The Politics and Philosophy of Michael Oakeshott
Michael Oakeshott was a leading political theorist described by the Telegraph in 1990 as ‘the greatest political philosopher in the AngloSaxon tradition since Mill – or even Burke’. There has been sustained interest in his work, and a developing body of literature, over recent years. This book offers a clearly written and accessible critical analysis: it presents complex theories and concepts in a way that will introduce new readers to Oakeshott’s work, and at the same time offers a fresh approach for those already familiar with his philosophy. The Politics and Philosophy of Michael Oakeshott reveals how his work relates to contemporary political philosophy and moreover, to broader debates within the social sciences, including the impact of post-modernism. This book brings together the disparate influences that have, at various times, been associated with Oakeshott’s work, and draws from a number of essays which have been published posthumously. Referring to these, and other more well-known texts, the author makes sense of the many dimensions of Oakeshott’s work by placing a moral concern as central to his system of thought. All in all this book considers the recently published ‘lesser-known’ essays as well as the latest secondary appraisals of Oakeshott’s work, which sets his thought in the contemporary political environment of the twenty-first century. This much-needed text will be of great interest to students and researchers in political science and philosophy. Stuart Isaacs is a Senior Lecturer in Social Policy and Sociology at the London Metropolitan University, UK. He is co-author of Political Theorists in Context (Routledge, 2004) and the forthcoming Contemporary Political Theory in Context (Routledge).
Routledge Studies in Social and Political Thought
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A century of research and debate Edited by W. S. F. Pickering and Geoffrey Walford
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Marx after Foucault Richard Marsden
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Gambling in Western culture Gerda Reith
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A critique of Gadamer and Habermas Austin Harrington
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41 Tocqueville’s Moral and Political Thought New liberalism M. R. R. Ossewaarde
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Lorenzo Infantino
38 Deleuze, Marx and Politics Nicholas Thoburn
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40 Adorno, Habermas and the Search for a Rational Society Deborah Cook
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47 The Politics and Philosophy of Michael Oakeshott Stuart Isaacs
The Politics and Philosophy of Michael Oakeshott
Stuart Isaacs
First published 2006 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2006 Stuart Isaacs
This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2006. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Isaacs, Stuart. The politics and philosophy of Michael Oakeshott / Stuart Isaacs. p. cm. -- (Routledge studies in social and political thought) "Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada." Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-415-39633-6 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Oakeshott, Michael Joseph, 1901- 2. Political science--Philosophy. I. Title. II. Series. JC257.O244I72 2006 320.01--dc22 2005029533 ISBN10: 0-415-39633-6 (Print Edition) ISBN13: 978-0-415-39633-2
To Eyup Sabri Carmikli – with thanks for your friendship and conversation
Contents
Acknowledgments Abbreviations Introduction
xi xii 1
PART I
Philosophy and morality
11
1 Philosopical influences
13
2 Bradley
33
3 Philosophical system
51
PART II
Politics and morality
67
4 Practice, morality and religion
69
5 Conversation and intimation
90
6 History and politics
109
7 On human conduct
123
8 The civil condition and the modern European state
143
PART III
Oakeshott and contemporary thought 9 Wittgenstein and discourse analysis 10 Liberalism, pragmatism and deconstruction
161 163 176
x Contents
Conclusion
190
Notes Bibliography Index
194 208 215
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Oliver, Claudine and Helen for all their support; without them I would not have had the time or space to complete this book. Also for discussions over the years on many of the subjects contained here, thanks go to Dr Anthony Clohesy, Dr Chris Sparks and Jim Saunders. I would also like to thank Laurie Davidson who first introduced me to Oakeshott in his lecturers on political theory at the University of Westminster. Finally, for his unparalleled knowledge and advice, my thanks go to Dr Paul Barry Clarke.
