Liam Bright on liberalism

April 6, 2022

Liam Bright has a thoughtful blog post up, articulating (briefly) his critique of liberalism as an ideology.  It’s well worth reading – I’ve been complaining for some time now that radical left critics of liberalism often severely underspecify their critiques, basically relying on the fact that most everyone on the radical left agrees that liberalism sucks, so it’s enough to label something ‘liberal’ and the critique is done.  Liam’s post is much clearer than most about what he takes liberalism to be, and why he rejects it, and this is good!

Still, I am a liberal, and in this post I want to defend liberalism against Liam’s critiques.  Specifically, I take my own politics to pretty closely align with the position articulated in the later works of the late, great Charles Mills, which Liam discusses and links to in his post.  Mills’ work, I take it, both articulates a damning and far-reaching critique of ‘actually existing liberalism’ (most notably in ‘The Racial Contract’), and argues that we nevertheless should not reject liberalism as such, wholesale, but should rather aim to transform ‘actually existing liberalism’ in a more emancipatory direction.  For Mills, the key to this argument is that there is not one unitary thing called ‘liberalism’.  Rather, there are many elements of liberalism, which can be assembled together in many different ways to construct many different liberalisms.  For example, liberalism’s schedule of rights, protections and freedoms (itself very historically variable), has, in actually-existing liberalism, typically been available only to very narrowly defined sets of social actors, picked out using politically-constituted boundaries of race, gender, class, etc., such that the bulk of humanity is excluded from the egalitarian space of rights that characterises the full liberal polity.  For Mills, though, such exclusionary politics are not an intrinsic feature of liberalism as such (though, to be clear, neither are they intrinsically opposed to it) – rather, they are features of the specific forms of liberalism – racial liberalism, patriarchal liberalism, etc. – that have actually been instituted historically.  The task of ‘radical liberalism’, Mills argues, is to transform the institutions of liberalism so that the full benefits of liberalism – historically enjoyed only by a minority of humanity – are extended to humanity as a whole.

The above is obviously a bit crude as a summary – there’s much more that could be said about Mills’ project – but it’ll do for now as a general overview of the position I’m defending.  On to Liam’s critique of liberalism.  Liam has three specific criticisms of liberalism as he understands it.  I’m going to very quickly quote them, then discuss them out of order.  It is of course worth reading Liam’s full post to get a more elaborated sense of his position.

First critique: “I do not believe that anything like the public reason / private sphere of activity can be made to work.  I think the state has to in fact take a side on contentious issues, there is no neutral position or viable overlapping consensus or anything of the sort”

Second critique: “The notion of private property used to undergird the notions of self-governance and a private sphere… contains within itself the seeds of the destruction of the liberal order.”

Third critique: “I rather suspect that high-income-lifestyle liberalism will either always be reliant on shifting the ultra-exploitation elsewhere or shall have caused ecological collapse well before it has time to transition out of this.”

I’ll expand on each of these points a little as I go, but these are the basic arguments against liberalism of the post.

Now, these three criticisms aren’t all of the same kind.  I take critiques two and three to be, as it were, counterfactual-empirical political-economic claims.  That is to say, Liam is arguing that there are defining features of liberalism as a political system that have predictable political-economic consequences that are sufficiently appalling to warrant the rejection of liberalism as a whole.  Critique one, by contrast, is more of a philosophical-political objection to the principles of liberalism itself.  I’m going to discuss these issues in reverse order, taking the political-economic points first, then discussing the political-philosophical one.  The short version, to foreshadow, is that I think Liam’s political-economic objections are really objections to capitalism, not liberalism, and that these aren’t the same thing.

So, on the first political-economic argument, Liam is arguing for something like the following bundle of claims: Liberalism’s schedule of individual rights, etc., is centrally undergirded by private property rights, in the context of a market economy; private-property-based market economies have an inescapable tendency towards the concentration of power and wealth in oligopolistic structures; oligopolistic power structures will in turn undermine emancipatory politics, including the apparently most desirable features of liberalism itself; therefore any desirable form of liberalism is self-undermining.

