Abstract
Realizing Hope is written by and for the political activist rather than the academic. This is evident from the lack of explicit reference to the literature of political philosophy or political science. Nevertheless, it is a book rich in political ideas which reflect new thinking among those who have, over the past decade, protested against neoliberal globalisation and war. In doing so some have developed significant and grounded critiques of the capitalist economy and its attendant social institutions. This book ought, therefore, to be of interest to political and social theorists and to social movement scholars considering the politics of contemporary left activism.
While Albert's earlier work Parecon: Life After Capitalism (London: Verso, 2003) focused almost exclusively on economics, his latest book reaches out into every sphere of life. In less than 200 pages he covers a remarkable breadth of institutions: from polity to art and from science to crime, while leaving space to consider the relevance of Marxism and anarchism as well. He begins by recalling Parecon as a vision for new economic structures in a participatory economy (hence the name) that aim to fulfil core values found within the gamut of social movements which have collectively become known as ‘anti-globalisation’ or ‘global justice’. Centrally, Realizing Hope applies the values of solidarity, diversity, equity and self-management to investigate the intersection of Parecon's institutions with multiple social structures; it seeks a coherent and positive vision for social change.
The consistency of Albert's arguments, applied to so many domains, is the triumph of this book. Rather than repeatedly applying the same logic he carefully avoids conflating different social systems, arguing, for instance, that ‘There is nothing in the defining institutions of capitalism … that even notices, much less differentiates and hierarchically arrays men and women … [But] if a society's sex-gender system hierarchically differentiates men and women, capitalist economy will not ignore that reality but will aggressively exploit it’ (pp. 38–9). However, the very breadth of focus – in combination with the principled necessity to leave many choices open to future participatory decisions – leaves much of the book's vision unsatisfactorily vague. Within movements that have typically valorised diversity and participation Albert may well come under fire even for those concrete proposals that he does describe. But as a political vision subject to analysis, the reader is left with far more questions than Albert has answers for.
Kevin Gillan
(City University, London)
Against the assertions of a long line of conservative thinkers running from Adam Ferguson through Carl Schmitt to Roger Scruton, Rodney Barker convincingly argues in this thought-provoking sequel to his Legitimating Identities (Cambridge University Press, 2001), that enemies and enmity are not an essential and inescapable feature of politics, but merely a contingent and avoidable feature of government. A largely empirical and historical inquiry into the phenomenon of enmity, this debunking has an important normative end: to reopen a space in political theory for liberal claims that a politics without enemies is not only desirable but possible within, between and across polities.
Out of the complex and subtle Weberian approach Barker develops in the first half of the book and applies to particular historical cases in the second, come three main claims. Firstly, that alongside competition, antagonism and demonisation, enmity is one of four possible narratives of ‘the other’ in politics. On the scale of increasing hostility that they constitute, it marks the point at which a political actor calls for the use of force against their opponent: the passage from politics to warfare. In practice, of course, things are more muddled: electoral opponents may call themselves ‘enemies’ without exchanging blows. But this absence of violence indicates that narrators are attempting to reap the benefits of enmity narratives without paying the price of descent into civil war. These benefits derive from the fact that enmity is, secondly, a ‘functional narrative’ (p. 68) that performs three roles: it sustains the identity of the narrator, simplifies and makes predictable the signs of membership in the narrator's community, and promotes a sense of common purpose in that community.
Thirdly, and as a result of these functions, while enmity narratives can appear in a plurality of media, historical circumstances, political and social locations, and varieties, one feature remains constant: the crucial role rulers play in their development, cultivation and termination. Barker repeatedly illustrates this theme by examining historical instances of enemies below (European witch hunts, McCarthyism in the USA, the Chinese Cultural Revolution), enemies above (populism) and demonisation. In each case, he shows how enmity narratives are fabricated, tolerated or encouraged by rulers so long as they allow them ‘to confirm their self-identification, to sustain their support amongst their subjects and followers, and to justify their control over them’ (p. 61). However, as soon as the enmity narrative becomes a threat it is either quashed by rulers, or, if they fail, results in their overthrow.
Given this role played by enmity in sustaining government and increasing its control, given the constant possibility enmity narratives offer of justifying violent action, and given that enmity is part of the broader activity of identity cultivation (itself partially open to human choice), Barker concludes that we should beware of enemy makers and seek to cultivate identities without cultivating enemies.
In addition to these conclusions, scholars and postgraduate students will find much to ponder in this book, including fascinating insights into the evolution of the public identities of the Labour and Conservative parties since 1989, the relationship of narrative to other dimensions of political action and the usefulness of ideal-types. However, they may also find Barker too careful a scholar, as he repeats in almost every chapter a number of warnings against the perils of seeking predictive laws when it comes to enmity that, although convincing, need only be stated once. But that is a minor quibble for what is an otherwise highly stimulating study.
Marc Calvini-Lefebvre
(Goldsmiths, University of London)
This edited volume is an interesting contribution to the existing body of literature on rebellions, internal conflict and violence, and civil war. It explores the concept of moral hazard, which until recently has been rooted firmly in the economics discipline, as it applies to the implied insurance of humanitarian intervention. Moral hazard, in this context, is the idea that the prospect of intervention, intended as a type of insurance policy against genocidal violence, encourages risk-taking in minority groups, provoking genocidal retaliation by the state. As Arman Grigorian asserts in his contribution to the volume, ‘the moral hazard theory of intervention is a welcome addition to a literature that sees violence against minorities as nothing more than a manifestation of misguided ideologies and murderous nationalism’ (p. 59).
The primary focus of this book is the Former Yugoslavia. However, the disagreements as to whether the concept of moral hazard applies to this particular situation lead one to wonder whether the addition of a wider range of cases would have strengthened the book or damaged the case for this concept being applicable to international relations at all. Similarly, since the collection consists of a limited number of essays – six in total, of which two are written by the editors – does this indicate the absence of a credible concept or an innovative but not-yet-embraced idea?
The repetition that arises from each article defining the concept of moral hazard by using the same examples of insured investments in banks and insured automobiles is tedious, and might have been eliminated with better editing. On the other hand, this repetition does demonstrate a clear and agreed definition (often lacking in theories of this type) and allows each essay to stand alone without demanding prior knowledge of the concept or requiring the reader to search for the accepted definition elsewhere in the collection. What this volume offers is a number of essays exploring the radical application of moral hazard theory to an international political context, and therefore a valuable reading experience for anyone unfamiliar with this emerging debate.