Abbreviations
The following are the main sources referred to in abbreviated form in the text. Many of Oakeshott’s essays have now been collected, making general referencing much easier. The full citations of the editions given below appear in the bibliography. EM OHC RIP RPM VLL
Experience and Its Modes, Cambridge, 1933 On Human Conduct, Oxford, 1975 Rationalism in Politics and Other Essays, London, 1991 Religion, Politics and the Moral Life, London, 1993 The Voice of Liberal Learning, London, 1989
Introduction
In this book I aim to introduce the main ideas associated with the philosophy of Michael Oakeshott, keeping in mind the whole context of his system of thought. In so doing I put forward the argument that a moral concern permeates his philosophy. Oakeshott’s moral concern is to be found in his theory of knowledge, his critique of rationalism, writings on religion and, of course, in his account of moral conduct. Moreover, it runs throughout his whole philosophical system. It is intertwined with his view that the boundaries of various human ‘practices’ ought to be understood in order to preserve what is important to them, but also to ensure that their claims are not exaggerated. This was particularly important in relation to politics but it is also the case for the arts, education, science and even philosophy. There is also something of a moral imperative in his thought. This is that individuals ought to reflect upon ‘all that was going-on’. This is analogous to Arendt who asked us to ‘do nothing more than think what we are doing’.1 In Oakeshott’s philosophy we find a similar moral sensibility. Of course, how he expresses this is particular to his system of thought. As he often tells us himself, we ought to focus our attention not upon the conclusions that thinkers reach but upon the reasons that they have for reaching these conclusion if we want to assess the merit or otherwise of their work. This is what I aim to do here in relation to Oakeshott’s writings. By maintaining this position I shall be arguing against the two most dominant interpretations of his work. First, those that propose the idea that Oakeshott is a philosopher whose theoretical system can be ‘semi-detached’ from his political and other writings in order to draw out what is most significant from his work. Such an interpretation is reflected in Nadin’s2 analysis where it is argued that Oakeshott is a moral ‘relativist’ who was not particularly interested in developing a moral theory until his later work.3 In contrast I maintain that Oakeshott offers us a specific understanding of philosophy, one
2 Introduction where his politics as well as his essays on religion, education and ‘poetry’ are tied together by a general moral concern. While I would agree with Nadin that Oakeshott’s most important contribution as a thinker was as a philosopher, this can only be fully appreciated by demonstrating how what he has to say about politics is tied to that philosophical system. Here I hope to show the way that his philosophy, politics and moral concerns are more intimately bound together than Nadin and other recent commentaries suggest. Second, in addition to this study being set apart from those authors who have previously tried to come to grips with Oakeshott as a philosopher, I also aim to avoid the inconsistencies of a purely ‘ideological’ or broadly ‘political’ reading of his work. It has been common to categorise Oakeshott either as a ‘conservative’ or a ‘liberal’. When Oakeshott was Professor of Political Science at the London School of Economics (from the 1950s), politics departments at British universities tended to be dominated by politically engaged scholars who sought to situate each other ideologically along a Left– Right political spectrum. None of this was any good for a sophisticated reading of Oakeshott’s work by his contemporaries. Crick set the disparaging tone for the ‘conservative’ (and ‘Conservative’) analysis of his work by categorising Oakeshott as a ‘Tory pamphleteer’.4 At the same time, the first book-length account of his work, by W. H. Greenleaf, presented Oakeshott as a liberal thinker.5 Over the last fifteen years or so, particularly since Oakeshott’s death in 1990, commentators have largely followed Greenleaf and stressed the liberal elements of his thought. For example, Franco argues that Oakeshott is a ‘classical liberal’ whose work can be set within the ‘liberal-communitarian’ debate.6 Even when authors acknowledge that Oakeshott’s work is not easy to categorise ‘politically’, they still often attempt to do so. This is the case with Lessnoff who argues that there is an ‘early’ and a ‘late’ Oakeshott, the former more or less conservative, the latter more or less liberal.7 Although such studies have their various merits, the desire to situate Oakeshott politically means that the authors either subsume his thought under their political categorisations, or miss significant parts of Oakeshott’s philosophical system because of the importance given to position him ideologically. I wish to challenge the ‘political’ reading of Oakeshott’s work and in particular the new orthodoxy (coming largely from North America) that takes the defining characteristic of Oakeshott’s work as his liberalism. It is my contention that this perspective (like all attempts to label his thought in a political manner) reduces the overall content of what he has to say. In contrast I focus upon his
Introduction 3 radical revision of traditional Idealist metaphysics. I argue that he constructed a non-foundational philosophical system that provided a relatively consistent theoretical framework from his earliest writings until the end of his academic life. By taking Bradley’s notion of the ‘Absolute’ as experience, and associating it with Hegel’s view that this is knowable, Oakeshott stood Idealism on its head,8 focusing attention upon the modes of experience, and ‘practical’ life in particular. Some commentators have hinted at the non-foundational quality of Oakeshott’s philosophy but none have investigated its substantive character.9 By understanding the non-foundational character of his system of thought the contemporary significance of Oakeshott’s writings can be appreciated. Oakeshott accepts the conditional and contingent character of human life, the impossibility of theoretical perfection and the uncertainty of political outcomes. It is these kinds of viewpoints that continue to inform the general academic atmosphere, and Oakeshott has a place among these debates. I shall, then, illustrate how Oakeshott’s philosophy rests upon a non-essentialist understanding of the Hegelian ‘concrete universal’, and how this propels him into the contemporary scene. I argue that he contributes to current discussions in two significant ways. First, his philosophy defends the importance of traditional moral, religious and political debates, whilst being theoretically situated upon nonfoundational