I think this is wrong, because it claims intrinsic or lockstep connections between features of liberal capitalism that can (and should!) in fact be disaggregated.  Here I think it is important to emphasise that liberalism and capitalism are not identical phenomena, nor are either unitary.  In particular, I want to emphasise what I take to be two dubious steps in this argument.

First, there is the claim that property rights are absolutely central to liberal rights in general – that upholding liberal rights without upholding individual property rights does not make sense as an ideological or institutional project.  I think this is wrong – or at least not clearly right.  It’s certainly true that many of the most prominent representatives of liberal political philosophy have connected individual rights in general to a model of self-ownership that builds property relations in at the foundations of their philosophical apparatus.  But do we have to do this?  I don’t see why.  It doesn’t seem obvious that (for example) liberal checks and balances within governance structures, or the rights to privacy, or freedom of assembly, or freedom of religion, or freedom of speech, or freedom of the press, or equality before the law, etc., can only make sense in a political-economic institutional structure that is centred around private property.  It seems to me that one can relatively easily imagine legal-political institutions that centrally enact some forms of collective ownership of property but that nevertheless protect the other major liberal rights and institutional structures. A case can of course be made against this (Hayek and Friedman, among others, make such a case!) but a case would have to be made.

So that’s my first claim: that Liam overstates the necessity of the connection between private property rights and other liberal rights and principles.

My second claim is that, even if we grant that private property rights within a market society are an ineradicable part of the liberal institutional package, Liam is wrong to argue that oligopolistic capture of state institutions is an inevitable consequence of private property rights.  I take it to be historically clear that market capitalism has strong tendencies towards oligopoly, state capture, etc.  But again it is important that we analytically disaggregate our institutions.  Liberalism is not identical with capitalism; capitalism is not identical with market society; all three categories are internally varied; and it is therefore far from clear that the negative features of capitalist society that Liam criticises follow directly from the institution of private property.  In fact, markets are extremely common historically – there were market societies long before there was capitalist society, or liberal society – and it seems to me to be a clear analytic mistake to attribute characteristics of capitalism to the consequences of markets in general.  Moreover, market socialism – and market anarchism – are major forms of left politics, and the central claim of these traditions is that a non-capitalist market society can be constructed that does not exhibit the kinds of concentrations of power that Liam objects to.  Obviously many leftists in turn object to this position, on grounds similar to Liam’s, but my own view is that these market socialist and anarchist traditions have a lot to recommend them.  At any rate, I don’t believe they should hastily be counted out, so to speak.

So – I think that Liam’s argument that liberalism is inseparable from private property, which is in turn inseparable from oligopolistic market power and state capture, makes at least two very substantial argumentative leaps, which I am personally unpersuaded can be cashed out.  Of course, Liam is being brief because it’s a blog post!  I’m not suggesting that it’s a problem with the post that it doesn’t show its workings in this area!  I’m just noting what I take to be an undermotivated set of inferences, given what I take to be reasonable background commitments.

Ok.  Liam also objects to liberalism on the political-economic grounds that actually existing liberalism is characterised by core-periphery relations of exploitation and domination, and massive environmental degradation, and he is sceptical that liberalism can be disentangled from these political-economic catastrophes.  Again, I want to stress that to my mind liberalism and capitalism are not the same thing.  I think it would take me too far afield to try to discuss what are intrinsic versus non-intrinsic features of capitalism in this post – though I have written about the question of whether capitalism is capable of tackling climate change on the blog before.  Again, I mainly just want to flag that these steps in the argument don’t strike me as clear-cut at all, and would at a minimum need quite a lot of heavy lifting to cash out.

Ok.  So my claim so far has basically just been that Liam’s post moves very quickly in its political-economic claims, leaping from liberalism as a political project to negative features of capitalism as a world-system in a way that in my view elides the very many potential points of institutional disaggregation between these two sets of phenomena.  That’s the political-economic side of things.  I’m aware that this is all incredibly telegraphic, but moving on for now.