Kirsten J. Fisher
(University of Western Ontario)
This book is effectively a Festschrift for Philippe Schmitter. It is therefore organised around the three main areas of his work: corporatism and democracy; democratic transitions and consolidation, with special reference to Latin America but with a chapter by Bruszt focusing on post-communist Eastern Europe; and democracy and European integration, returning in the last chapter by Falkner to the theme of the ‘Euro corporatism’ debate. She confirms what Schmitter himself admitted, ‘that corporatism is not a theory’ (p. 237). A postscript by O'Donnell seeks to give a little of the flavour of working with Schmitter. Even a longer piece in cold print would find it difficult to encapsulate the experience of working with a social scientist who I found one of the most inspiring, if occasionally infuriating, of those I have encountered.
Karl is right to pay tribute to the path-breaking character of Schmitter's work on Latin America and it was evident in subsequent work that he was substantially influenced by his experiences of Brazil. In all his work Schmitter brought together his European family origins, his American upbringing and his understanding of Latin America, which is what makes him such a unique social scientist. Like many academics, he eventually fell ‘irretrievably, passionately in love with Italy and everything Italian’ (p. 245).
For many political scientists Schmitter is associated with his seminal 1974 article ‘Still the Century of Corporatism?’ which stimulated a research school which was once called a ‘corporatist international’ (p. 14). As Streeck admits, the corporatist bubble eventually burst, but Schmitter's German collaborator successfully redefines his own position while remaining true to his essential values. Crouch's assessment of neo-corporatism and democracy is more unreconstructed, representing an ingenious, scholarly but ultimately unconvincing attempt to defend the indefensible. Yet he asks whether it is not time for neo-corporatist institutions ‘to be consigned to the dustbin of history, along with many other structures which seemed important during the high tide of industrialism, but which are becoming increasingly marginal to a post-industrial society?’ (pp. 61–2). This is an important volume by authoritative authors that raises important questions about democracy. It demands extended attention and will stimulate debate.
Wyn Grant
This collection of eleven essays appears in an ongoing book series with a hardcover from the JAI Press. Individual chapters are like scholarly articles but the themes are not much related, ranging from history, ethnicity and the Ku Klux Klan (ch.1) to the Seattle WTO protests (ch. 5). In the opening chapter, Rhomberg argues that the Ku Klux Klan was at one and the same time ‘a racist and a civic movement’ (p. 5). In the fourth chapter on ‘Europe's Atlantic Empires’, we get a fine account of how states were formed in Canada and America during the eighteenth century.
The second half of the book is a refreshing and timely critique of US capitalism in the twenty-first century, especially ‘the myth of shareholder value’, with a core text by Frank Dobbin and Dirk Zorn. The authors explain ‘the change in the nature of executive misbehavior’, guided by ‘the new rhetoric of shareholder value’ (p. 181). Institutional investors and markets want firms to raise their earnings every year, ‘with the predictable consequence that executives would fib about profits’ (p. 181). In some other cases, executives would withhold good corporate news until the right moment had come (p. 180). From a sociological perspective, Dobbin and Zorn argue that the image of the successful enterprise is now made by MBAs and CPAs, who redesign corporate efficiency with ever-appealing numbers that always ‘beat the analysts’ (p. 181). Another problem is ‘the ideological power of these finance professionals’, who can persuade almost everyone that remuneration of millions of dollars is necessary for ‘good’ managers; that idea still goes unchallenged, even at Harvard University, where ‘endowment managers were paid 30+ million dollars each for a year's work’ (p. 197).
The five following chapters are comments and additions that draw on economic sociology. Richard Swedberg questions the ethics of CEO pay, an overlooked issue that should be analyzed in stratification research: ‘a topic for public sociology’ (p. 203). Dobbin and Zorn conclude in chapter 11 with a concept that is central to political science: ‘power shapes the social institutions, from antitrust regulations to portfolio strategy, that we come to take for granted as efficient and fair’ (p. 232).
Given the diversity of the topics, this seventeenth volume of Political Power and Social Theory is rather made for university libraries. Scholars in economic sociology, finance and marketing should perhaps begin with the third section on ‘Corporate Malfeasance’.
Yves Laberge
(Institut québécois des hautes études internationales, Quebec City)
It is perhaps a useful introduction to this entertaining and informative book that I read it in a single day. The book is well written, accessible and erudite without pedantry; simply a joy to read. It will not stand for all time either as an exhaustive history of democracy or as a theoretical investigation of that concept, but this is not its intent. What this book does, to chase the concept of democracy through its challenging and often chequered history so as to gain a better understanding of its unrivalled current normative dominance, it does very well.
The history of the concept Dunn offers contains few surprises, and yet much of interest. He begins with democracy as it was in Athens and then, focusing on the American and French revolutions, brings it into modernity. Throughout, as one would expect, Dunn emphasizes particular conceptions of democracy within specific political contexts, showing how authors have used applied conceptions of democracy to describe, condemn, laud, etc. This is not to say that democracy is whatever it is currently being used for. Dunn argues for a persistent core understanding, that the reason we use the word ‘democracy’ to describe modern systems of representation is that we share with the Athenians a commitment to derive the legitimacy of state action, ‘from the entire citizen body over whom it must apply’ (p. 164).
The latter part of the book develops a conceptual struggle between Schumpeterian and Rousseauian understandings of democracy, what Dunn calls democracies of ‘egoists’ and of ‘equals’. The egoists are the current victors. Supposedly, we equate democracy with the modern, representative and capitalistic state, but only because egoists have usurped the language of (and won the political battles against) the equals. Those who equate democracy with deliberative arrangements might disagree, but Dunn does not discuss developments in this area. In conclusion, Dunn argues that the current hegemony of democracy as a political system rests on a series of almost wilful contradictions; contradictions upon which it depends for its continued vitality.
One general criticism is that this book tries to do too much too quickly. This broadens its appeal, from the friendly curiosity of an academic political theorist to the interested layperson (at whom, from the publishing format, this edition is clearly aimed). However, its compressed argument results in a large number of loose ends which may frustrate and tantalise those with a professional interest in the subject. There are other books both behind and within this current offering.
Stephen Winter
(University of Auckland)
This book addresses the disconcertingly general question: what is the moral worth of nations? After considering some contemporary answers, both favourable and unfavourable, Frost discusses the history of two nationalisms – Irish and Québecois – and suggests that each of them pursues a course ranging from emphasising the need for independent government to focusing on the creation of a national character. Frost rejects the view that this involves a shift from civic to ethnic nationalism.
Instead, a national character was needed to give a group the cohesiveness required for self-government and the distinctiveness necessary for setting the boundaries of its polity. We should, she suggests, see ‘nations as frames of reference’ (p. 97) which their members share, facilitating the communication and mutual trust needed for representation. Therein lies their moral worth, so long as this framework is flexible and inclusive. Frost looks again at Ireland and Quebec to see how her theory can be applied, especially in the light of social change to which, she implies, their nationalisms have adapted quite well.