terrain. Second, because there is a moral concern at the heart of his thought he avoids the subjectivism that plagues so many non-foundational theories. This point of view may give us an indication of how to move beyond objectivism without falling into subjectivism.10 In terms of his political thought I argue that rather than understand Oakeshott’s political essays as ‘liberal’ or ‘conservative’, what he has to say about political theory and political practice ought to be set within the context of his philosophical system as a whole. In addition, I maintain that his political writings are intimately bound to his moral concern. So, for example, his challenge to rationalism is, above all, a critique of the potential closure of moral experience that the rationalist theory of knowledge implies. Such an argument does not infer that politics is, therefore, unimportant for Oakeshott. On the contrary, I argue that understanding the relationship between politics and morality in his philosophy indicates how significant politics is for Oakeshott. Politics is of great consequence for Oakeshott because it is intertwined with the general maintenance of the moral association that constitutes the civil condition. Moreover, politics provides a bridge between the private world of individuals and the public world
4 Introduction of civil association. However, for Oakeshott all human activities have their limits and politics is no exception. Politics is important to practical living but it is not the whole of life. Oakeshott’s work stands against the politicisation of all human activities (for example, in art and education) without denying that political thought and practice are legitimate and in specific ways rewarding endeavours. In terms of explanation (rather than critique) there is one final dimension of Oakeshott’s philosophy that I would also like to put into perspective. This concerns what he has to say regarding religion.11 Oakeshott’s first publications were concerned with religion, and I shall attempt to illustrate how far religion and morality are tied together in his work. I argue that what he says about religion in his earliest essays is, to a great extent, absorbed into his moral theory in On Human Conduct (OHC). Furthermore, I intend to highlight the connecting points between his religious and moral writings and his political essays. In particular I argue that his critique of rationalism begins not with the well-known essays of the 1950s, but with the lesser-known works on religion written in the 1920s. Given all that I have said so far involves taking Oakeshott’s ‘philosophy’ as ‘non-foundational’, these terms need a little further explanation. What is meant by ‘philosophy’ shall be taken to be what Oakeshott understands by this term, namely a form of human experience that aims to use thought to explain the presuppositions of all other areas of human life. These other areas Oakeshott calls (at various times) the ‘modes of experience’, the ‘voices of mankind’ or human ‘practices’. What is meant by each of these concepts shall be explained in turn. Suffice to say here that each of these terms are used by Oakeshott in a relatively consistent manner to capture the character of four main areas of human discourse: science, the arts, practice (which includes politics and religion) and history. In his earliest work Oakeshott states that philosophy is able to undertake this explanatory task because it is the only type of experience that has no presuppositions, being pure thought. However, as we shall see, this view is later revised. What remains the same for Oakeshott’s understanding of philosophy throughout is that philosophy is taken to be a critical theoretical standpoint from which to assess all other areas of human life. Philosophy cannot take the place of or ‘solve’ the ‘problems’ of any other human activity; rather, it has a theoretical location outside of the activities themselves. As an outsider philosophy can never subscribe any specific remedies, even though under its own terms it may see ‘errors’. The criterion by which philosophy seeks to explain science, history, practice and the
Introduction 5 arts is one of coherence. The notion of coherence is one that arises out of the Idealist tradition. Without coherence, Oakeshott argues, each of the worlds of human experience could not function. It is the role of the philosopher to illustrate how these worlds maintain their identities, even in the face of the Idealist-inspired critique that no one human activity can, in itself, be completely coherent. Although his philosophical system underwent some revisions it stayed remarkably true to the original ideas set out in Experience and Its Modes (EM),12 the conceptual language may have changed but not the basic principles upon which these ideas were constructed. In this respect I argue against those who maintain that Oakeshott’s early philosophical thought is differentiated from his later work.13 As to the use of the term ‘non-foundational’ employed here, this refers to the manner by which Oakeshott took Bradley’s notion of the ‘Absolute’ as experience and associated it with Hegel’s view that this is knowable, thereby focusing philosophical attention upon the varied practices of life rather than an unknowable reality. For Oakeshott all human life is knowable, there is no-thing outside of thought that the human mind cannot grasp. In this way Oakeshott took the traditional Idealist focus away from reconciling all human life to a ‘One’ ‘Whole’ or ‘Absolute’, where truth, fact and reality resided, to focusing upon the actuality of everyday human activities, I have called this move non-foundational. For in taking Idealism down this path Oakeshott leaves all our experiences ultimately ungrounded in anything other than the conventional establishment of underling ‘rules’. This goes not only for politics, religion and the arts, but also, radically, for history and science. Although a great deal of this text is taken up with a particular interpretation of Oakeshott’s work, I also aim to highlight where Oakeshott’s philosophy has some significant flaws. Many commentators have attempted to criticise Oakeshott without setting out a clear interpretation of his philosophical system. In so doing they construct their critique on inappropriate ground, usually focusing upon Oakeshott’s political essays with little understanding of the philosophical thought that underlines these works. In order to avoid this type of analysis I have primarily addressed my criticisms to his philosophical system, particularly to his theory of modality. First I argue that Oakeshott privileges the mode of ‘practice’. By taking Bradley’s notion of the ‘Absolute’ as experience, and associating it with Hegel’s conception of the ‘Absolute’ as the totality of thought, Oakeshott implodes the ‘Absolute’ into experience itself (by identifying it with, simply, ‘experiencing’ and ‘what is experienced’).