The other side of Liam’s argument is the more directly philosophical-political one.  Here I’m going to quote Liam again at greater length.  First here’s Liam’s summary of the relevant dimension of liberalism:

Here we see liberal political thought gradually emerge as a response to the civil wars in England and the wars of religion on the European continent. The diagnosis the intelligentsia of the day came up with was something along the lines of — these disastrous wars were caused by making control of the state a zero sum conflict over the ability to realise the most important goods and avoid the most disastrous evils. As such, we should reconceive the role of government to avoid its capture being so high stakes. Rather than a means of securing the good, it should exist to keep the peace between potentially fractious citizens and groups thereof. Part of doing so involves dividing up matters into those of private conscience versus those of public reason. Matters of private conscience are for the individual to freely decide and for others to respect in their wishes. Matters of public reason are those for which we need some way of deciding on social action that does not override what is for properly for the individual — initially and usually conceived, to be clear, as the propertied male head of a household. Privately we ought develop virtues of tolerance and mutual respect to enable the “live and let live” required for this to work. And publicly notions of private property and a sphere of action and protected rights that should be relatively free of state or other- imposition are developed. This goes well with notions of democracy (among the people who really count) as embodying the commitment to public reason delivering results that treated all perspectives equally, not a priori favouring one religious subset over another.

And here’s his critique:

I do not believe that anything like the public reason/private sphere of activity can be made to work. I think the state has to in fact take a side on contentious issues, there is no neutral position or viable overlapping consensus or anything of the sort… What made it seem plausible that this was a solution to the problem of the wars of religion was that in fact very substantive consensus did exist among the various dominant Christian sects, and where that agreement wasn’t there they didn’t really feel the need to respect the rights of outsiders (go back and reread Locke’s letters on toleration if you don’t believe me). Or, at least, substantive consensus existed among the restrained class of people that liberalism was willing to consider full persons worthy of consideration. Now we have expanded that class massively, as we surely must, and perhaps with broader social changes bringing more diversity, it is simply no longer tenable to seek to govern in light of a minimalist neutrality. What I think it leads to are just bad faith illusory politics where people must pretend procedural objections when really substantive objections are at stake….

I think this is a clear articulation of a common radical left critique of liberalism, and I think it’s fundamentally misguided as a matter of principle.  In my view the liberal compromise Liam describes in the first quote is an extremely important and valuable political achievement, and rejecting it in favour of a society explicitly organised around a specific notion of the common good would be a political regression at best, and actively dangerous – potentially catastrophically so – at likely worst.  I think we on the left need to be really, really careful when we start articulating these kinds of rejections of liberalism.

My own academic research is in political economy, not political philosophy, so I expect the following to be somewhat clumsily articulated, but let me try to take this step by step.  Following Rawls, Liam summarises the liberal position as emerging from horrifying wars of religion, in which societies were torn apart and countless people killed by the effort of different religious factions to control the state, and thereby institute their vision of the common good using the levers of the monopoly of the legitimate use of force.  The liberal compromise was the idea of (a quite limited degree of) religious tolerance, in which the institutions of state would permit (some measure of) pluralism of religious worship within the polity, in exchange for a degree of ‘privatisation’ of that worship – religious communities would forgo the goal of attempting to impose their own religious preferences on the entire population, in exchange for the entitlement to worship as they pleased within a delimited private sphere.  Obviously (as Liam says) the degree of actual tolerance this settlement represented was limited – but still.  The basic idea is that the state would permit some measure of pluralism within society, refraining from wholesale imposing the preferences of the specific ruling class of the moment on society as a whole, and that this was the route to a peaceful polity in which people and communities with different visions of the common good could nevertheless peacefully coexist.

This settlement in turn then serves as a model for a broader vision of the liberal polity, in which a major function of state institutions is to mediate between many different subcommunities’ and individuals’ vision of the good life in a way that permits diverse pursuit of different visions of the good life within the polity, without any one such vision coming to dominate any other.  More broadly, the goal of the liberal polity, in this understanding, is to enable individuals to pursue their own vision of the good life as they please, without state power infringing on that pursuit of the good life, except when individuals’ pursuit of their own goals infringes on the rights of others to pursue their own lives as they in turn see fit.