Besides mounting this argument, Frost discusses most of the current philosophical defences of nationalism, presenting her own account as capturing their insights while avoiding their mistakes – in particular, the bifurcation of the political from the cultural. Thus, though perhaps aimed principally at fellow workers in this increasingly crowded field, the book could serve as a useful introduction to readers new to it, but not, I would judge, at undergraduate level. It is, however, well organised and clearly written, its Irish and Québecois case studies leavening its potentially stodgy political theory.
However, emphasis on just these two cases is a danger that political scientists may exploit. While it is not clear that Frost is offering an empirical account susceptible to counter-example rather than an illuminating model of the way the political and cultural aspects of nationalism fit together, it is still unconvincingly general in view of the huge diversity of nationalisms. It is also worryingly vague, for what exactly a ‘frame of reference’ is and how it relates to ‘national character’ are not made sufficiently clear, it seems to me, to judge Frost's claim that these are needed for well-functioning political communities and, hence, that nations are morally worthy. Despite these doubts, this is a valuable addition to the philosophical literature on nationalism.
Paul Gilbert
(University of Hull)
This volume provides the most comprehensive survey of the development of political thought in the eighteenth century available today. The editors’ stated aim was not to engage with any specific notion of the Enlightenment, but rather to lay out a thematic framework which lies within the orbits of competing claims about the origins, nature and limits of the Enlightenment. In order to emphasise the polemical character of eighteenth-century political thought, the volume focuses on national and international debates in diverse historical contexts, instead of following the internal logic of each author's career. The material is organised around six major themes presented in roughly chronological order: (1) the ancien régime and its critics; (2) the new light of reason; (3) natural jurisprudence and the science of legislation; (4) commerce, luxury and political economy; (5) the promotion of public happiness; (6) the Enlightenment and revolution. These six parts are in turn subdivided into four chapters, each of which is written by a leading scholar in the field. The volume is completed by short biographical notices as well as a bibliographical appendix.
The decision to structure the survey along a series of relatively autonomous essays was basically a happy one. While on the one hand this warranted internal coherence of the chapters, it allowed on the other great variety in method and content. Some chapters focus on key debates in different national contexts (e.g. Goldie on ‘The English System of Liberty’), while others introduce major authors belonging to a distinct tradition of political thought (e.g. Fetscher on ‘Republicanism and Popular Sovereignty’) or outline the origin and development of new sciences (e.g. Wokler on ‘Ideology and the Origins of Social Science’). This way of proceeding, however, is not entirely unproblematic. One may wonder, for example, why the idea of human rights, commonly held to be a key concept of the Enlightenment, does not gain any visibility in the volume, even though the idea of natural rights is extensively dealt with (by Haakonssen on ‘German Natural Law’ and Moore on ‘Natural Rights in the Scottish Enlightenment’) and authors who advocated the rights of ‘mankind’ or of ‘men’ and ‘women’ (Adam Smith, Anne Robert Jacques Turgot, Mary Wollstonecraft, Thomas Paine, etc.) are at least briefly mentioned. A sub-chapter on this concept or an entry in the index would have been useful.
Equally striking is the omission of any discussion of theories of international relations, which gained much attention in contemporary political thought. The few cursory remarks on the Abbé de St-Pierre's and Kant's writings on perpetual peace or on Wolff's and Vattel's idea of jus gentium are insufficient to fill in this lacuna. One is left with the impression that the extensive treatment of an author like Johann Gottfried Herder (Pross on ‘Naturalism, Anthropology, and Culture’), who did not excel as a political thinker, was included at the cost of other perhaps more important contributions on German political thought. Moses Mendelssohn (who wrote on the emancipation of the Jews) or Thomas Abbt (on monarchical patriotism) are just two examples that come to mind. Finally, it is rather bad luck that the bibliography attributes a paper to the author of this review that she has never written.
Simone Zurbuchen
(University of Fribourg, Switzerland)
Michael Mann is rather unfashionable – a classical sociologist in a discipline caught between the rock of the cultural turn and the hard place of abstract modelling. If anything, Mann is a kind of ‘classical sociologist plus’. After all, as Randall Collins points out in his contribution to this outstanding collection, ‘whereas Weber provided a tool box for analysing world history, Mann actually does the historical analysis’ (p. 71). Indeed he does. Michael Mann has become the academy's David Livingstone – its explorer extraordinaire. Mann's oeuvre, now spanning four decades, includes a two-volume (and counting) history of power in world affairs alongside substantial interventions to debates on ethnic cleansing, empire, state formation and fascism. This Festschrift to his research, including contributions by some of the leading lights of contemporary social and political theory, sheds light on Mann's work across his opus. In almost every sense, it is a triumph.
The editors of the volume have compiled a veritable who's who of contributors from across the academy, testimony to Mann's appeal across disciplinary boundaries. The sixteen chapters cover a vast range of issues – from Mann's work on theory and method to his writings on modernity, international relations, the ‘rise of the West’ and more. Other chapters fill in useful bibliographical material and provide general overviews of Mann's work. Not withstanding an unevenness intrinsic to edited volumes of this kind, most chapters deliver in providing considered introductions to, and interrogations of, Mann's contribution to these debates. As such, it is difficult to imagine this volume missing from any reading list which contains significant reference to Mann.
It should be noted that the subtitle of the volume is a misnomer – Mann does not have a social theory, at least not a recognisable one. What Mann has is a method (the IEMP model representing ideal-typical constellations of ideological, economic, military and political power relations) which aims to cut through the mess of world history without requiring a commitment to determination or ultimate primacy. For my money, this is no bad thing. After all, determinacy tends to carry a high price in terms of explanatory purchase, and Mann clearly places more worth on the latter than the former. Of course, this outlook will not please everyone. Gianfranco Poggi, for instance, one of the two or three more critical contributors to this volume, is forceful in his critique of Mann's preference for complexity over parsimony: ‘if he read Mann, Occam would reach for his razor’ (p. 136).
The highlight of the book is Mann's lengthy rejoinder. This densely argued chapter provides as close a summary of Mann's position on methodological issues, his separation out of coercive power from political power, the significance of the ‘caging’ of social relations in national states, the ‘dark side of democracy’ and the role of ideology in the making of the modern world as it is possible to find. Throughout the chapter, Mann forcefully defends his analytical, political and normative positions against attempts to pigeonhole, label or otherwise abbreviate them. This refusal to simplify is one of Mann's most abiding tendencies and one of his greatest strengths. Far too often, the contemporary academy is dominated by endlessly reinvented meta-theoretical disputes, a predilection towards methodological navel gazing and a faux scientism towards which Mann is rightly scathing. Mann may be old-fashioned, but perhaps his greatest triumph is to remind us that there is nothing necessarily wrong with this. To the contrary, there is much to be gained from classical sociological analysis, something this volume makes abundantly clear.