6 Introduction In so doing he throws attention upon the modes of experience. Although he states that there are an infinite number of modes he analyses what he considers to be the most coherent. These are history, science, poetry and practice. In the case of all of the modes except for ‘practice’ Oakeshott does not state why they are modes, merely explaining what they are. For example, history is described as emerging like a child’s game. The same is true of philosophy; no reason why it should exist is given. This would not be a problem were it consistent; however, in relation to ‘practice’ his position is somewhat different. He claims that without practice not only would practical experience cease, but so would all human life. Furthermore, without practice moral conduct and religious experience would not be possible. Whilst they are not essential to life, Oakeshott implies that morality and religion do give a profound meaning to human existence. All this provides a reason ‘why’ practice is a world of thought and, given its position in his philosophy, it seems to have required some further explanation. Second, I enter the debate regarding one of the main criticisms that he has faced regarding his theory of modality. That is, he appears to presume fluidity between the ‘modes’, ‘voices’ or ‘practices’ that is never theorised. I argue that there are strong reasons for concurring with this argument. At the very least Oakeshott leaves us with a degree of ambiguity around this point of discussion. This can, for example, be seen in Oakeshott’s explanation of historical experience that indicates that the modes might, to a degree, overlap. He refers to the idea of the practical past where historical fact is put at the service of practical existence. However, he fails to say what a theory of the practical past might look like and how history and practice might ‘mix’. I also note how, in his historical analysis of the character of the modern European state, Oakeshott draws upon a philosophical argument to substantiate his position. Once more there is an implied movement between the modes or discourses that remains, at best, only partially justified. All in all, Oakeshott’s general philosophical system emphasises the distance between the modes while specific explanations imply that they do touch. In addition to the criticisms relating to his theory of modality, I also point to a dilemma regarding the sovereignty of the self in his work. In Oakeshott’s philosophy we find a ‘fragmented’ notion of the self. However, this does not prevent him from placing a heavy burden of responsibility upon the self. It is always the responsibility of the self to construct a world of ideas: they construct meanings and identities, they constitute various roles for themselves and, ultimately,
Introduction 7 they determine what is real, true and fact. I acknowledge that this position is logical in the terms of his philosophy, but I raise a doubt as to its impact. That is, Oakeshott maintains the post-Enlightenment inclination towards the individualising of all human action. Incongruously this is a tradition associated with some forms of philosophical rationalism. Furthermore, embedded in Oakeshott’s thought is an individualism that is philosophically accounted for but which nevertheless theorises away the possibility of collective forms of knowledge, identity and morality. I argue that only by moving away from his terms might such a possibility be held open. Related to this criticism is another that concerns his philosophical and literary style. I shall emphasise the way that his philosophy is ‘inward looking’, given its basis in a system of internal relations. That is, Oakeshott’s form of argument is such that he brings opposing positions under the terms of his own philosophical system without actually refuting their standpoints. This all-embracing style substantiates his philosophy but circumvents any genuine engagement with alternative schools of thought. This criticism is linked to what I have said above because it is only by moving away from his terms of engagement that it may be possible to theorise a less ‘selfobsessed’ theory of knowledge and identity. Overall Oakeshott is well known for his engaging writing. In his essays he exhibits a lucidity that is rare in political thought. However, they are also at times frustratingly truncated theoretical texts. It is all too easy to be beguiled by Oakeshott’s enchanting phrases and seductive metaphors. But I hope to go beyond his honeyed language to see whether his theory is appropriately substantiated. This, then, is the point of view that I wish to defend and the critique of Oakeshott’s philosophy I intend to set out. I have divided the text into three interrelated parts. Below I provide a brief summary of how I will proceed. The first part of the book is concerned with the philosophical depth of Oakeshott’s work. I begin by setting out the historical context of his thought. In general the theoretical tradition that most influenced him might broadly be understood as Idealism. I shall summarise aspects of the work of Plato, Spinoza, Hegel and the British Idealists in order to highlight the philosophical pedigree of Oakeshott’s principal concepts. From this general review I turn in the second chapter to the inspiration of Bradley. I argue that we have to come to grips with his philosophy in order to fully understand Oakeshott’s work. Furthermore, by making this comparison I describe the radical move that Oakeshott makes under the terms of
