Gut liberalism

Philosophy, Politics

It has been obvious to me for a while that Generation X was the last generation to be inculcated with liberal values. And by “inculcated, I do not mean only that we were taught to affirm the truth and correctness of a set of explicit liberal principles. We were trained to perform mental and social liberal acts. Perhaps it would be better to say that we were initiated into a liberal praxis. We are the last to understand liberalism from within.

What do I mean by praxis? Praxis is a reinforcing feedback relationship between theory and practice. Theory guides practice. Practice informs theory. The theory-guided practice informs theory. The practice-informed theory guides practice. Behind this loop, a set of intuitions develops, which move and shape perceptions, conceptions and responses. This intuitive grounding gives practice a reflective lucidity and theory applicability and effectiveness, and both a spontaneous naturalness. Praxis creates a tacit common sense among thinking and doing (and sometimes feeling). In other words, through praxis we develop a faith.

Until a faith develops behind praxis, the theories are only known about. And the actions are executed via memorized mental instructions. The practice is theoretically explained by reciting memorized concepts. The words and actions are stiff and unnatural.

After a faith develops behind praxis the words and actions are animated by something spontaneous and masterful, and they have a grace and naturalness. A person with faith-grounded praxis clearly “knows what they’re doing.” Their hands and bodies act with intelligence. And their minds are deferential. The mind knows it plays a leadership role, but must share credit with the whole being.

The point I am trying to make is that a great many young people I attempt to discuss politics with have been initiated into an illiberal praxis backed by an illiberal faith. They believe what they have been taught to believe about liberalism, from the understanding of an illiberal faith that rules out solidarity and understanding among unique persons, and accepts only shared interests among members of identities. They have been taught criticisms against liberalism and have accepted them uncritically, and are therefore closed to liberalism as a praxis, because it has been rejected as a theory. And against all evidence, they have been taught to interpret their own internalized nihilism, despair and dissatisfaction as caused by liberalism (and capitalism!), when, in fact, this unhappiness is a symptom of their own illiberal faith.

This seems true across the left-right spectrum. Young right-wing post-liberal youth are as smugly contemptuous of liberalism as the “left”-wing progressivists. They each see themselves as confronting an ideological other from the most diametrically-opposing position possible — as utterly opposite as Bolsheviks and Nazis.

From the perspective of this political Flatland, they cannot conceive how they are opposed from outside by something their omniscience cannot conceive, submerged in oblivion, a nothing from nowhere.

The sun is setting on our liberal-democracy. This is not because our institutions have eroded, or because one bad side is ruining everything. It is because we are running out of citizens who know how to participate in liberal-democracy. Liberalism must be inculcated in the young through education, but instead of educating our children, we stashed our children in childcare facilities where they were pacified for convenient management, while their parents dedicated themselves to what matters most in life: their career paths to retirement. The tradition has been broken, and now it is decaying, and the more people celebrate this fact, the faster we rot.

Changes of faith

Philosophy

In metanoia, what really happens? So much of it transpires beyond anything we can communicate. It isn’t ineffable. We can say all kinds of things about it. The problem is with being heard and understood. We are faced with an unhappy choice: We can say what makes perfect sense to our own ears, and face the perplexity, angst and hostility of those unprepared to comprehend our incomprehensible words, or we can translate our truth to familiar terms and be radically misunderstood.

Designers face this reality with their uninitiated clients and collaborators. We can “speak the language of business” and make do with approximate and often inadequate understandings of our work and what is required to do it effectively, or we can try to teach them designerly ways of understanding so they can collaborate with us effectively, or at least support the work, or at least not make our work impossible.

In reality, coming to that understanding requires a gentle transition from the familiar to a new unfamiliar praxis. The transition is only partly mental. Much of the understanding is acquired through doing. It is intuited in the How-doing hands and in the Why-feeling heart long before the What-knowing head catches up and can chatter explicitly about the What, How and Why of the work. To get that What-How-Why to coalesce and stabilize is to have a faith. The faith is not in the content of the understanding, nor is it in the willful believing of that content. Faith is what acts behind the understanding, that makes the explicit content of belief understood and self-evidently true. But to people who think exclusively in terms of systems of explicit content this just seems like mystical vapidity, a thereless there.