Now, if you have this understanding of the role of the liberal state, then you need to constantly make a set of judgements about what categories of state action constitute protecting individual liberty, versus what categories of state action constitute infringing individual liberty, and for whom.  There is the famous ‘paradox of tolerance’, whereby a tolerant state has to make a decision about whether to be tolerant toward intolerance.  If a tolerant state is too tolerant towards intolerance, the argument goes, then intolerance will gain the upper hand within the state itself, thereby ultimately destroying the tolerance that the state sought to protect.  Therefore, the argument goes, tolerant states must be intolerant of intolerance.

Thinking in this kind of space, there are at least two ways in which a state that narrates its function in these terms to itself could go badly wrong.  On the one hand, the state may ‘tolerate intolerance’ in a way that destroys the liberalism and pluralism of the society it sought to protect.  On the other hand, the state may choose to suppress ‘intolerance’ in ways that in fact suppress completely legitimate political, religious, cultural, etc. activity.  There is, in other words, a constant task of making substantive political judgements about what kinds of activity are protected by the liberal state and what kinds of activity are suppressed by it, and this is itself a substantive political judgement: a substantive political judgement about what constitutes ‘formal’ freedoms.

I take it that this kind of thing is what Liam means when he says that “the state has to in fact take a side on contentious issues, there is no neutral position or viable overlapping consensus or anything of the sort”.  Even if we understand the liberal state in terms of this project of a politically ‘neutral’ defence of individual rights, the determination of what counts as politically neutral is itself always and everywhere political.

Ok – I agree with this point!  The boundary of the private sphere and the limits of pluralism within a liberal governance structure are political matters that are politically contested, and the institutions of ‘neutral’ liberal mediation are likewise politically constituted by actors with substantive interests struggling to shape the polity.  This is all true!  But I don’t think it follows at all from this point that the liberal political project is illusory or (intrinsically) bad faith.  It means it’s political.  But a pluralist sphere of freedom of individual or community action can be and is still constituted by means of this political process.

To return to the issue of religious tolerance, and stating the obvious: there is, of course, a massive difference between a polity in which substantive fights take place over the specific limits of liberal religious pluralism, versus a polity that is run as a theocracy.  The fact that the construction of the limits of liberal pluralism is never itself apolitical or neutral does nothing to diminish the massive difference between these two categories of governance.  And I think this kind of point is often dismissed or ignored by radical left critiques of ‘liberal formalism’.  It’s true that no formalism or proceduralism is ever just formal or procedural.  But this doesn’t mean that formal rights or mediating procedures are functionless or valueless – quite the reverse!  It means that they are sites of contestation, like everything else, but they are specifically sites of contestation because of how important they are in, yes, protecting individual and community rights.

So this is my core objection to Liam’s post on liberalism.  When Liam says that we should give up on the political project of liberalism, on the grounds that liberal institutions are nothing more than a bad faith facade, and instead orient to some kind of common good, I object both analytically and politically.  Analytically, I think that the idea that liberal proceduralism is nothing but a bad faith facade is a mistake, for the reasons I’ve just outlined.  Politically, I think that pluralism, at both an individual and a community level, is an active political desideratum.  Our political goal should, in my view, be the traditional liberal one of enabling everyone to live their life as best they see fit – to flourish in their own terms, provided doing so brings no harm to others.  Self-consciously constituting a polity around a shared common good is, in my view, in important ways in tension with that goal.

5 Responses to “Liam Bright on liberalism”


  1. […] also links at the end to some response pieces, of which I found this one especially […]


  2. Hi, Duncan,

    I have been following your posts with great interest and pleasure and regret that I simply don’t have the reading that would enable me to make a useful intervention, except in this particular where one question seems to me to present itself.