George Lawson
(Goldsmiths, University of London)
Joseph Schumpeter is one of the most celebrated economists of the twentieth century. Yet compared to fellow economists of his era such as J. M. Keynes and F. A. Hayek, extant academic literature on his life and contribution to economics is insubstantial. This makes the current volume a welcome addition to existing publications on Schumpeter, providing a vivid and engaging account of Schumpeter's approach to major social and economic issues and methodology, and his empirical research on economic dynamics and technical change.
The book is split into three parts. The first part provides a fascinating overview of Schumpeter's life and his methodological approach. It compares his observations on methodological individualism with those of other twentieth-century economists, specifically Carl Menger, James Buchanan and Gordon Tullock. The second part of the book evaluates Schumpeter's infamous interpretation of evolutionary economics and the future of capitalism. In discussing Schumpeter's theory of the ‘creative destruction’ of capitalism, Heertje highlights what Schumpeter saw as the characterising feature of capitalism – the behaviour of economic actors, in particular entrepreneurs. Here Heertje is careful to distinguish Schumpeter's predictions on the inevitable breakdown of capitalism from Marx's earlier analysis. This section of the book also contains an excellent evaluation of the significance of Schumpeter's Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy, and why the book's main contention on the decay of capitalism has not come to pass. The third part of the book focuses on technical change, innovation and economic growth. It demonstrates an appreciation for Schumpeter's complex theories on business cycles and the role of entrepreneurs in capitalist society, as well as the innovative character of monopolistic market structures. This section of the book also considers the differences between the ideas of Schumpeter and Keynes, and the contribution of neo-Schumpeterians to economic theory
Schumpeter's work presented one of the most dynamic views of capitalism, and Heertje's book does not undersell this significance. As he rightly points out, as a historian of economic thought as portrayed in his masterpiece History of Economic Analysis, Schumpeter has not been ‘surpassed’ (p. vii). The essays contained in Heertje's book will make an invaluable contribution to the academic debates on Schumpeter's ideas, and will be essential reading for advanced undergraduates, postgraduates and academics studying the history and theory of political economy.
Rachel S. Turner
(University of Sheffield)
This book defines classical liberalism as the belief in the worth and centrality of the individual and his rights, liberty, the rule of law, private property, limited government and free markets. Hence, it strongly opposes liberalism in the American meaning with socialism and other forms of collectivism. Some of the thinkers associated with classical liberalism are Adam Smith, Ludwig von Mises and, most notably, Friedrich Hayek, who is singled out by the editors as their main source of inspiration.
The collection comprises twenty essays previously published in The Independent Review, the scholarly quarterly of The Independent Institute, an American think tank. All of the contributions are somehow concerned with the promotion of classical liberal ideas. The book attempts to take stock of the level of liberty in today's society and hopes to promote the study of classical liberalism. Most essays are well written and aim at professionals with an interest in classical liberal philosophy.
Among the contributors are reputed thinkers in the tradition, such as James Buchanan, Anthony de Jasay, Charles Rowley and James Otteson. The book commences with a discussion on the vitality of classical liberalism, followed by essays on the relation between freedom, morality and civil society, as well as ways to secure limited government. This is followed by reflections on the negative influence of collectivist thought, for example through public schooling, while the closing section provides a response to critics of classical liberalism, especially John Gray.
One of the attractions of the book is that it does not focus solely on economic arguments, contrary to so many other writings in the classical liberal tradition. Therefore it provides a much wider scope of thought and debate. The reader also gets a good idea of the level and content of the debate among classical liberals.
However, even with this large number of contributions the book cannot claim to provide a full overview of the degree of freedom in modern Western society and actually fails to provide a good answer to its central question: whether liberty is advancing or retreating. Also, it is largely a work by classical liberals, for classical liberals. It therefore has a tendency to be inward looking. That is a pity, as it provides more than enough insights which may be of interest to a wider audience. Nevertheless, this collection provides a much welcomed and sometimes stimulating overview of a distinct political ideology, which is all too often overlooked in mainstream political theory.
Edwin Van De Haar
This quasi-textbook, part of the ‘Political Analysis’ series edited by Peters, Pierre and Stoker, manages a neat trick. It presents a sizeable chunk of the key elements of the rational choice canon in clear terms but sets that alongside a value-driven analysis of the strengths and weaknesses of the methods and their ability to address issues in political science.
Hindmoor has taken what I have always considered to be the only reasonable approach to rational choice, whether teaching or using it: treat it as a tool. Rational choice is appreciated when it can be levered to explain, to provide insights or to stimulate thinking. It is reviled when it is seen as a holy grail or a panacea. The field and its celebrated proponents are far from perfect, far from being the only good method and rarely easy to get to grips with. That said, Hindmoor does make the ideas comprehensible, given a pencil and paper and a quiet room. However, despite his best efforts I still see flashes of the elements that used to incite me, when my students asked ‘What use is it’, to reply: ‘You can use it to pass the exam in Public Choice’.
Taking a good course in rational choice teaches one much more than rational choice; it teaches about modelling, methodology, the need to question assumptions and some philosophy of science, and it can even introduce the notion, common in mathematics, that a beautiful solution is inherently better than one that is not. This book is the foundation of a good course in rational choice because it teaches us far more than how Laver and Shepsle use coloured pencils and a ruler to prove very little about a system that exists nowhere except on the piece of paper. This book makes us think about how we pursue political science inquiry and, ultimately, how much we want to take from the limited science of economics and how much we still want to be able to tell a traditional good story.
Stuart Astill
(Principal Economist, Department of Work and Pensions)
This collection of new essays adds to the large and rapidly growing literature on capabilities theory. The views of the two principal capabilities pioneers, Amartya Sen and Martha Nussbaum, receive substantial and roughly equal levels of discussion, in connection both with the theory itself and particular areas of application. The book will appeal to upper-level undergraduates, postgraduates and scholars working on a wide range of topics in politics and related disciplines.
Nussbaum herself provides a chapter which brings out both the principal differences between capabilities theory and other accounts – its focus being on freedoms to be or do certain things (functionings), rather than on welfare or resource levels (or opportunities to alter these levels) – and the key departures her work makes from Sen's, the ‘specific list of the Central Human Capabilities’ being a particularly important addition here. Each of these ten capabilities is ‘part of a minimum account of social justice: a society that does not guarantee these to all its citizens, at some appropriate threshold level, falls short of being a fully just society, whatever its level of opulence’ (p. 51). This account can be readily applied to issues of public policy, as both Nussbaum and Timothy Hinton illustrate with reference to gender inequality.