8 Introduction Idealism, setting it upon non-foundational ground. In the third and final chapters of Part One I analyse EM, Oakeshott’s first philosophical tract. I maintain that by taking the ‘Absolute’ as experience, and combining this with Hegel’s conception of the ‘Absolute’ as the totality of thought, Oakeshott revises Idealism along non-foundational lines. I point out how, under Oakeshott’s terms, the Hegelian ‘concrete universal’ becomes a non-essentialist theoretical concept. I also begin to raise my concern about his ‘philosophical individualism’ and I point to his ‘inward-looking’ style that closes the possibilities of exploring communal forms of knowledge and identity. In the fourth chapter, which begins the section on politics and morality, I look at his earliest work on religion. I also indicate how politics is tied to practical experience and, therefore, moral conduct. In addition, I show how Oakeshott’s critique of rationalism is bound to his understanding of the relationship between practice, politics and morality. I shall also put forward my criticism that Oakeshott privileges the mode of practice. In Chapter 5 I further emphasise the close relationship between politics and morality in Oakeshott’s work. I begin by illustrating how Oakeshott’s radical revision of Idealism is maintained in his political essays. I look at the idea of the human world as a ‘conversation’ and argue that the terms used around this notion are tied to his non-foundational philosophy. My criticism that Oakeshott presumes fluidity between the modes also begins to take shape here. In Chapter 6 I present a systematic account of Oakeshott’s notion of historical experience in order to see how these ideas relate to his understanding of politics. I compare Oakeshott’s views to the influential account put forward by Skinner, that to understand the meaning of a political text we must grasp the linguistic action performed by the author writing it. I then make a comparison between Oakeshott’s work and that of Foucault. Following on from this I turn to the examination of OHC. The analysis of this text is undertaken over two chapters. In Chapter 7, I present a detailed reading of Oakeshott’s understanding of human and moral conduct. I note some of the theoretical consistencies of this work with his earlier writings. In Chapter 8, I look at his theory of the civil condition that is presented in philosophical and historical terms. I take what Oakeshott is doing here as presenting two forms of moral association, one instrumental, the other an open-ended ‘practice’. I argue that politics is connected to the individual’s private moral concerns as well as to the wider public concern. This position gives politics a ‘positive’ character, and it is so because of its relationship to morality. From this analysis I move on to look at how Oakeshott
Introduction 9 understands the civil condition to be an ambiguous historical relationship between two modes of association (universitas and societas) that constitute the modern European state. In the last part of the book I look at how Oakeshott’s work is relevant to contemporary debates in political philosophy. Based upon my analysis of his philosophical system as non-foundational, I trace the significance of this when set against the work of the ‘later’ Wittgenstein. I maintain that Oakeshott’s theory ought to be placed upon the same philosophical terrain as Wittgenstein’s and I draw out the connecting points in their work, importantly pointing to their similar distinction between theory and practice. From this argument I go on to criticise the use of Wittgenstein’s work for what I argue is a ‘rationalist’ form of Discourse Analysis. In the final chapter I directly engage with commentators who take Oakeshott as a liberal. I maintain that these authors reduce the overall content of his thought and misplace what is most central to his philosophy. I also look at the way that Rorty uses Oakeshott’s notion of ‘conversation’. I argue that this has little to do with Oakeshott’s understanding of the term and more to do with the expression of Rorty’s own pragmatism. However, I note that, because of the problem of the fluidity of the modes, Rorty can be said to justifiably use this concept in the way that he does. In conclusion I look at the impact that deconstruction might be said to have on Oakeshott’s philosophy. Derrida has argued that philosophy is not an unconditional form of thought but has postulates of its own. This view challenges Oakeshott’s understanding and I shall assess whether or not it undermines his position.
