My first introduction to Jean Jacques Rousseau, citizen of Geneva, occurred in less than favourable circumstances, and it is only today, earlier rather than later in my journey, that I have had the chance to see him in a new light. The agent bearing principle responsibility for this shift is Judith Shkar’s essay on the two types of utopias Rousseau advocates for: ‘Sparta and the Age of Gold.’[1] It is one of those fortuitous occurrences one does not imagine to intentionally come across, but manifests itself as a chance encounter that can only be the mysteries of fate and chance. Such accidental meetings are essential encounters, fleeting as they may be, for while the agents themselves may be small — sometimes even words or phrases, not even entire sentences, sometimes essays, not books — they are shifts of some ethereal character in otherworldly encounters that break what can sometimes turn into monotony and banality. To this date, I have thought of Rousseau as the proud father of the noble savage (knowing fully well that he never used the word even once in his oeuvre), of fantastical lands, the theoretician of the Homo Ignoramus.
A Short Note on Reaching 100,000 Words
On May 17 of this year, I wrote my first post for this blog, and precisely eighty days later, on August 4, on this very post, I will have finished writing my first 100,000 words for any single project. At the outset, I must state that the original mission of the blog — to be a running journal for my thoughts — has been modified. It contains few knee-jerk reactions, but more of the passing thoughts of a scholar. My sole digression — the interest in Indic religion and the search for a political ethic and understanding of politics in Indian texts was limited to one, but the blog provided an avenue for the understanding of what it means to be doing political philosophy as a career and vocation and less as an academic burden. The topics it has addressed are wide-ranging; they are extensive only because I cannot keep myself placated with a minor feat of learning but am animated by the desire to continuously learn more. In these eighty days, I have had many crises of faith, some of which have found their way on its blog; I have remembered, forgotten, and then channelled some of my passion into a more regular form of learning and understanding; I have read beyond my wildest dreams, and yet, for some reason, I find the need to know more. It is a compulsive desire to know — but also to remember, to write for friends and fellow travellers on my academic journey — that has guided this blog [and a love for Chicago-style full notes]. Thus, I venture to offer a few thoughts, more supported by the brunt of my experience than by other sources of knowledge.
Continue reading “A Short Note on Reaching 100,000 Words”The Functional Aristocracy
R.F. Tawney’s The Acquisitive Society is a hallmark of thinking about the moral economy, and this is not the first time that I have expressed any measure of sympathy and agreement for the criticism he makes of the present system, without necessarily approving of its consequential form of organisation.[1] In my last post, I covered some of the key aspects of Tawney’s thought; this post is dedicated to his definition of hierarchy’s role in property. At the outset, it must be noted that Tawney’s aristocratic politics have a remarkable salience with Alexis de Tocqueville’s, but there is a marked difference insofar as while both recognise the aristocracy to be functional, to be with an end, a purpose, Tocqueville is far more enraptured by it while Tawney’s praise is strongly qualified and is present as a conditional preference, not as a good in itself. I will first examine Tawney’s thoughts on aristocratic governance before comparing them with Tocqueville’s in The Ancien Régime.[2]
The Roots of Acquisitive Societies
It is my earnest belief that all young men and women ought to read R.H. Tawney’s The Acquisitive Society, a book that is sincere, thoughtful, and probing, but without the hawkishness of Burke, for example.[1] It is not a revolutionary tract — it is exploratory. And that is what separates it in essence from that of Karl Polanyi’s work, for example. Tawney understands perfectly well the desire to make the world anew, and then, in his subtlety, lets that desire go to be more prudent and moderate. One must not necessarily subscribe to the conclusions that Tawney advocates — I do not — but that does not mean that the arguments expanded upon are worth examining, and that the questions posed demand answers, even if those answers are not Tawney’s, or may require some modification to accommodate the rise of our technological society.