Sen, who has refused to specify any such list, is succinctly described in Richard Arneson's essay as having ‘developed an approach to the understanding of social justice rather than a theory of justice’, an approach that is characterised by the ‘message … that things are more complicated than you think’ (p. 18). While Nussbaum gives capabilities theory determinacy, she also, Arneson suggests, inadvertently exposes the dubious priority it places on securing threshold levels. David Wasserman develops Arneson's objection, specifically as it bears on disability, in his chapter.
Unusually, the first two of the three parts close with short pieces by the editor defending capabilities theory against this objection and another raised elsewhere by G. A. Cohen and extended in this collection by Peter Vallentyne. Although this works quite well, the editor's introduction is perhaps too quick with rival positions.
Overall, this is an excellent volume which will reward the reader whether they are concerned with how capabilities theory relates to other contemporary accounts of distributive justice, or to such subjects as political participation and deliberation (Sabina Alkire, David Crocker and, in the context of environmental issues, Victoria Kessler all address this). The writing is consistently good – though not, of course, entirely consistent in style – and the reasoning clear, even where there is much space for disagreement. That the contributors advance the debate while often occupying such space is testament both to the complexity of the subject matter and their tenacity in exploring it.
Carl Knight
(University of Glasgow)
People and groups that oppose capitalism often contest other issues and principles like deregulation, the military-industrial complex, consumerism and corporate-lobby groups. These terms and almost 200 others are all commented upon and defined here. This Anti-Capitalist Dictionary is an original and rigorous reference book, containing useful definitions and accurate cross-references on alternative movements (‘New Left’, ‘Non-Governmental Organizations’, ‘Students’) and political and philosophical concepts (‘Ideology’, ‘Utopia’, ‘Value’). Each entry is about two pages long and the focus is more about debates and issues than persons. Therefore there is no specific entry for director Michael Moore or Noam Chomsky, for example, although they are mentioned in the appropriate places.
The main strength of the volume is that it always gives the arguments from both sides of a debate, and explains why some people protest about issues that, for many, should not be challenged. For instance: why do some critics oppose the strict protection of intellectual property? (p. 126); what are the real consequences of the cancellation of debt for poor countries? (p. 129); or who critiques the United Nations and for which reasons? (p. 264).
Another useful dimension is the inclusion of concepts that cannot always be found in common reference books (e.g. ‘biopiracy’; ‘genetic engineering’); and we are given a straightforward definition of ‘Neo-Liberalism’, that ‘is promoted as orthodoxy by the International Monetary Fund, World Bank, World Trade Organization’ (p. 170). Most definitions give the origins of an idea. For instance, the entry on ‘Hegemony’ reminds us that the term was first used about Bolsheviks by Georgi Plekhanov in 1905, and some twenty years later by Antonio Gramsci (p. 117). Not surprisingly, dozens of entries are related to environmental issues: ‘Biodiversity’ (p. 20), ‘Deep Ecology’ (p. 61), ‘Global Warming’ (p. 106), ‘Kyoto Protocol’ (p. 140), ‘Sustainable Development’ (p. 236), etc.
I would have liked an entry on anti-Americanism, movies and documentaries (the entry on media focuses on newspapers, conglomerates and the power of networks), but as with all good dictionaries, one does not seem to get enough! There is no mention of advocacy, but that topic is covered in the entry on ‘Direct Action’ (p. 73). Lowes’ Anti-Capitalist Dictionary is the perfect complement (or prerequisite reading) to the Encyclopedia of Capitalism edited by Syed Hussein (New York, Facts on File, 2004), and both are essential for libraries. Both undergraduates and scholars will benefit from this excellent book – one always needs to get accurate definitions and clear arguments for every current issue.
Yves Laberge
(Institut québécois des hautes études internationales, Quebec City)
Andrew Mason offers a comprehensive study of the place of arguments for equality of opportunity in egalitarian thought. After a detailed introduction that provides a clear outline of the book's aims and structure, he gradually builds his argument for mitigation, rather than neutralisation, of the effects of differences in peoples’ circumstances and natural endowments. Mason underpins his own argument with critical analysis of existing theories of equality of opportunity and also with a careful assessment of philosophical responses to the problems of social inequality.
Mason stresses the importance of maintaining or encouraging respect for human agency. Hence, his argument draws on a meritocratic, simple view of equality of opportunity, involving commitment to selecting the best-qualified candidates for work and higher education. However, this view is, he maintains, incomplete, as it is important to ensure that circumstances and endowments do not have an undue impact upon access to advantage. He advocates a basic skills principle, according to which people should receive an education that would enable everybody to gain skills that will give them an adequate range of options. This principle should, he suggests, be accompanied by an educational access principle to help ensure that different circumstances do not bring about a situation where some can gain access to advantage while others cannot. This, in turn, should be accompanied by an accumulation of wealth principle, holding that circumstances should not bring about a situation in which some, but not others, can gain resources that will enable them to lead a decent life without working. He concedes that his theory is complex, involving a range of principles that generally work together but sometimes conflict with one another. He stresses, however, that this is unavoidable given the nature of the issues involved. Simplicity, indeed, is not always useful when dealing with equality and justice.
Although this book is probably not the place for newcomers to political philosophy to gain their basic understanding of the issues surrounding equality, students who have read some introductory texts should not find Levelling the Playing Field too difficult. The book is, however, more likely to be of value to Masters students or those engaged in research focusing on the philosophical issues surrounding equality and inequality. Although Mason's study is painstakingly detailed and comprehensive, I sometimes felt that conciseness would have produced greater cogency. Nevertheless, this is an interesting and resourceful contribution to a key topic of political philosophy.
Peter Lamb
(Keele University)
This volume of the Clarendon Edition of the Works of John Locke presents many of his early writings that have inestimable importance for understanding his political theory. Within the covers there is the 1667 ‘An Essay Concerning Toleration’ with amendments and revisions noted, ‘A Letter from a Person of Quality’, about which there has been sustained interest for the light it appears to shed on Locke's relationship with Shaftesbury's circle, and his tract on ‘The Selection of Juries’, as well as numerous engaged interventions on the relationship between church and state. These include his assessment of Samuel Parker, and his lampooning of Catholic infallibility in a series of twenty questions that would need to be ‘infalibly resolved’ before ‘any man should have any infallible knowledge of the Church of Roomes [sic] infalibility’ (p. 407).