This understanding of design is not just a metaphor for religion. It is a species, or maybe a region, of religious understanding. There is a designerly metanoia a person will undergo, which will effect in them a designerly faith, which will animate their being and make it possible to think, feel and act as a designer in any situation where design is needed.

But returning to the question: in metanoia, what really happens? Do we awaken slumbering mental or spiritual faculties that allow us to receive previously undetected givens? Do we reorganize or recrystallize our souls to accommodate (or accommodate ourselves to) new intuitions and conceptions? How does it happen that a person and the world are reenworlded together in an event which changes nothing and everything together in one epiphanic rush? Does this question even need resolution? Or can we let it go with the simple fact that something of our ownmost own, nearer even than the content of our most intimate belief changes, and the consequences ripple outward to and beyond the furthest edges of the universe, before the advent of time and after it.

The Chinese coins hung from my reading lamp dangling over my right shoulder, are each the size of everything. It is only the metal part of the coin that is spatially constrained. The outer edge of the metal disk radiates an infinitely extensive circle along a two-dimensional plane, symbolizing in two dimensions an infinitely extensive sphere in a three-dimensional volume. This is the environmental part of the coin. But punched in the center of the metal is an empty square. This finite square-shaped bit of space is separated from the infinite environment of the coin, but it is also continuous with it, despite its apparent separation, and this is especially apparent when we see this coin from outside its plane, in three-dimensional space. Spatially-speaking, the metal is also continuous with the interior and environmental space, and the only difference is some of the space is occupied with the metal of the coin, and the rest is occupied by space and materials understood to belong to the coin’s environment. The entire world is saturated with myriad overlapping Chinese coin environments. These coins are quite overwhelming when we intuit their actual being.

When someone is faithless to another person, this just means they have allowed themselves to reenworld to us in unfamiliar form, as strangers. And some strangeness is so estranged it does not even want reconciliation, but increased estrangement. For reasons of its own, the new faith wants to divorce itself and alienate itself from the formerly uniting faith. We call it “breaking faith” for reasons few people recall.

Three neglected distinctions

Philosophy, Politics

I want to call attention to three crucial distinctions that I seldom see made, but which are disastrous if conflated.

  1. Evil versus immorality. Evil is acting with sadistic intent to harm or annihilate. Immorality does not intend suffering, harm or annihilation, but it tolerates or supports what does harm, and sometimes even tolerates or supports evil. When evil and immorality are conflated, moral judgment loses a primary point of orientation, and well-meaning people can be manipulated to tolerate or even support causes whose only goal is sadism, harm and annihilation. The passionate revulsion humans naturally feel toward evil is channeled into whatever examples of immorality capture their attention (whether injustice, indifference, disrespect or tribal animosity).
  2. Authoritarian versus totalitarian. Authoritarians attempt to tyrannically control what individuals do (and do not do). Totalitarians attempt to tyrannically control not only what individuals do, but also how they think and feel. Totalitarianism is not authoritarianism taken to an extreme; totalitarianism has the aim of displacing intuited reality with its own constructed truth, and it has its own path of development. When totalitarianism and authoritarianism are conflated, the visible brutality of authoritarians can be used to divert attention from cultural propagation of totalitarian ideologies through propaganda and indoctrination.
  3. Moral explanation versus justification. Moral explanation is descriptive, and causally accounts for the thoughts, attitudes and actions of an individual or group. Moral justification is normative and morally assesses the thoughts, attitudes and actions of an individual or group. When these are conflated a sympathetic description of how a person or group became evil can be passed off as a justification of evil.

I just know that something good is going to happen

Biography

I have always felt — and I believe this is a generational feeling — that something inconceivably good could happen.

Kate Bush sang of it in Cloudbusting.

I just know that something good is going to happen

I don’t know when

But just saying it could even make it happen

We also felt knew something inconceivably bad could happen. We fully expected to be annihilated in nuclear war. Every generation has its apocalyptic anticipation. Ours was nuclear holocaust. We cannot conceive our own inevitable nonexistence, so we channel the dread of this inevitability into some end-time event, and make it an object of all-consuming fear. Nuclear holocaust, the apocalypse, global warming. Every generation is the first to face the real existential threat.