    I agree that we cannot define a particular way of life that is good for everyone, though we can specify certain provisions that must be in place for “equality of opportunity” to have any real meaning: housing, education, health care, etc; but it’s less easy to specify what counts as “harm” when we speak of allowing people to find their own way to the good “providing they cause no harm to others”.

    Consider only the different views about what constitutes spiritual or psychological harm, particularly in the area of sexuality and particularly where children are involved. Ask yourself, for example, why the campaign against “paedophiles” is such an important part of QAnon’s pitch. I’m sure you can think of other examples and I wonder how we liberals can deal with this.

    Do any of your theorists address this question?

    Best wishes, Chris.

  3. duncan Says:

    Hi Chris, thanks for your comment as ever!

    As I say in the post I don’t feel like I’m at all on top of the political philosophy literature so at base… what do I know? I definitely agree though that one of the ‘soft underbellies’ of this kind of liberal theory is the question of what counts as a harm to others, since – as you say – more or less anything can be construed as unjustifiably harming others (or as an infringement of others’ rights) if we construe things the right (or wrong) way. I think this is part of what I’m trying to get at in the post when I say that what counts as the boundary of the ‘neutral’ sphere of protected private action within a liberal polity is always a matter of political contestation. To take an example (in addition to the ones you mention): it seems like it’s easy to make a case for blasphemy laws, on the grounds that blasphemous speech is sufficiently offensive to members of the relevant religious community that the presence of blasphemous speech causes enough harm to warrant its prohibition. But blasphemy laws also seem like they’re clearly an infringement on freedom of speech, and not one that I personally would be keen to welcome. So this kind of thing can’t really be settled at the level of ‘formal’ principles, in my view, but rather has to be settled at the level of substantive contestation and debate over what the ‘formal’ principles we’re instituting actually amount to in practice. I don’t think there’s really a way around that kind of ‘messy retail business’.

    Where I differ from critics of liberalism like Liam, though, is that to me this kind of analysis is, as it were, just a specification of what it means to institute liberal principles at all – it’s not actually a critique of liberalism. So yes, we can’t nail down at any abstract level what counts as justified minor harm versus unjustified major harm – that’s always a matter that’s open to contestation, and that boundary will be endlessly revised as the balance of political power shifts and as sensibilities change. But that’s the hard work of politics, basically. We’ve just got to accept it as a feature of liberalism and get on with it, rather than imagine that the fact that this task is always ongoing and disputed makes the principle of a liberal public sphere somehow incoherent. At any rate, that’s the case I was trying to make in the post, however successfully.


  4. Hi, Duncan,

    The subject of punishment is one on which you and I have differed in the past, but I want to return to it because I think it’s central to the question of liberalism as a social rather than merely economic project. I hope the following hangs together.

    Death, pain, isolation and deprivation of basic physical needs would be regarded as harmful by almost everyone in almost any situation; this is the commonsense view of harm; but we are bound to recognise that there are some situations in which some people choose to endure isolation, pain, starvation and even death, so we can’t specify with any certainty what counts always and for everyone as “harmful” to them.

    What the criminal law tends to focus on, however, is not the nature of the harm in itself, but the intention of the one by whom what commonsense recognises as “harm” is caused, and there are four kinds of intention the law distinguishes: (1) malicious and therefore inexcusable, (2) reckless and therefore inexcusable, (3) defensively necessary and proportionate, and therefore excusable and (4) dutifully required in the execution of a judicial sentence of punishment, and therefore righteous.

    Whether the intention driving any “harmful” action falls into either of the first three categories is an empirical question to be decided by a jury, but the intention to cause harm involved in the fourth category is logically certain insofar as it is imposed explicitly as a “punishment”, which is by definition intended to be experienced as harmful by the one on whom it is inflicted and assumed to be so by everyone else.

    The harmful intention of punishment is justified as righteous in various ways: (a) as justly deserved in retributive terms by convicts insofar as they are responsible agents with free will; (b) as implicitly consented to by convicts in terms of a supposed Social Contract to obey the law for the protection of society or suffer the legal consequences; (c) as restoring some kind of moral balance and thereby providing “closure” for victims.