All of this is presented with stupendous scholarly care and attention to detail. Contextual material from Locke's commonplace books is added, and in a series of appendices, various drafts, speeches and other relevant material is presented. There is more in the way of introduction and context here than there is of Locke himself, but the editorial under-labouring of J. R. and Philip Milton is invaluable for appraising the extent of our knowledge about Locke's early engagements with the issue of toleration and practical political disputes. Scholars have already found themselves indebted to the various papers published by the editors, and it is impossible in such a short note to do anything more than congratulate the editors for their labours. Those interested in Locke's political thinking will find themselves once more indebted to the Miltons thanks to their excellent edition. It is a marvellous aid for those teaching and studying Locke's political thought.
Duncan Kelly
(University of Sheffield)
John of Salisbury (1115/20–80) was both a man of practical politics and administration, and a student of philosophy and letters, and in this book Cary Nederman links his biography with his literary corpus. He describes how the two aspects of John of Salisbury's career informed each other. On the one hand, John of Salisbury asserts the value of a humanist education embracing both logic and rhetoric, while on the other he admonishes those who seek to exploit their learning for purely self-interested purposes. Whether in relation to the personal life of an individual or the political life of rulers, John of Salisbury advises moderation.
The author of Policraticus, John of Salisbury is viewed as one of the most notable political thinkers of the medieval period. Tyranny, for John of Salisbury, was the immoderate use of authority, and in Policraticus he counselled moderation. In all his works he sought to demonstrate that philosophy could avoid the temptation towards pedantic detachment on the one hand or obsequiousness in the face of power on the other, and could contribute to an appreciation of the common good and of the limits imposed by the necessity for moderation in the pursuit of self-interest, whether on the part of an individual or monarch.
Almost inevitably, even the best-written work on medieval political thought is likely to appeal primarily, if not exclusively, to a specialist readership. Nederman's treatment of the academic debates concerning John of Salisbury is targeted at a specialist audience. They and other readers will find this book well worth reading. It reflects the general trend in recent scholarship to pay attention to the necessity for limits on power in medieval political thought. This trend challenges the conventional notion that, while medieval thinkers might debate the relative authority of pope, emperor, monarch or feudal lord, political authority, being derived from God, was limited only by the competing claims of pope, emperor, monarch or feudal lord. This trend also convincingly challenges, I suggest, the view that the notion of limits on power emerged only with modernity.
James G. Mellon
(Queen Elizabeth II Health Sciences Centre)
In this book, Kevin Olson provides an alternative justification of welfare states. More concretely, he offers some normative arguments for thinking about the legitimacy of welfare policies. The author argues that it is inappropriate to consider this topic exclusively from an economic or redistributive perspective because welfare policies also imply relevant political and cultural aspects.
After examining three ‘idealised’ justifications of welfare policies (labour market paradigm, feminist paradigm and the deliberative democratic paradigm) and the ideas of many authors (Robert Goodin, Jürgen Habermas, Amartya Sen, T. H. Marshall, Gosta Esping Andersen, Nancy Fraser and many others) Olson claims that recent changes in these kinds of policy are affecting political equality among citizens and thus the legitimacy of our democracies. In this sense, he points out the need for a ‘political turn’ in our view of welfare.
One of the main tasks of this work is to show why welfare states are fundamental to promoting an inclusive and reflexive democracy. Roughly speaking, Olson explains how law's legitimacy depends on inclusive citizen participation in the process of law creation. Thus, he examines different solutions to what he terms the ‘paradox of enablement’. That is the idea that political participation is circular because it depends on the same processes that it is designed to safeguard (p. 112). This paradox affects the processes of legitimation and justification of welfare rights. The main problem created by this phenomenon is that citizens marginalised from politics find real difficulties in participating in the lawmaking process that affects their lives. Considering that welfare is also a system of laws, Olson believes that welfare policies are necessary because they provide the material basis on which people participate in and legitimate the legal system. The paradox of enablement can be resolved only if citizens can count on an adequate level of agency and the necessary resources to allow them equal participation in the process of law creation. It is, then, a reflexive conception of democracy, one in which ‘democratic politics circles back to sustain the very conditions of equality that make it possible’ (p. 16).
Extremely welcome is Olson's attempt to justify welfare policies from a distinctive perspective. Certainly, the author defends a decisive point with some persuasive arguments. However, it is not clear enough how his proposal can be put into practice and herein, perhaps, lies the book's greatest weakness.
Cristian Pérez Muñoz
(Universidad de la República, Montevideo, Uruguay)
Although democracy has always been hated, the anti-democratic sentiments of today, warns Rancière, have taken a worrying turn. It is a worrying turn because alongside the discourse which deplores democracy for its limitlessness, for the atomism and unfettered consumerism of democratic society, there is another discourse which suggests that democracy is only good when spread abroad to defend the values of civilisation. For most of his book Rancière persuasively challenges this latest expression of anti-democratic sentiment, and he confidently argues that behind this new hatred of democracy are entrenched forms of domination, oligarchies of power and wealth, which no longer tolerate limitations to the growth of their authority. These oligarchies, he stresses, have inverted democracy as a term. By reducing it to mass individualist society, they charge democracy with social homogenisation – much like totalitarianism – and with collapsing government into the limitless demands of society. Rancière is not disillusioned about present-day democracy, to be sure, and yet for him democracy denotes something different. As the very principle of politics, democracy steers towards a redistribution of lots and an overthrowing of places in society. For Rancière it involves a struggle, a movement to displace limits, and he concludes that in resisting this movement present-day anti-democrats are erasing politics.
Hatred of Democracy is a thought-provoking book with a clear argument. Although not aimed at undergraduate students, it would certainly appeal to all those interested in contemporary intellectual efforts to formulate alternative accounts of democracy. Therefore Rancière's insights into democracy comprise the book's greatest strength. Its main weakness is that Rancière is rather vague as to who those present-day anti-democrats that he refers to are. Does he speak only about French neo-republicans? This lack of clarity as to who precisely hates democracy makes his critique rather fuzzy. At the same time, there is an important gap in his argument. Although in his introduction he identifies a double discourse on democracy, he only engages with that side of the discourse which denounces democracy for its limitlessness. He does not engage with the ‘good democracy’ thesis, although this is precisely what he sees as troubling. More importantly, there is a tension within his argument. His account of democracy is broad and devoid of distinctions between types of democracy, yet his context is solely French. In view of such limitations, is the book worth reading? For those concerned about contemporary democratic politics this is definitely a must read.
Paulina Tambakaki
Despite a lot of literature on electoral systems, relatively little attention has been paid to the prior question of constituencies, beyond perhaps apportionment problems. In this book, Andrew Rehfeld sets out to redress that balance, with a radical proposal for random constituencies. His point is that territorial constituencies are no longer justifiable, since districts of such size do not represent any coherent ‘local interest’ and are no longer practically necessary.