We inhabited a vacuous present, which is an interregnum preceding the inconceivable good or bad event. This present offered us only tedium under fluorescent lights, a long, pointless trudge through the Stations of Quotidia to pointless retirement, all utterly impossible for any person to want. We were commanded to want it, anyway. We had no way to comply. You can’t make yourself want something unwanted (though you can want to want and use that as a counterfeit for wanting). But we discovered that we could extract some meaning and dignity from defiantly refusing to do what was impossible, as if we were choosing not to comply out of spite. (Punk was our pica. We didn’t have proper nutrition, so we ate soil and cigarette butts, and it was, to our impoverished palates, delicious.)

I think young people today have been taught to sneer at inconceivable hope, and to take every signal from within the soul literally. They are fixated on a literal climate apocalypse, and are too knowing for salvation. In another age they would be Father Ferapont, or one his modern secular politicized echoes.

Their ideology blinds them to the connection, because for them the gulf between scientistic believing and creedal believing is absolute. The one thing they do have right is that they are not religious. Father Ferapont confuses his creedal ideology with a religious faith.

The one thing the adherents to the post-postmodern doom cult cannot conceive is the possibility that they are not the moral pinnacle of humankind — judges fit to condemn (or faintly and tentatively praise) the present and all that has come before. There is a covert moral narcissism hidden in this attitude that brings to mind the words of Nietzsche: “Whoever despises himself still respects himself as one who despises.”

The metacognitive incompetence of these young judges in their self-assessment of their own judgment defies all comprehension. Ironically, moral judgment is the only place where they have any confidence at all, but it is precisely here where their confidence is least warranted.

Ungrounded is not abstract

Philosophy

I believe what is making so many people feel alienated from the world, from other people and from themselves is too much playing with remote notions and far too little intuition of what is present.

If the world feels like a simulation to you, maybe you inhabit a simulation. If you feel like a ghost, maybe you are not doing what is required to be.

Lacking intuitive grounding, the ideas the alienated thinker plays with are not even abstract. After all, an abstraction is abstracted from something real and concrete. An ungrounded idea might share the simplicity and insubstantiality of an abstraction, but it can’t even claim to represent anything other than itself.

Too much ungrounded thought-play and a thinker will almost automatically succumb to that perennial radical cop-out that today narcissistically claims to be a courageous assertion: reality itself is constructed.

People wonder why art today is so uninspiring: “When a poet is not in love with reality his muse will consequently not be reality, and she will then bear him hollow-eyed and fragile-limbed children.” Nietzsche saw what is coming, the last time it came.

Intuition abuse

Philosophy

Some people cannot believe something exists only if they are unable to think it.

Others think the more something is encountered as the existent it is, the less it can be thought, and the more one must rely on direct intuition, such as perceptions or tacit know-how and tacit feel-why.

This is a Kantian — not Jungian — use of the word intuition. By this use, intuition is a direct, non-linguistic, non-logical, non-representational relationship with some real, present entity or being we are presently encountering.

I am strongly in the second camp. Intuition gives us what is present. What we actually encounter in reality will always be partially incomprehensible and inconceivable, but, through skillful use of intuition supplemented by thought can become more comprehensible and conceivable.

Our thoughtful intuitive dealings with realities of various kinds is the best data (literally “givens”) for representations of reality. Thoughtful intuition provides us a repertoire of representations faithful to the real entities and actual beings we attempt to represent in language and thought. It also develops our capacity for interpreting and responding to present realities.

Intuitive grounding makes thought reasonable, and not merely ideologically logical — or capriciously illogical.

If we approach present realities representation-first, scanning for representations to recognize and logically manipulate, we lose our ability to improve our representations. Our ideology limits our ontological repertoire and we experience only what we were already “ready to see” or “ready to hear”. This data gets fed into our cognitive processes, which are also often limited to an ideological toolset. Ideologically-determined nounset interact by an ideologically-determined verbset.

But approaching representations intuition-first is also disastrous. Capricious illogic and intuitive manipulation of mental representations acquired willy-nilly from wherever does not produce a reliable sense of reality, nor any sense of the kinds of supernatural realities new age mystical types think they know. Intellectually laziness, indisciplined and unscrupulousness only reinforces and intensifies whatever unchosen prejudices and attitudes that passively infected our minds.

To rely on one’s intuition in matters of representation or language or logic to try to understand a distant reality is to misuse intuition and to short circuit intuition and turn it toward mental objects, instead of outward toward beings and entities transcending our mind. Intuiting mental objects is not a proxy for intuiting the realities these mental objects claim to represent.