Part I
Philosophy and morality
1
Philosophical influences
Introduction The philosophical tradition of Idealism, which is the starting point of Oakeshott’s philosophy, has a long and rich pedigree. If its development is followed, not only are the twists and turns of one particular philosophical school revealed but also the expansion of some of the most significant framing concepts of Western philosophy. Idealism is one of the ‘grand’ traditions of philosophy. Since the Enlightenment it has been fighting the battle for theoretical supremacy with, first, rationalism and, later, empiricism.1 At the time that Oakeshott began to publish, the old antagonisms were firmly in place. But the character of his work and that of his contemporaries was to alter the shape of philosophical debate up to and including the present time. In general terms, rationalism contends that what we know about the world can only come to us through reason. That is not to say that ‘appearance’ and ‘reality’ correspond. Rather, our experience may indicate how things appear to be but it is reason alone that explains how things really are. The disjuncture between ‘appearance’ and ‘reality’, while central to rationalism, is not exclusive to it. The question of the relation between the two has been an important concern of Idealism, and in common with their rationalist opponents they have often answered in Monist terms. This dualism was formulated first by Plato2 and it is at the point of trying to reconcile this binary distinction that the two traditions meet. So it is, then, that Oakeshott shares a similar conceptual framework with arch-rationalists like Spinoza.3 However, it must be emphasised that his philosophical system has a likeness to Monist rationalism, rather than the rationalism of Descartes.4 In almost direct opposition to rationalism stands empiricism. Here it is taken that experience, not reason, holds the key to what we can know. It is from our senses that we begin measuring the validity or
14 Philosophy and morality otherwise of what we appear to understand as true. This most generalised understanding might be associated with Hume.5 British philosophy has been dominated by empiricism. This bias originated in modern times from Lockian thought and was reinforced in the nineteenth century by John Stuart Mill. It has often been said that the British Idealists spent as much time attacking empiricism as they did in outlining their own positions. As I shall illustrate, Oakeshott’s first text was no exception. However, there is something similar in the scepticism of both traditions. Locke, for example, famously described the task of the philosopher to be that of an ‘under-labourer’ who merely removes some of the clutter that lies in the way of our knowledge. He wanted to avoid the rationalists’ inordinate ‘meddling with things’.6 In seeking to ‘elucidate’ rather than ‘prescribe’, the philosophical systems of Bradley and Oakeshott have something in common with this view. All that being said, it is possible to distinguish Idealism as a school of thought that stands on its own metaphysical two feet. Idealism begins by identifying reality with experience. Experience is self-authenticating. There is nothing outside of experience, no reality beyond it to validate it. Everything in experience is an idea, a part of consciousness. In this way the world is understood as a mental construct. Things exist but never independently of the mind. Generally speaking, then, Idealism is any system of thought in which the object of external perception is held to consist of ideas. My task in this chapter is to illustrate how Idealism has shaped Oakeshott’s philosophical position. This is not meant to be a systematic comparison with previous Idealists. Not only would this be tedious but it would also be inappropriate. My aim here is to merely outline the general historical context from which Oakeshott takes his ‘framing’ concepts. It is ‘general’ and ‘framing’ in that Oakeshott uses these theoretical tools in a distinctive and unique way. I wish to avoid the conclusion that his concepts ‘match’ or ‘correspond to’ those of any other author. To this end, this chapter on the context of Oakeshott’s thought is simplified and generalised, and purposefully so. There is no doubt that Oakeshott was extremely well versed in the thought of the ‘ancients’, particularly the writings of Plato.7 In the first part of this chapter I examine Platonic Idealism. I point to the concern with ‘appearance’ and ‘reality’, and the dichotomy between the ‘One’ and the ‘Many’. I also highlight the Socratic style that informs Oakeshott’s idea of philosophy. Equally as important, I indicate where Oakeshott diverges from Platonic reasoning. Next, I narrate the development of the neo-Platonic Idealism of Plotinus. I go on to highlight the significance of Spinoza’s theory of modality for
Philosophical influences 15 Oakeshott’s framing ideas. I point out that, while Oakeshott was indebted to his Monism, his philosophical reflections are of an entirely different character. Furthermore, he is distinguished from Spinoza by his scepticism and anti-rationalism. From this point I turn to German Idealism, in particular the work of Hegel. Here there are a number of important connecting points to draw out. First, Hegel’s challenge to Kantian subjectivism was maintained in Oakeshott’s philosophy that attempted to sustain the Hegelian resolution of the subject/object dichotomy. Second, Hegel’s theory of knowledge, and his understanding of ‘Absolute knowing’ as the totality of all consciousness, were radicalised by Oakeshott into a non-foundational philosophy. Third, I illustrate that Hegel’s ‘concrete universal’ was central to British Idealism in general. Over the next two chapters it will be seen how, in Oakeshott’s hands, this notion became a non-essentialist concept. In concluding this discussion I point out how Oakeshott shares a similar idea of philosophy with Hegel in so far as it is tied to the Socratic method, and its aim is to make life rationally apprehensible. Oakeshott parts with Hegel in two respects. He never has recourse to the Hegelian dialectic and he does not privilege philosophical discourse. I move on to establish the general terrain of British Idealism. I argue that at its heart was a moral concern, and central to this was a preoccupation with religion. This may be seen by the omnipresence of the notion of self-realisation. I also highlight that ‘politics’ (or, at least, a concern with the idea of the ‘state’) had a place in the writings of the British Idealists. Oakeshott follows his philosophical ancestors’ footsteps except where they tend towards social prescription. To illustrate the general position of British Idealism I provide an overview of the work of Bosanquet and Green. In the last part of this chapter I examine the rise of logical positivism. After outlining the challenge laid down to Idealism by Moore and Russell, I review the position of the ‘early’ Wittgenstein. In contradistinction to the Idealist ‘project’ I maintain that positivism sought to end the traditional questions of philosophy, in particular moral reflection. It was this point of view that Oakeshott challenged when he sought to defend Idealism long after it had ceased to be fashionable.