Drawing on the arguments of the federalists, and normative considerations, he argues that electoral constituencies should be stable and heterogeneous, and that the best incentive structure for representatives is produced by constituencies mirroring the nation as a whole – so representatives will pursue the common good, rather than fighting over ‘local pork’. The proposal is that citizens are randomly allocated into permanent non-geographic districts, each comprising a cross-section of the country.
It is an engaging argument, and does rightly highlight problems with the often unjustified assumption that politics should be about competing local interests, as opposed to representation of, say, professions, races or sexes. In this respect, Rehfeld's question is important, and his answer original.
I did, however, find lengthy historical discussion less interesting than the contemporary normative parts, even if (in the US context) Rehfeld had rhetorical reasons to show that Madison et al. were not committed to territorial districts. When it came to the positive proposals, I found some details sadly underdeveloped. In particular, given Rehfeld's admission that 51 per cent of the national population, by having a narrow majority in every constituency, could unanimously win the legislature (p. 205, p. 216, pp. 228–38, p. 244), I thought he remained somewhat complacent about majority rule. Still, while I am not entirely convinced by the positive proposal, it is a stimulating idea that has forced me to rethink common assumptions in order to find exactly why I would disagree with it, and is worth recommending for that reason.
Ben Saunders
(University of Oxford)
This excellent book explores freedom of speech (parrhěsia, ‘frank speech’), both as an ideal and as a practice in ancient Athens, with the aim of illuminating and enriching contemporary rights-based understandings. Saxonhouse examines historical practice in Athens, as well as the writings of Thucydides, Euripides, Aristophanes and Plato. The primary focus is on the role of hierarchy and of shame (aidǒs) as inhibitors of free speech, and the ‘shamelessness’ of democracy, in so far as it calls for uninhibited communication between citizens. Saxonhouse also finds in democracy a future-orientated approach to communication that is freed from deference to both traditional beliefs and to past decisions. She refers to this as ‘democratic amnesia’. As the book opens, it seems as if Saxonhouse is preparing for a thoroughgoing critique of free speech conceptualised exclusively as a right, but these passages set the stage for a subtle, insightful and challenging reading of the ancient material. This reading exposes a tension between what democracy calls for – parrhěsia – and what democratic communities can actually tolerate while still maintaining a sense of community. Saxonhouse wants to claim that there is a correspondence between the open, uninhibited speeches and investigations that Socrates exemplifies, and which characterise philosophy, and the attitude towards speech that democracy calls for. But what comes out more forcefully from the text is not the correspondence, but rather the tension and, indeed, open conflict. Saxonhouse indicates early on that her aim is less to provide answers than to expand the range of questions and problems we confront in thinking about free speech and democracy, and she succeeds. What democracy values and what democracy as a constitutional system can bear may be two different things, leaving the possibility that the philosophy Socrates practised is at odds with the community that created the conditions for its existence. At the heart of this book is an appreciation of the moral psychology of free speech, something that is absent when free speech is treated exclusively as a right. Historians of political thought and those working in contemporary political theory will find this a valuable and challenging book. The interpretations of the specific ancient works are exciting and worthy of close, critical reading.
Russell Bentley
(University of Southampton)
For a conservative, Roger Scruton does rather a lot of thinking. He wishes to make the intellectual case for conservatism, and counter the prevailing assumption that as a political project it lacks philosophical depth. Scruton's most significant contribution in this regard remains his landmark volume The Meaning of Conservatism (1980), and readers in search of the definitive statement of Scruton-ism should prefer that text over the one under review here. In spite of its title, this book is less a statement of a political philosophy than a collection of essays informed by one. It provides a useful introduction to much of Scruton's recent work, containing chapters on a diverse range of topics including animal rights, the nation, postmodernism, marriage and T. S. Eliot.
Scruton's central concern is with moral decay, which he attributes to diminishing religious belief. This declining morality manifests itself in the form of an insidious cultural relativism, which is propagated not only by leftist liberals but by conservative modernisers. Let us take just one example, about which Scruton writes with passion and grace. Eating, he suggests, is not just a physical act, but a spiritual one. The fast-food culture of TV dinners obscures ‘the distinction between eating and feeding’ (p. 54), reducing us to the level of morally incompetent animals. Virtuous meat eating has been replaced by intemperate carnivorous gluttony, hence the appeal of vegetarianism: vegetables ‘offer a way of once again incorporating food into the moral life, hedging it with moral scruples, and revitalizing the precious sense of shame’ (p. 54).
Scruton sees the decline of faith and morals as the regrettable consequence of modernity, the result of the Enlightenment privileging of scientific knowledge over religious and moral truth. Ideologies such as Marxism and liberalism are the product of this secular modernism. The ‘most cunning feature’ of Marxism, he argues, is its ability ‘to pass itself off as a science’ (p. 152). It can therefore make a claim to scientific truth, and dismiss alternative perspectives as ideological falsehoods. It is ironic that Scruton shares a similarly disparaging view of ideology, and like Marx elevates his own above the rest. Scruton's conservatism is a reactionary response to modernity, and it seems doubtful that he is better placed to discern reality than those blinded by ‘the truths of science … [which] hide the truths that matter’ (p. 203). But by providing an intellectual challenge and an entertaining read, he does at least remind us that the end of ideology is a good way off yet.
Richard Hayton
(University of Sheffield)
We are used to taking ‘the state’ for granted as a distinct object of both political study and practice. And yet its precise nature is difficult to grasp with real clarity, and the concept of the state in social and political theory has proven labile and contested. Rather than treating the state as an a priori conceptual and empirical object, this volume urges us to step back and focus on the processes by which the state comes into being. The suggestion, very simply, is that we take as our object of research the construction of the pre-constructed object.
In the introduction the editors spell out the disciplinary distinctiveness of an anthropological approach to the state. This approach is characterised by two main analytical concerns. The first is how state institutions are reproduced across time and space through the routine procedures and quotidian practices of bureaucracies. The second is how the state is constituted through the public circulation of representational discourses. Everyday practices and public representations not only reproduce the institutions of the state, the editors argue, but also establish a distinct position for the state as a supreme authority separate from and ‘above’ other institutional forms.
Part I of the volume presents a range of theoretical accounts of the state and political power, both classic and more recent (Max Weber, Antonio Gramsci, Louis Althusser, Philip Abrams, Michel Foucault and Nikolas Rose). Against this theoretical backdrop, the contributions in Part II trace the everyday practices and representational discourses involved in the production of specific state institutions. (This part is subdivided into four sections: ‘Bureaucracy and Governmentality’; ‘Planning and Development’; ‘Violence, Law and Citizenship’; and ‘Popular Culture’.) The perspective advanced in this volume raises interesting questions for both political inquirers and activists. If ‘state-centred’ perspectives prevail in political studies, are political inquirers in danger of propagating representations of the state that simply entrench its borders and vertical authority? If political activists reify the state, how does this influence their political engagements with state agencies and the effectiveness of their political projects?