A strong aversion to learning and informing your mental objects in order to make them more faithful representations — to rely instead on intuiting mental objects already inside your head — this is an alienation from reality akin to solipsism.

Moral benchmarking

Ethics, Philosophy

Before I dig all the way down into Bernstein’s Radical Evil, I want to benchmark my current views on what is evil, vs immoral, vs unethical.

Evil means active desire to annihilate and inflict suffering on other people.

Immoral means supporting evil, while stopping short of being evil oneself. One accepts, affirms and strengthens the conditions of evil and beliefs of evil-doers, while lacking evil desires.

According to this view, most progressivists are immoral. Only some among them — the ones who support Hamas, chant their slogans and mean it, or the ones who enjoy harming, abusing, terrorizing and humiliating living manifestations of identities they hate — are actively evil to any real degree.

But most progressivists I talk with believe the same things evil progressivists believe, and differ primarily in lacking an appetite to take part in the sadism and destruction. Part of progressivist immorality consists in a stubborn incuriosity to look into who they support and the practical implications of their beliefs. This allows them to water down their immorality with amoral ignorance, and to dissociate themselves from what they passively support, while also enjoying a sense of tribal belonging and security.

Ethics is fidelity to the behavioral rules of an ethos, which includes linguistic behaviors. It is entirely possible to be highly ethical within an amoral ethos. To be truly moral, one must actively choose a moral ethos. But most people are not morally responsible, and do not make such choices. They are merely ethical, and fail to make moral choices of any kind.

Richard J. Bernstein on evil

Ethics, Existentialism, Judaism, Philosophy

I have been observing an uncanny moral blind-spot among many people I know. They are apparently oblivious to an obvious distinction — that between 1) a violent desire to annihilate another people and inflict and savor their suffering, versus 2) an unavoidably violent defense against those who wish to annihilate and inflict suffering.

It is as if they need to skeptically dismiss out of hand making such distinctions.

Or maybe they know how to make this distinction among individual people, but cannot discern these distinctions among groups of people. (I do think an incapacity to understand political bodies plays into this problem, and in the compulsivly identitarian politics of the illiberal left and right but I do not think the bizarre amorality I am witnessing is attributable to this incapacity.)

These morally-blind people try to see the difference between better and worse strictly quantitatively: How many people have died on each side of the conflict? If the tally on one side is too big, the side with the larger numbers is morally abhorrent.

I am deeply bothered by this seeming incapacity of so many people to see perceive moral truths. I feel pain over it. And I intuitively blame them for their blindness. But I have not clarified this intuition, articulated it, or justified it.

This might be why Richard J. Bernstein’s 2001 book Radical Evil leapt off my shelf and caught my attention a couple of days ago. It opens with this gut punch:

In 1945, when the Nazi death camps were liberated, and the full horrors of what had happened during the war years were just beginning to emerge, Hannah Arendt declared, “The problem of evil will be the fundamental question of postwar intellectual life in Europe.” Later, when Arendt was asked about her first reactions to the rumors about the extermination camps (which she first heard in 1942), she said that it was as if an abyss had opened. “Something happened there to which we cannot reconcile ourselves. None of us can.” Arendt, like many others — especially the survivors of the camps — felt that what happened in the camps was the most extreme and radical form of evil. “Auschwitz” became a name that epitomized the entire Shoah, and has come to symbolize other evils that have burst forth in the twentieth century. We might also mention Cambodia, Rwanda, Bosnia — names and sites so very different, yet manifesting horrendous events that we desperately try to understand, but to which we cannot reconcile ourselves. Yet there is something extraordinarily paradoxical about the visibility of evil in our time — a visibility that can be so overwhelming that it numbs us. Andrew Delbanco acutely observes, “a gulf has opened up in our culture between the visibility of evil and the intellectual resources available for coping with it. Never before have images of horror been so widely disseminated and so appalling — from organized death camps to children starving in famines that might have been averted. … The repertoire of evil has never been richer. Yet never have our responses been so weak.” We have been overwhelmed by the most excruciating and detailed descriptions and testimonies; nevertheless the conceptual discourse for dealing with evil has been sparse and inadequate.