Platonic Idealism The first full-blown Idealist philosophy may be said to begin with Plato, Socrates’ most famous pupil and Aristotle’s teacher. Plato’s
16 Philosophy and morality philosophy was systematically stated in the Phaedo but it is in the Republic that Plato provides us with the most comprehensive account of his position.8 His ideas about the nature of reality rest upon the premise that there exists a world of intelligible Forms or Ideas that exists independent of the things we take to be real. The Forms are eternal and unchanging. It is possible to come to an intuitive knowledge of the Forms through an appropriate education, leading to an understanding of the ‘One’, the Form of the Good. By attempting to establish a distinction between the intelligible world of the Forms and the world of appearances Plato makes a significant binary distinction. This is between the ‘One’ and the ‘Many’.9 First, Plato maintains that even though different qualities may exhibit themselves in one thing it is a misunderstanding to take them as ultimately combined: ‘since beauty and ugliness are opposites, they are two things; and consequently each of them is one. The same holds of justice and injustice, good and bad, and all the essential Forms: each itself is one’ (Ch. XIX v. 476). Second, it is not only that each particular Form is one in itself but that there is an ultimate end or telos of human life, the quest for the knowledge of the Good, which is the ‘One’ of which everything else is only a part (Ch. XXIII vi. 502–9). When the essential nature of the Good is comprehended, it reveals not only what is morally correct but also what is good in nature and the whole universe. It is the completion of knowledge. It might be noted that Oakeshott’s work opposes this position. In so far as Plato, along with Aristotle, is the founder of the tradition of ‘natural law’ theory, Oakeshott’s political and moral ideas stand as a refutation to any notion of a fixed or determinate ‘Good’. The doctrine of the Forms has a corresponding theory of knowledge In philosophy there can be no false knowledge as its objects of study are the unchanging principles of the world. Philosophical knowledge takes us to the essence of things. In contrast, a concern with the world of appearances leads only to a mere opinion, or ‘doxa’ (Ch. XIX v. 478). In this world any particular thing may be beautiful or ugly in the eye of the beholder. It is a world of intermediate things, between what is real and unreal, what ‘is’ and ‘is not’. Thus, our day-to-day understanding of things is not concerned with what is unreal but is shaped by a belief that objects are real. For the man who seeks wisdom, for the philosopher, what must be comprehended is the reality of the Forms. Even though the Forms may be invisible
Philosophical influences 17 they are real and rational: ‘the many things, we say, can be seen, but are not objects of rational thought: whereas the Forms are objects of thought but invisible’ (Ch. XXIII v. 507). The quest of Idealism since Plato has always been to ‘reject the appearance and demand the reality’ (Ch. XXIII v. 505). The idea that philosophy should be concerned with what was real and, correspondingly, rational was to persist in nineteenth-century Idealism. It was also to influence the rationalist tradition associated with the Enlightenment. Where the two traditions overlap is in taking from Plato the idea that the objects of thought should be rationally apprehensible. One of the distinctive marks of Oakeshott’s work has been to illustrate that our emotions, religion and inarticulate forms of knowledge may all be legitimate objects of ‘rational’ study for philosophy while not taking anything away from their character. Voegelin has a similar position, also conscious of the Platonic legacy.10 Alongside Plato’s theory of knowledge there unfolds a theory of mind. He describes a diagram that is intended to illustrate various levels of understanding (Ch. XXIV vi. 509). These are arranged hierarchically and divided into two sections, understanding of the world of appearances and the world of Forms. The lowest state of mind is ‘eikasia’. It appears to be associated with those who only take what they see as real when they are but the ‘imaginings’ of their mind. The highest state of mind is one that has reached a stage of discursive thinking using the Socratic dialectic method. This is understood as reasoning carried out by questions and answers that attempt to reach an explanation of a particular Form. The point of the dialogue is to examine the premises of statements and the principles upon which they depend: ‘you may understand me to mean all that unaided reasoning apprehends by the power of dialectic, when it treats its assumptions, not as first principles, but as hypotheses in the literal sences, things “laid down”’ (Ch. XXIV vi. 511). Although it would be the antithesis of Oakeshott’s philosophical view to look for the ‘logos’ of an object, his idea of philosophy is close to that of Plato. Indeed, there is no Hegelian dialectic in his work but there is something akin to the Socratic one.11 Oakeshott’s idea of philosophy takes it as a manner of thinking which aims to explain the presuppositions of our thought. Philosophy attempts to get to know what in another sense we already know. There can be no false knowledge. Philosophy is a parasitic activity. In OHC he states,