The sixteen readings selected for inclusion in this volume do not exhaust the ‘anthropology of the state’, as the editors acknowledge. There are some surprising omissions, not least Joel Migdal's recent ‘State in Society’ perspective, which shares a similar analytical focus. Nonetheless, this volume's refreshing theoretical approach and range of empirical examples should make it a valuable teaching and reference book for all those concerned with the challenging questions posed by the state.
Giles Moss
(University of Oxford)
Here is a splendid clarification of the continual basic problem and an attempt to resolve it in its contemporary, even topical, form; but also to reach a wide reading public and to break out of our professional habit of writing only for ourselves, or if occasionally attempting to reach other intellectuals, then too often writing in a manner that they find too painful to endure. The Political Studies Association has bravely and rightly made this their book of the year. For Gerry Stoker writes clearly and crisply on difficult public matters, a skill he has used and honed in writing positional papers for government on community development and local government reform.
‘Politics matters because collective decisions matter’ (p. 5) and ‘the real problem with politics, even in democracies, is that it is inevitably destined to disappoint because it is about the tough process of squeezing collective decisions out of multiple and competing interests and opinions’ (p. 1). So begins this fine restatement of the realist view of politics. Politics is the foundation of democracy and both logically and morally prior (many reasoned compromises are better, in every sense, than many fixations of majority opinion), but he sees no need to remind us that politics was also historically prior to democracy.
The introduction defines the dynamic and nature of politics. If it could be said that he covers familiar ground to reach familiar conclusions, he demonstrates powerfully how much of that former common ground has become debased, and the conclusions forgotten in a culture that stresses liberty as personal success and rights rather than a product of citizenship as collective action. Part I sets out ‘the triumph and disappointment’ of mass democracy and finds the explanation for political disenchantment in global forces, depressingly beyond the control of mere citizens. Part II, ‘The Pathology of Political Practice’, sees popular will as important but populism losing, he boldly and refreshingly says, the ‘redemptive quality’ of politics. Part III, of course, is ‘Searching for Solutions’, which he finds in creating new forms of local civic engagement.
In his preface he praises my old In Defence of Politics but sees it as, indeed, somewhat dated, set in the context of the Cold War; so he writes for today when democracy is a universal value but in practice too often disappoints. But is the only answer to the loss of autonomy to global capitalism reform of local government? The book, like too much political science, ignores any historical context. Civic republicanism sustains hope by seeing politics as a key part of the whole history of Western civilisation and its global influence.
Bernard Crick
(Birkbeck College, London)
David van Mill's first claim here is that, since they make similar procedural recommendations, deliberative democrats (Habermas, Dryzek, Benhabib) have to face up to the problems raised by social choice theorists (Arrow, Riker et al.). Taking the American Constitutional Convention of 1774–89 as the best example of an institution-free setting, in which free and equal parties tried to reach democratic agreement, he concludes that such freedom and equality lead to instability, and calls for institutions to create order. Parting company with traditional Madisonian solutions, however, van Mill argues that the separation of powers only threatens more instability, and embraces a Hobbesian analysis of sovereignty, arguing that since final power always has to rest somewhere, it is better that it be in the hands of the people than an unaccountable judiciary. ‘These arguments can be used to support majority rule; if sovereignty poses a threat to rights, it is better that it rests with the majority because only a minority of people can possibly have their rights invaded … instead of trying to control power, or divide it up to make it safe, the best solution is simply to give it back to the people and trust them’ (p. 141).
While the rehabilitation of Hobbes – as someone who believed in the necessity of absolute power, but was far more liberal than tyrannical in its use – in chapter 5 is particularly interesting, the detail of van Mill's arguments does not always justify the grand conclusions. He criticises institutional remedies, like the Supreme Court, pointing out that written documents have not always protected rights, whereas countries like Britain have in general proved just as effective at protecting liberties without such safeguards. But although it is certainly true that legal rights alone are not enough to protect liberty, van Mill says little to justify his faith in majoritarianism or civic culture either. Since courts are not able to strike down popular legislation (p. 173), his recommended alternative puts considerable weight on the people's self-restraint, and thus seemingly in the end on claims that once people participate in democratic politics together they will seek to do so according to norms all can accept. Ultimately, while this is an interesting book that engages in rare debate between social choice and deliberative democracy, and makes some quite radical and provocative recommendations, it is not essential reading for anyone who is not already interested in these areas.
Ben Saunders
(University of Oxford)
Galbraith became one of the most important public intellectuals in the United States in the second half of the twentieth century. He served in a number of public offices, and was an active member of the Democratic party, but it is as a writer, lecturer and commentator that he became famous. As Conrad Waligorski demonstrates in this new study of Galbraith's ideas, his best-selling books shaped public debates and introduced many new phrases, such as the affluent society, the conventional wisdom, countervailing power, the new industrial state and the culture of contentment. American conservatives and neoliberals treated him as one of their principal ideological enemies, and every effort was made to denigrate him and discredit his arguments. Galbraith held a chair of Economics at Harvard but he contributed relatively little to the development of the modern discipline of Economics, unlike Keynes and Friedman, who were both theoretical innovators within their discipline as well as public intellectuals.
Waligorski argues that Galbraith is better understood in terms of a distinctive American tradition of political economy and social criticism, one which dissents from the dominant tradition of market political economy. He points out the similarity between Galbraith and Dewey in their concern for economic power, individuality, organisation, the modern corporation and the purposes of reform. For Waligorski, Galbraith is one of the most important voices of twentieth-century American liberalism, as this came to be defined through the programmes associated with the New Deal and the Great Society. Galbraith argues for active government and collective responsibility for social problems. He is not primarily an economic theorist or a political theorist, but rather belongs to the tradition of American discourse concerned with the proper role of government in economic relations, and therefore with a debate on fundamental values and the general principles which should inform policy.
Galbraith regarded himself as a reformer rather than a revolutionary, but he rejected some of his earlier positions as insufficiently radical. He did not seek the replacement of capitalism but rather its reform, by policies and institutions which would curb inequality and the concentration of power. His optimism and confidence remained undimmed to the end. He never saw any reason to change his fundamental convictions, and believed that the United States would in time come back to them. This book provides a detailed and insightful examination of Galbraith's thought, and brings out well his contribution as a quintessential American liberal.
Andrew Gamble
(University of Cambridge)
We welcome short reviews of books in all areas of politics and international relations. For guidelines on submitting reviews, and to see an up-to-date listing of books available for review, please visit http://www.politicalstudiesreview.org/.