What do we really mean when we describe an act, an event, or a person as evil? Many of us would agree with what Arendt once wrote to Karl Jaspers: “There is a difference between a man who sets out to murder his old aunt and people who without considering the economic usefulness of their actions at all . . . built factories to produce corpses.” But what is this difference? How is it to be characterized? What are we really saying when we speak of radical evil?

Philosophers and political theorists are much more comfortable speaking about injustice, the violation of human rights, what is immoral and unethical, than about evil. … It is almost as if the language of evil has been dropped from contemporary moral and ethical discourse.

This brings the problem into the heart of my existentialist project.

For many people, what is thinkable limits what they will accept as real.

By “thinkable”, I do not merely mean what can be explicitly spoken about or argued. I mean what their faith can grasp. What exceeds the reach of their faith’s intuition, they regard not only as inconceivable, but unreal, non-existent. “If I cannot conceive the holocaust, it must have been exaggerated or invented.” If I cannot conceive the murderous mindset of Hamas, it must be sneaky Jew-propaganda fiction.”

I’ve noticed that people who approach the world this way resist whatever threatens this obliviousness. It is as if they viscerally need whatever realities transcend their faith to not exist. And they harbor semi-secret contempt for philosophy, so nothing can really challenge the solipsistic omniscience of their gnosis.

As an existentialist, I truly believe that existence precedes essence — “thatness” precedes “whatness” — that reality far exceeds the scope of our actual and potential faiths, which means completeness of truth content is the least of our worries. We lack the mental fingers required to grasp the truth of a great many realities.

And today, some of these realities loom directly before our faces, staring malevolently directly into our eyes, unseen.

By finding ways to conceive and speak about these unspeakable realities, we can detect them and respond to them. This is why philosophy is urgently important, especially right now.

But precisely those who need it most feel superior to philosophy. They see it as irrelevant, idle, speculative, abstract. They see it as a clumsy approximation of their gnostic omniscience. How wrong they are.

Jewishly

Judaism, Love

For my entire adult life, I’ve returned, again and again, to C. S. Lewis’s “Meditation in a Toolshed”, usually to re-critique it from a subtle variation on the same basic complaint. In his meditation, Lewis observes a beam of light from the side, and has an insight that this looking at the beam of light from the side does nor reveal the light the same way that looking directly up into the beam does. My complaint is that maybe there are better things to do with light sources than examine their beams or stare directly into them. Perhaps I am just weird, but my preferred use for light sources is to illuminate spaces and the objects in those spaces.

I mean this both literally and metaphorically.

Today’s version of the complaint is no different, except today I want to suggest (or re-suggest) that this complaint I’ve been making is a Jewish one. And by “Jewish”, as always, I mean in accordance with Buber’s fundamental insight of I-Thou, which is the whence of my faith — the from-where — or to translate it into hippie, “where I’m coming from”.

Here is what Buber says in I-Thou, which I read as an expression of my complaint.

When you are sent forth, God remains-presence for you; whoever walks in his mission always has God before him: the more faithful the fulfillment, the stronger and more constant the nearness. Of course, he cannot attend to God but he can converse with him. Bending back, on the other hand, turns God into an object. It appears to be a turning toward the primal ground, but belongs in truth to the world movement of turning away, even as the apparent turning away of those who fulfill their mission belongs in truth to the world movement of turning toward.

It might be helpful here to re-quote Saint-Exupery:

Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.

I believe, with my entire stubborn Jewish faith that the famous Jew that so many people want to face, contemplate, love and worship, never wanted to be loved face-to-face in that romantic  way that lovers love, as they stare into each other’s eyes.

With Buber, I believe that this exceptional Jew very Jewishly wanted us to stand next to him in the light of creation, our backs warmed by his Father’s radiance, and look out upon a divinely-illuminated world with him.

Please do not hate me for saying these things, which I fully believe and consider of highest importance. I love Jesus, Christians and Christianity, but my love is a thoroughgoing Jewish love.

Hineini and amen.

Two senses of polycentric

Design

For a while now, I’ve been referring to service design as a polycentric design discipline. I picked up the term from Michael Polanyi. Nobel Prize winner, Elinor Ostrom, also adopted the term and made it mainstream in the wonkier regions of nerddom.

Polanyi and Ostrom use the word polycentricity to describe social systems where agency is distributed throughout the system, not centralized or imposed from above.