    Legal punishment as intentional harm is also justified as a “necessary evil”, i.e., excusable in utilitarian terms as a deterrent to prospective offenders for the protection of society, – but also as righteous, even noble, insofar as ensuring that offenders are detected, convicted and punished imposes risks on individuals (police, witnesses, etc) and costs on society.

    What these attempts at justification ignore is the fact that the parliaments which make the law and the courts which adjudicate it are only human and therefore fallible so that in the past people have been punished for breaking laws we have now abolished as unjust; also that some existing laws, particularly those involving sex and drugs, have an equally questionable relation to justice; and that many people have been wrongfully convicted under current laws and then punished, with ruinous effects on their lives, as in the recent case of many hundreds of post-office managers in the UK falsely convicted of dishonesty as a result of faulty Post Office software.

    Regarding the justification of punishment as a deterrent, there is a substantial consensus among criminologists that punishments, no matter how severe, have very little deterrent effect on ordinary crime because the vast majority of offenders commit their offences surreptitiously and only when they believe they have a good chance of not being caught. Punishment has a seriously deterrent effect, however, on political opposition which can succeed not by surreptitious action, but only by attracting public attention, thereby exposing activists to detection and punishment.

    Slavery and tyranny can’t survive without the use of punishment, but, where it’s accepted as an institution within the gates of a liberal democracy, we need to recognise it as a Trojan Horse from which, in extreme circumstances such as those we are now increasingly entering, its enemies may break out to destroy their host. Sentencing of convicts in a liberal democracy ought to be directed only by the intention to do no more than is rationally justifiable as a necessary and proportionate for preserving the salus populi, wisely identified by Cicero as the suprema lex.

    If prospective law-breakers believed that they were very likely to be detected and that, when convicted, they’d be subjected not to deliberate harm, but to such effective forms of control as are practically necessary for the protection of society from the offences implied by their convictions, then it’s reasonable to assume that this belief would have a deterrent effect at least as strong as that of the increasingly severe punishments that have manifestly failed to stem the relentless rise of prison populations in the UK and the US since the Thatcher/Reagan revolution of the 1980s.

    Of course, what I have referred to in general terms as “forms of control” might be harmful to those they were imposed on, but wouldn’t be intended to be so and for some might be actually beneficial. This would involve a radical reorientation of our attitudes to the criminal law away from the urges of the right-wing press that convicts be left “to rot in hell”, and towards the spirit of those parents of murdered children who, in more than one case during my lifetime, have appeared on television to say that they don’t want the perpetrators punished, but only to be sure that they’re prevented from murdering any more children.

    The justification for punishment as deserved retribution for those who cause harm either maliciously or recklessly prompts the question of what retribution is deserved by those who maliciously and recklessly demand that convicts be deliberately harmed when they know very well that laws under which people are convicted can be unjust and that their convictions can be unsafe; and a similar question applies to the victims who demand that convicts be punished as a means to providing themselves with “closure”.

    Finally, what could be more absurd than the political philosophers’ claim that convicts can be assumed to have consented implicitly to a Social Contract which commits them, if convicted, to patiently enduring harm being deliberately inflicted on them, – even if they didn’t actually do what they’ve been convicted of? Some jurisdictions have acknowledged this absurdity where the death penalty is concerned, but have failed to apply the same logic to punishment in general, perhaps because liberalism has developed in a close, but ambiguous and always uneasy relationship with capitalism, where there’s always pressure for market forces to be allowed to rip and for terroristic measures to be available to control the political resistance provoked by the increase in inequality which inevitably follows.

    Chris

    P.S. I have just started (following your reference to him) the book Charles Mills wrote along with Carole Pateman. Very interesting.

