Are We Truly Free?
I mean by this, "Are we free to loosen the restraints imposed by our liberty?" If this sounds like double talk, scroll down and reread my blog on the difference between freedom and liberty. (A brief refresher: The former is what we are naturally born with, the latter what we have left after we bargain away some of our freedom.) Every law imposed by every government limits the freedom of the governed. Thus, every government, whether democratic or despotic, limits our freedom to some extent.
However, only in (small "d") democratic governments can the degree of our freedom be said to have been negotiated by the interaction of the people and their government. Even in a republic, where the people delegate their law-making power to legislators and executives, the people are ultimately "in charge," since they can remove from power those they have put in power.
But in this country the process of removing elected officials from office is doggedly slow, two years being the shortest period that must elapse before a "hired hand" can legally be fired. Given the speed at which the modern world changes, much discomfort may ensue before we are able to deprive the guilty parties of their power.
The Founders were well aware of the weakness they were building into the new constitution, but to be honest, they were more concerned with the intelligence of the people (who were ultimately to be in charge) than they were with the qualifications of the elected officials. Aside from setting certain age and (in some cases) citizenship requirements, they were of the opinion that even if the legislators and executives were somewhat less than perfect, their shortcomings would still offer a better alternative than entrusting the government directly to the people.
A much longer article than I intend to write would be needed to outline the various arguments offered pro and con by the delegates to the Constitutional Convention in 1787. The terms "federalist" and "anti-federalist" came out of that debate, with the federalists favoring the strong central government that finally won the day. The anti-federalists, led by George Mason and Patrick Henry, were concerned that the Constitution, as drafted, was silent on the matter of civil rights. Madison, the pro forma leader of the federalists, was finally persuaded (by a Baptist minister) of the need for a Bill of Rights, and in his capacity as a member of the first House of Representatives, led the fight to draft and ratify the first ten constitutional amendments.
Taken as a whole, the amended Constitution can be understood to establish a relationship between the people and their elected representatives. I will henceforth refer to the latter as "the government," but bear in mind, the government remains an elite group of real people. The government thus exists as flesh and blood, whereas the laws enacted by the government exist as a set of ideas. It is in the light of that difference that I have asked the question that appears as the title of this piece: "Are we truly free?"
That is, given that the ideas embodied in our laws have been finely woven into the very fabric of our nation and its culture, can we actually change our minds about them? Do we still have enough residual freedom to undo in our minds some of the most fundamental ideas that bind us as a people?
These questions have come to the fore in the current government's struggle with the financial crisis. When the government, empowered by due process of law, decided to purchase stock in several large corporations, the people (actually, the press and certain campaigning politicians) accused the government of socialism, implying that socialism was somehow not legal in this country. And indeed, pure socialism, in which the government is the de facto and de jure owner of all property is indirectly forbidden by the Fifth Amendment: ". . . nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation." While it is conceivable that the government could purchase on the open market a controlling interest in corporations, the price paid being by definition a "just compensation," I do not imagine that such an arrangement would last unless the people were convinced that the government's actions were good. Nevertheless, it does not appear on the surface that the government is constitutionally restrained from purchasing stock in private corporations.
The question of whether they should or not gets to the heart of the question. An aversion to socialism exists de facto in the hearts and minds of the majority of the American people. But if that aversion were mitigated by circumstances such as arose in the Great Depression and as loom in the current situation, if in fact the people were to come to believe that true socialism (as opposed to regulated capitalism) were desirable, could the will of the people override the will of the government?
The phrase "the will of the people" begs for an explanation. Obviously, if all the people were of the same opinion regarding a move to a socialist economy, the question would be settled. The question remains arguable in view of the fact that the people almost certainly would not be of the same will. We would expect that those whose property would be taken by "just compensation" might be averse to the deal. But of more vital importance are the intellectual questions that would certainly arise in the minds of those who, having no horse in the race, would nevertheless regard socialism as a bad idea.
This gets to the heart of the conflict the Founders dealt with (and reluctantly compromised on) in 1787. A majority of the people may desire what a minority may regard as economic suicide. The opposite might also be the case, the majority favoring the status quo, the minority favoring change.
As ordinary as this disagreement may seem, the question would, in all likelihood, not be resolved by anything resembling intelligent discussion. It would be settled politically. The opposing cases might very well be presented to the people by intelligent commentators, say, George Will for the capitalist system, a resurrected Walter Lippman arguing for socialism. But unless the Founders were wrong about the sanity of the people, even if the cases were widely and fairly publicized, the masses would not be swayed by the logic of the arguments but rather by emotional appeals to their uninformed and perhaps misunderstood self interest.