I’ve been using the word in related, but distinctly different way. I use polycentric to describe design disciplines that design for multiple interacting people, all of whom are treated as I-centers of their own experience. I use it to contrast service design from older design disciplines that placed one person — a user, or customer, or employee, or patient or citizen, etc. — at the center of their design work, the person experiencing the designed artifact. Service design is polycentric, where older human-centered design (HCD) disciplines like UX design or industrial design are monocentric.

But what if we also thought of service design as polycentric in the same sense as Polanyi and Ostrom? From that perspective we could say that polycentric design establishes conditions where mutually beneficial social arrangements emerge, as spontaneously as possible, sustained by voluntary choice.

This is not just theoretically interesting. It has practical importance. With increasing frequency, my clients are coming to me with situations where they are trying to persuade partners who are outside their direct control to collaborate with them to deliver services to their customers in specific ways at a high standard of quality. Problems of this kind absolutely must be approached polycentrically.

This connects with something I’ve noticed many times in my three decades as a designer. Design thrives where people have choice and agency. Wherever people have choice and agency, we must abandon coercion and manipulation, and instead appeal to them as people who make free decisions based on their experience.

When the internet opened a broader range of choices to consumers and equipped them with more information to make smart choices, their agency increased, and this sparked a sort of design methods renaissance.

But now, due to a variety of factors, employees and non-employee partners also have more agency and more choices, and access to information required to choose options that works for them.

We are still not yet in an economy where all organizations need service design.

As long as an organization can command their employees and partners to behave however they want, a polycentric approach like service design is not necessary. The organization can just engineer rules and tools for service delivery, and everything will work like a well-oiled machine.

But if you are not in a position to boss your service delivery people around, either because they don’t work for you, or because they can choose to stop working for you if they don’t like being bossed around, service design is your best choice.

So, to summarize, when I say “polycentric design”, polycentric refers to two kinds of center: 1) experiential centers, and 2) agential centers.

Psychic common sense

Enworldment

The body has five senses. The soul has a various and variable number of senses.

The common sense of the body is the material world given to us through the five senses. From what we see, hear, smell, touch and taste, the world is given to us. And this given sensory world is what we have in common with all persons and all peoples.

The common sense of the soul — psychic common sense — is reality given to us by the soul’s various and variable senses. This psychic common sense cannot be assumed to be held in common with all persons and peoples. But we need to have it in common with those nearest us. (A shared psychic common sense is what we mean when we refer to close relationships.)

As the soul’s senses emerge and die out, the psychic common sense reconfigures to reveal and conceal different realities and different actual relations among them. These realities and relations are, to us, the meaning of the world.

By the psychic common sense of our moment, we notice or neglect the people and things, significance and beauty, of what surrounds and environs us. And by the psychic common sense of our moment, we recall or forget, anticipate or suppress, believe or deny, value or dismiss the testimony of present, future, past, always and never.

The givens of our life, sensory and psychic, unconfined from the mind, transcendent of mere self, come to us or hide from us in the swirling chrome clouds of oblivion that forever envelop us in partial nothingness. The tone and color of the world’s meaning changes ceaselessly like seasons and weather.

Let’s call the various and variable emerging-dying psychic senses “enceptions”.

Let’s call the common sense arising among the enceptions “faith”.

Let’s call the world given by our sensory and psychic common sense “enworldment”.

People are hopelessly confused about what faith is, when they treat faith as a will to believe. Faith is nothing other than the common sense of the soul.

To be a faithful person — spouse, friend, community member, devotee — is to maintain ourselves in a stable psychic common sense, so that we stay continuously reliable and familiar to those around us who need to to be who we are to them. An unfaithful person can suddenly become strange to us and estrange us.

Don’t we all need room to grow and change? Yes, but we must instaurate a continuity, through justifications, accounts, explanations, stories and reconciliations.

The storyline threads in the experience mesh of our lives together are forever coming undone. We must never stop repairing and reweaving the fabric by darning our own storyline thread back with the threads who neighbor us.

Equalities

Ethics, Philosophy, Politics

In a liberal-democratic order we are equal as citizens before the law.

In communion we are equal as souls within God.