  5. duncan Says:

    Chris –

    So I feel I have limited amounts to say about this, because at base my reading and thinking mainly focuses on political economy rather than on criminal justice, etc., and so I never feel like I have much of value to contribute to these discussions. Of course, the criminal justice system can’t be simply placed in a different box from political economy, because the state’s monopoly on the use of force and the criminal justice system associated with it are institutional features that ‘undergird’ many of the other institutions we’re talking about in political economy! Even so, though, I feel like I haven’t really done the reading and thinking required to usefully contribute much on these themes.

    With that said, I guess I have a couple of rough ‘intuitions’ in this space. The first is that I agree with you (or with what I take to be your view!) about the monstrosity of the actually-existing criminal justice system – the kinds of ‘punishment’ we see regularly enacted are so in excess of what is required for any reasonable (to my mind) understanding of the ‘public good’ that one can only really react in horror to it all. Moreover, I agree with what I take you to be saying about the range of justifications for the criminal justice apparatus. Vengeance, ‘closure’, etc. are by my lights simply illegitimate reasons for the exercise of this kind of state power (or of power in general). I do think there’s a case for criminal justice disincentivisation of harmful actions, though as you say a large proportion of existing punishments seem to be clearly wildly excessive relative to any credible analysis of useful disincentive. But at base the only really good reason for ‘severe’ forms of punishment is to protect others. I think we broadly (perhaps even precisely!) agree on all of this. And this perspective leads pretty much immediately to the conclusion that much of the existing criminal justice apparatus is appalling, and would have to be replaced near-wholesale in the kind of ideal future you or I might dream about.

    So that’s my first intuition. When you say we’ve differed on the subject of punishment in the past, perhaps this relates to my second intuition on the issue. As of course you know (very likely better than me), there is a body of thought on the radical left that argues that we can essentially completely abolish the criminal justice system in general – no prisons, no cops, no courts. Again, I want to stress that this is not my area of personal research focus and I don’t regard myself as having much of use to say in this area. But my sense is that this body of thought often argues that a combination of alternative approaches to crime – for example, restorative justice – and a transformed social context that will eliminate the major drivers of crime, has the ability to lead to a social situation in which all the kinds of problems that are currently tackled by the criminal justice system either will not arise in the first place, or will be addressed by other methods. My second intuition, then, is that this is a far too optimistic vision of the possibilities of social transformation. Personally I can’t really imagine a future that doesn’t contain (for example) violent or murderous sadists who are a danger to those around them. I’m just pessimistic about human behaviour in this respect – not in the sense that I think that there is an invariant malign ‘human nature’ that cannot be escaped, but in the sense that I think every individual, and every society, contains multitudes, and some of those multitudes are always going to be malign. I therefore don’t believe it’s possible to construct a future in which some kind of coercive apparatus is not used to constrain the actions of those who threaten others.

    So my attitude to the criminal justice system is sort of suspended between these two intuitions. On the one hand, I am entirely on board with your comments about the illegitimacy of retribution, the absurdity of imagining a ‘social contract’ that binds us to cheerfully and uncritically accept the coercive power of the state, and so on. On the other hand, I’m not willing to draw from this first intuition an unqualified ‘abolitionist’ politics around criminal justice, because I think there will always be enough bad stuff out there that we can’t do without coercion as a tool of community (and individual) protection. So my ideal scenario, I guess, is one in which ‘punishments’ are radically reduced, and their determination is informed purely by (what are by my lights) legitimate considerations of future protection from harm, not by questions of retribution, etc.

    Of course it’s easy to say this – the problem is that when, in practice, you have a criminal justice apparatus, it too will be guided in significant part by the kind of malign motives and gratifications that inform my general pessimism about human behaviour. Good luck constructing any institution that doesn’t itself channel these ugly dimensions of humanity. So then we’re flung into, as it were, a kind of ‘public choice’ problem: how do we relate to these institutions given that we know that in practice the chance of their actions conforming to your or my ethical preferences is functionally zero? And this, I’m afraid, is where I basically throw up my hands and return to my original point: that this is not my own area of research, and I don’t at base have anything very useful to say about these extremely daunting problems…

    Best,

    Duncan


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