Foremost among the forces that passes itself off as "self interest" is the desire of the people to continue along the path set for them by their inherited culture. Thinking is hard. Going along is easy.
These truisms do not hold when the pain being inflicted by the "way we were" becomes intense. Joseph Conrad observed that "No fear can stand up to hunger." He was referring to the fear of cannibalism, but he might as well have (and may have in fact) meant the fear of a radical breaking away from deeply held inherited beliefs.
But neither the pain of radical change nor the pleasures of "togetherness" qualifies as an intellectual argument. They both represent emotional appeals. Unfortunately, in the mind they share mental space with logical argument. Hormones and neurons are two inter-related residents in the same cranium. Out of the cerebral admixture of thought and emotion come the ideas that determine action.
At least one of the Founders (Madison) viewed the mind in this Spinozistic way, and perhaps it was this view that led him to his Platonic distrust of the people. I do not know whether Madison or any of the Founders knew of the paradox they had designed into the Constitution, where the people elect clever men whose highest claim to cleverness lies in their ability to convince people of their cleverness. If we argue that their cleverness lies in their ability to reason with the people, then that implies that the people are reason-able. But if the people are reason-able, then they would not need to surrender their freedom to a "wiser" elite.
I personally believe that socialism is a bad idea, and that regulated capitalism is the best of the bad choices available to us. But if you were to ask me to defend my belief in a way that would have a chance of being accepted by "the people," I would find myself writing emotional appeals and couching them in high-sounding words like the ones you have just read. (My conscience dictated that I say that.) I would be a politician.
There is an answer to the question I asked, but I am under no illusion that the answer would appeal to everyone. The answer is simply this: "Yes, we are truly free." And in our freedom lies the uncomfortable fact that we have created the mess we now find so painful. If we seek to exonerate ourselves personally from the ill effects of our economic miseries, then let us confess to having not thought too well before we delegated our freedom to men who were not quite up to the job we hired them to perform.
It works better, however, if we forget that argument and take personal responsibility. To act otherwise is to admit that we are a member of that ignorant "confederacy of dunces" the Founders took us to be. Better to admit to a mistake than to pretend that we are powerless to act.
However, only in (small "d") democratic governments can the degree of our freedom be said to have been negotiated by the interaction of the people and their government. Even in a republic, where the people delegate their law-making power to legislators and executives, the people are ultimately "in charge," since they can remove from power those they have put in power.
But in this country the process of removing elected officials from office is doggedly slow, two years being the shortest period that must elapse before a "hired hand" can legally be fired. Given the speed at which the modern world changes, much discomfort may ensue before we are able to deprive the guilty parties of their power.
The Founders were well aware of the weakness they were building into the new constitution, but to be honest, they were more concerned with the intelligence of the people (who were ultimately to be in charge) than they were with the qualifications of the elected officials. Aside from setting certain age and (in some cases) citizenship requirements, they were of the opinion that even if the legislators and executives were somewhat less than perfect, their shortcomings would still offer a better alternative than entrusting the government directly to the people.
A much longer article than I intend to write would be needed to outline the various arguments offered pro and con by the delegates to the Constitutional Convention in 1787. The terms "federalist" and "anti-federalist" came out of that debate, with the federalists favoring the strong central government that finally won the day. The anti-federalists, led by George Mason and Patrick Henry, were concerned that the Constitution, as drafted, was silent on the matter of civil rights. Madison, the pro forma leader of the federalists, was finally persuaded (by a Baptist minister) of the need for a Bill of Rights, and in his capacity as a member of the first House of Representatives, led the fight to draft and ratify the first ten constitutional amendments.
Taken as a whole, the amended Constitution can be understood to establish a relationship between the people and their elected representatives. I will henceforth refer to the latter as "the government," but bear in mind, the government remains an elite group of real people. The government thus exists as flesh and blood, whereas the laws enacted by the government exist as a set of ideas. It is in the light of that difference that I have asked the question that appears as the title of this piece: "Are we truly free?"
That is, given that the ideas embodied in our laws have been finely woven into the very fabric of our nation and its culture, can we actually change our minds about them? Do we still have enough residual freedom to undo in our minds some of the most fundamental ideas that bind us as a people?
