achieved justice, would you be happy?

In a bout of deep depression, the young John Stewart Mill asked himself:

“Suppose that all your objects in life were realized; that all the changes in institutions and opinions which you are looking forward to, could be completely effected at this very instant: would this be a great joy and happiness to you?” And an irrepressible self-consciousness distinctly answered, “No!” At this my heart sank within me: the whole foundation on which my life was constructed fell down. All my happiness was to have been found in the continual pursuit of this end. The end had ceased to charm, and how could there ever again be any interest in the means? I seemed to have nothing left to live for.

When, as a teenager, I first read Mill’s Autobiography, I jumped to a reductive interpretation. Mill had been overwhelmingly influenced by his father; he began to doubt his father’s doctrines; at the same time, he became depressed; and he recovered as soon as his father died. Even premonitions of the elder Mill’s death cheered him:

I frequently asked myself, if I could, or if I was bound to go on living,  … . I generally answered to myself, that I did not think I could possibly bear it beyond a year. When, however, not more than half that duration of time had elapsed, a small ray of light broke in upon my gloom. I was reading, accidentally, Marmontel’s “Memoires,” and came to the passage which relates his father’s death …. A vivid conception of the scene and its feelings came over me, and I was moved to tears. From this moment my burden grew lighter. The oppression of the thought that all feeling was dead within me, was gone. I was no longer hopeless: I was not a stock or a stone …

This all struck me (at age 18) as amusingly Oedipal. But now I think that Mill didn’t just hate his Dad; he was reaching a crucial insight about the importance of the inner life for politics, and vice-versa.

Mill was the son of a political theorist who gave him an influential position as an administrator of British India. Thus he had “what might truly be called an object in life; to be a reformer of the world. My conception of my own happiness was entirely identified with this object.”

Although not comparable to Mill in intellect or influence, I too have devoted most of my work life to political engagement. Like him, I am grateful that I’ve been able to think theoretically while wrestling with practical issues in real institutions. Mill recalls that “the opportunity which my official position gave me of learning by personal observation the necessary conditions of the practical conduct of public affairs has been of considerable value to me as a theoretical reformer of the opinions and institutions of my time.”

But his crisis emerged when he realized that, even if we could perfect the rules, institutions, and distribution of goods and powers of a society, we would achieve nothing unless people also knew how to be happy and free. (More on that here.) To tie your own happiness to the building of a just system would be ethical (in a self-sacrificial sort of way), but only if other people could benefit inwardly from the justice of the society you helped build. Otherwise, it would be a pointless exercise. Indeed, it might be just as helpful to develop and share ways of being happy and/or free. Mill says,

the important change which my opinions at this time underwent, was that I, for the first time, gave its proper place, among the prime necessities of human well-being, to the internal culture of the individual. I ceased to attach almost exclusive importance to the ordering of outward circumstances. …

For what it’s worth, I am also increasingly interested in “the internal culture of the individual.” Most interesting to me is how we should think and feel as individuals if we also take action on public matters under highly imperfect conditions. What kind of happiness can that sort of work afford? And what kind of happiness is appropriate if our political work has little success?

the New Hampshire youth vote

(En route from DC to Boston) in lieu of a substantive post today, I’m just going to link to CIRCLE’s New Hampshire youth vote analysis. Exclusive from CIRCLE is an estimate that youth turnout was 15% in the primary. That’s not too great (as the following chart shows), but one reason is surely the lack of a contested Democratic primary. Missing a whole party will always lower turnout–and young voters lean Democratic in states like New Hampshire.

Republicans have opportunities with young people and should aim to attract more of them than John McCain did in ’08–but they are starting far behind. Ron Paul continues to attract substantial youth support, but it may not translate to the eventual Republican nominee; besides, his numbers in Iowa and New Hampshire are far behind Obama’s in 2008. In fact, Obama got nearly as many young votes in ’08 as the whole Republican field received yesterday.

suddenly, everyone is talking about civic education

(Washington, DC) Yesterday, I and others spoke at the Brookings Institution on “Teaching America: The Case for Civic Education.” (Summary and audio here.) Today, the White House will host a conference entitled “For Democracy’s Future: Education Reclaims Our Civic Mission.” At that event, Secretary Duncan will speak “on connecting college, career and citizenship,” and a report will be released entitled “A Crucible Moment: College Learning & Democracy’s Future.” The White House conference can be viewed live at www.whitehouse.gov/live.

Here’s my current “elevator speech” about civics:

Many people bemoan the poor state of students’ knowledge of the US Constitution and political system and call for course requirements and tests. That’s what “strengthening civics” means to them.

But students actually don’t do badly on basic questions related to the Constitution and the US political system–probably because almost all of them are already required to study those topics, and many face high-stakes tests. (I am in Washington to help plan the National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP) in civics, and my colleagues who are middle-school teachers are confident that their 8th graders know all about Marbury v Madison, Brown v Board, and Tinker v US–although maybe not New York Times v. Sullivan.)

In any case, CIRCLE has found no impact of course requirements or mandatory tests on what students know about the constitution and the US political system. So demanding more courses and tests is beside the point. The real problem is that kids don’t learn how to deliberate with people who disagree with them and then plan responsible, productive, collaborative voluntary action on current civic issues. Deliberation used to be taught in the prevalent course known as “Problems of Democracy,” but the “Problems” course was cut in most states after 1970. (Congratulations to Hawaii for putting it back recently, under the name “Participating in Democracy.”)

To put deliberation-plus-civic-action back in the curriculum would be tough. It would require standards focused more on deliberative skills and civic engagement than on abstract political science. States would have to change course requirements to encourage classes that involve moderated discussions of current events and civic activities. Individual, paper-and-pencil tests would have to be replaced by assessments of how students talk and work in groups. (Computer simulations are promising for that purpose.) Finally, teachers would need opportunities to learn how to moderate deliberations and think about civic action.

In one sense, adding a single new course seems like no big deal. But it would require substantial shifts in policies and resources and a new understanding of what’s important about citizenship.