In society, however we are not equals before one another. We assume roles and perform them within hierarchical systems — and these roles cary varying degrees of responsibility and authority. But in this social inequality, we must always remember our spiritual and political equality.

But those who do not understand the existence of political and spiritual have cannot know spiritual and political equality. So they can only conceive achieving equality in the social domain. Some demand equality from every social order, which is impossible, while others, noting the impossibility of social equality, deny the possibility of any equality. These are the origin of left illiberalism and right illiberalism, respectively.

The ethic and ethos of liberalism

Ethics, Politics

Liberalism is not a morality. Liberalism is an ethic.

The distinction I am making here is this: Morality is unconditional; ethics is contingent upon ethos.

An example of morality is rejection of sadism. There is never a situation where sadism, especially extreme sadism like that of Hamas on October 7th, is justified. Anyone who cannot understand this is a sociopath, or is morally confused to the point of sociopathy. Sadism can be explained, but explanations are not justifications. I am saying here that not only is sadism immoral, but justification of sadism.

The value of a liberal ethic is entirely instrumental. An ethic is a means to the end of supporting a liberal social order — a liberal ethos.

(A point where morality and ethics connect. Morality requires keeping ethical commitments. There are moral ways to renegotiate commitments, and immoral ways to break them. I taught my children that there are no preexistent rules to relationships, but once rules are made, those rules are ethical realities one is morally obligated to honor. And then there is etiquette, which is neither moral nor ethical, but something else of enormous importance.)

For a while now, I have been declaring “mutuality is for the mutual”. When I say this, I refer to ethics, and the ethic I almost always mean is liberalism. But this is not the only ethos. Friendships of various kinds also have their own ethics. Every enduring friendship is its own ethos and has its own ethic and etiquette.

When I make the mutuality declaration what I mean is this. Where there is no liberal ethos, and no reasonable possibility of a liberal ethos, a liberal ethic is not appropriate. Where illiberals are likely to exploit liberalism to undermine a liberal ethos, it is unethical to extend the rights, privileges and courtesies to illiberals.

Yes, this is a very dangerous stance to take. Conditional liberalism is the slipperiest of slopes. But unconditional liberalism is just as slippery, and we have already slipped far from our best liberalism. I meet very few liberals under the age of 40.

And, yes, the line between liberalism and illiberalism is faint, fuzzy and ambiguous. But fuzzy boundaries do not negate the clarity we see at the extremes. We can debate how liberal Winston Churchill or Franklin Delano Roosevelt were, but the fact that Axis leaders were illiberal, and less liberal than Churchill and Roosevelt is beyond reasonable dispute.*

And yes, if illiberalism is presumed, liberalism cannot take root and flourish. Sometimes an intricate and delicate dance must take place between nervous and skeptical liberals to cultivate mutual trust and establish a liberal ethos. It requires both liberals to “go first” and provisionally offer one another liberal courtesies. But there is a point where dancing ends and defensive maneuvers start.

I am still working on this. It does not yet feel complete and flawless. I do think it is fundamental,y right, though, so I’m putting it out there. There will be more.

  • Note: Regarding fuzzy lines and clear extremes, if you have a shred of intellectual and moral decency in you, you will admit that, while we can (and should) debate how moral or immoral Israel’s war conduct has been, there is no room whatsoever to dispute Hamas’s evil. Witness Hamas’s enthusiastic, joyous embrace of sadism on October 7, and its explicit genocidal goals. Israel is undoubtedly morally flawed. Hamas is undoubtedly morally depraved: evil. And anyone, however soft-hearted and well-intentioned, who justifies Hamas’s evil is morally corrupt. I stop short of calling them evil, but they support and enable evil to flourish, and that is immoral.

Bottled ghost

NOTA

If you cannot be someone to another — if you cannot maintain a reliable self — if you cannot exchange promises and obligations with others — if you only know how to live in parallel spectatorship with others, each an audience of the others — you will passively seek containing circumstances that prevent dissipation.

You will drift along, blown from haunt to haunt, until you drift into a windless space that no longer transports you, where you will settle into the life of a bottled ghost.

Perhaps you will settle in a monastery. Perhaps in a cubicle. Perhaps in some domestic limbo. Perhaps in an identity.

You’ll live a life of awaiting, vaguely anticipating a life to come that never comes, but which provides a semblance of stability to a wisp of being with no integrity or structure of its own.