These questions have come to the fore in the current government's struggle with the financial crisis. When the government, empowered by due process of law, decided to purchase stock in several large corporations, the people (actually, the press and certain campaigning politicians) accused the government of socialism, implying that socialism was somehow not legal in this country. And indeed, pure socialism, in which the government is the de facto and de jure owner of all property is indirectly forbidden by the Fifth Amendment: ". . . nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation." While it is conceivable that the government could purchase on the open market a controlling interest in corporations, the price paid being by definition a "just compensation," I do not imagine that such an arrangement would last unless the people were convinced that the government's actions were good. Nevertheless, it does not appear on the surface that the government is constitutionally restrained from purchasing stock in private corporations.
The question of whether they should or not gets to the heart of the question. An aversion to socialism exists de facto in the hearts and minds of the majority of the American people. But if that aversion were mitigated by circumstances such as arose in the Great Depression and as loom in the current situation, if in fact the people were to come to believe that true socialism (as opposed to regulated capitalism) were desirable, could the will of the people override the will of the government?
The phrase "the will of the people" begs for an explanation. Obviously, if all the people were of the same opinion regarding a move to a socialist economy, the question would be settled. The question remains arguable in view of the fact that the people almost certainly would not be of the same will. We would expect that those whose property would be taken by "just compensation" might be averse to the deal. But of more vital importance are the intellectual questions that would certainly arise in the minds of those who, having no horse in the race, would nevertheless regard socialism as a bad idea.
This gets to the heart of the conflict the Founders dealt with (and reluctantly compromised on) in 1787. A majority of the people may desire what a minority may regard as economic suicide. The opposite might also be the case, the majority favoring the status quo, the minority favoring change.
As ordinary as this disagreement may seem, the question would, in all likelihood, not be resolved by anything resembling intelligent discussion. It would be settled politically. The opposing cases might very well be presented to the people by intelligent commentators, say, George Will for the capitalist system, a resurrected Walter Lippman arguing for socialism. But unless the Founders were wrong about the sanity of the people, even if the cases were widely and fairly publicized, the masses would not be swayed by the logic of the arguments but rather by emotional appeals to their uninformed and perhaps misunderstood self interest.
Foremost among the forces that passes itself off as "self interest" is the desire of the people to continue along the path set for them by their inherited culture. Thinking is hard. Going along is easy.
These truisms do not hold when the pain being inflicted by the "way we were" becomes intense. Joseph Conrad observed that "No fear can stand up to hunger." He was referring to the fear of cannibalism, but he might as well have (and may have in fact) meant the fear of a radical breaking away from deeply held inherited beliefs.
But neither the pain of radical change nor the pleasures of "togetherness" qualifies as an intellectual argument. They both represent emotional appeals. Unfortunately, in the mind they share mental space with logical argument. Hormones and neurons are two inter-related residents in the same cranium. Out of the cerebral admixture of thought and emotion come the ideas that determine action.
At least one of the Founders (Madison) viewed the mind in this Spinozistic way, and perhaps it was this view that led him to his Platonic distrust of the people. I do not know whether Madison or any of the Founders knew of the paradox they had designed into the Constitution, where the people elect clever men whose highest claim to cleverness lies in their ability to convince people of their cleverness. If we argue that their cleverness lies in their ability to reason with the people, then that implies that the people are reason-able. But if the people are reason-able, then they would not need to surrender their freedom to a "wiser" elite.
I personally believe that socialism is a bad idea, and that regulated capitalism is the best of the bad choices available to us. But if you were to ask me to defend my belief in a way that would have a chance of being accepted by "the people," I would find myself writing emotional appeals and couching them in high-sounding words like the ones you have just read. (My conscience dictated that I say that.) I would be a politician.
There is an answer to the question I asked, but I am under no illusion that the answer would appeal to everyone. The answer is simply this: "Yes, we are truly free." And in our freedom lies the uncomfortable fact that we have created the mess we now find so painful. If we seek to exonerate ourselves personally from the ill effects of our economic miseries, then let us confess to having not thought too well before we delegated our freedom to men who were not quite up to the job we hired them to perform.
It works better, however, if we forget that argument and take personal responsibility. To act otherwise is to admit that we are a member of that ignorant "confederacy of dunces" the Founders took us to be. Better to admit to a mistake than to pretend that we are powerless to act.
posted by Benedict S. at 8:14 AM
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