Changing Ideas and the Unitary Whole
In her essay on John Stuart Mill, Gertrude Himmelfarb writes:
“For almost a century and a half, On Liberty, for liberals and conservatives alike, has been a major text in intellectual history and a source of inspiration in practical affairs. But there is the Other Mill, who wrote essays that were bold and novel in his time and that remain remarkably prescient and pertinent today.”[1]
The Acquisitive Life and the Good Life
R.F. Stalley remarks in his introduction to Aristotle’s Politics:
“Disturbingly, however, he [Aristotle] does not disguise the fact that only a limited section of the population will be able to achieve such a life. Many people lack the appropriate capacities, but, in any case, the existence of a city requires that a substantial number of its inhabitants engage in occupations which are inconsistent with a good life. Manual labour and trade not only take up time, but they also render people unfit for the activities which Aristotle sees as worthwhile.”[1]
Hard Facts, Utopic Visions, Sceptical Sights
It is the sign of an overly active imagination and a restless mind that one focuses more on what ought to be than what is, which is the question we face in the present moment: must we prefer hard ‘facts’ to utopic ‘visions’, the present to the future in its entirety, or the past in all its knowingness, to the detriment of the now and henceforth. The question of escapism, of voluntary renunciation, or of blatant ignorance of the world is a question posed to many in the ivory tower, but is of pressing importance to the philosopher of politics, if only because the very birth of political philosophy was in a heedless utopia, and its most ardent expression in perhaps the most common-sense abstractions (of course, it is not always as dichotomous as this, and certainly Aristotle ought not to have acquired a reputation for various forms of pedantry and didacticism, but that is wholly another matter). What separates the enviable political philosopher from the second-rate thinker? Is it wholly in making compromises with reality, or is the same virtue as that which applies to politics itself — neither an excess, nor a dearth — of some value here? Is methodological neutrality as chickenish as neutral positions often sound, the sign of an insecure individual unable to commit to any one side and reserving the most ‘obvious’ position whilst refusing to think in any way that would endanger his ‘common sense’? This subject is of peculiar interest here not because of Schumpeter’s irritable gestures against Aristotle, which are beyond inflammatory. It is because of a more contemporary debate, one that has taken place for all time and will continue to take place. Does a ‘thing’ have an ‘essence’ or an ‘end’, a telos? Is the teleological mode of thought such a wretched mode of analysis, unsophisticated and brutish, or does it appear to bear some sophisticated manner of thinking that ought to have some relation to the manner in which we think of questions in the first place, even before we examine answers?
Continue reading “Hard Facts, Utopic Visions, Sceptical Sights”
A Hierarchy Problem
In his De Re Publica, Cicero writes:
“For legal equality — the object of free peoples — cannot be preserved: the people themselves, no matter how uncontrolled they may be, give great rewards to many individuals, and they pay great attention to the selection of men and honours. And what people call equality is in fact very unfair. When the same degree of honour is given to the best and the worst (and such must exist in any population), then equity itself is highly inequitable. But that is something that cannot happen in states that are ruled by the best citizens.” (1.53)
The Centralisation of Power
In his analysis of farmers and the subsistence ethic, James C. Scott writes:
“In bad years the collection of taxes fell off substantially and, reluctantly, remissions were granted for whole districts hit by floods, pests, or drought. This lenience may in part have been due to a symbolic alignment of the traditional court with the welfare of its subjects but it was also surely a reflection of the traditional state’s inability to reliably control much of its hinterland.”1.
Continue reading “The Centralisation of Power”
- James C. Scott, The Moral Economy of the Peasant: Rebellion and Subsistence in Southeast Asia: Rebellion and Subsistence in South East Asia (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1977), 53 ↩
A Few Prescient Sentences
“There are times which are not ordinary, and in such times it is not enough to follow the road. It is necessary to know where it leads, and, if it leads nowhere, to follow another. The search for another involves reflection, which is uncongenial to the bustling of people who describe themselves as practical, because they take things as they are and leave them as they are.”
—R.H Tawney, The Acquisitive Society (New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1920), 2.
How fitting for our times!