18 Philosophy and morality Philosophical reflection is recognised here as an adventure of one who seeks to understand in other terms what he already understands and in which the understanding sought (itself unavoidably conditional) is a disclosure of the conditions of the understanding enjoyed and not a substitute for it. (OHC p. vii) From EM to OHC, Oakeshott’s idea of philosophy has a basic Platonic character. He has stated that, like Plato in the Phaedo, he also takes philosophy to be the study of dying and death (EM p. 310). In philosophy we are able to face up to our mortality in a disinterested manner that is not possible under the terms of any other idiom of thought. Given this view, philosophy has no bearing upon everyday or ‘practical’ life (as we shall see). Oakeshott parts company with Plato when he attempts to unite theory and practice and privilege philosophical experience. Socrates is provoked into declaring how far his ideal state and his ideal man can have any practical use (Ch. XVIII v. 471–4). In response he advances the view that his ideas would be practical where a philosopher obtains political power. The idea of the ‘philosopher-king’ is antithetical to the character of Oakeshott’s philosophy. He makes this clear in OHC where he rewrites the ‘allegory of the cave’ so that the cave-dwellers tell the philosopher – in so many words – to get lost. (OHC pp. 27–31). It is here that his journey with Plato ends and where that of the rationalist in politics begins. It is in terms of his epistemology (his theory of knowledge), rather than his ontology (his theory regarding the nature of existence), that Plato’s work is most significant for getting to grips with the framing concepts of Oakeshott’s thought. Plato’s general understanding of the character of philosophy, which takes philosophy to be concerned with what is rational and real, or with what is ‘concrete’ rather than ‘abstract’, left its mark on the whole tradition of Idealism. The Idealist theory of knowledge has been such that ‘truth’ and ‘reality’ have been synonymous with what is ‘concrete’ in experience. That which does not relate to what is ultimately real has no meaning. The various theoretical frameworks that have tried to explain this have also largely done so under the terms of Plato’s distinction between the ‘One’ and the ‘Many’. There is one absolute reality that provides a context for understanding the cosmos. This may be the ‘Good’ or, later, ‘Mind’ or the ‘Whole’ or, ‘Experience’. Oakeshott both worked within this tradition and stood it on its head. He came to associate what is ‘concrete’ with all human
Philosophical influences 19 activities, which themselves constitute the ‘One’ of experience. He used a basic Platonic understanding to construct a non-foundational idea of philosophy. In particular, he drew upon the non-rationalist side of Plato’s thought to take philosophy, not as a master-discipline, but as a critical enquiry into the various activities of human life. While this criticism exposes the presuppositions and incoherencies of the modes of thought, for Oakeshott, it leaves them untouched.
Post-Plato Despite the challenge made to his theory of Forms by Aristotle, many of Plato’s metaphysical notions persisted. In the first four centuries AD a group of neo-Platonists continued many of his themes. Chief among these was Plotinus.12 Although his writings are disparate it is apparent that he constructed a metaphysical system that maintained the idea that all that is real is ‘One’ and the ‘One’ remained the ‘Good’. According to Plotinus, Man should strive for virtue and in so doing would be able to contemplate the higher levels of reality. This condition had a mystical character.13 Plotinus maintained that it is a state that is beyond existence, where subject and object distinctions lose all meaning. Everything simply becomes ‘One’.14 When this level of experience is reached the world could be seen as a whole. Like Plato, Plotinus sets Man the goal of cultivating his soul. This could be achieved by overcoming our physical being and nurturing our intellectual capacity for the contemplation of the ‘One’. A similar neo-Platonic idea may be found in Augustine.15 It is notable that the moral and theological elements in the thought of Plotinus (and, of course, Augustine) are at the centre of his philosophical ideas. Moreover, the manner of understanding the world through a distinction between the ‘One’ and the ‘Many’ lends its hand to an image of human life as an imperfect manifestation of some perfect and whole reality. Implicitly this view is a sceptical one. If the apparent human world is nothing more than a hazy reflection of some reality beyond it, it follows that the achievements of the human world will be as imperfect as those who constitute it. The distinction between the ‘One’ and the ‘Many’ remained in the work of the Enlightenment philosophers, but the tendency towards scepticism receded under the pressure of new rationalist ideas. Spinoza has often been interpreted as an extreme determinist. It may be surprising, then, to consider that his work helped to shape Oakeshott’s framing concepts. Spinoza maintained that there was
20 Philosophy and morality only one ‘substance’ and this was God.16 Using the methods of the new mathematics he defined ‘substance’ as that which exists ‘in itself’ and is conceived ‘through itself’. In short, it was that which did not depend upon anything else for its existence. Spinoza’s radical move was not only to equate the ‘One’ with God but also nature, the physical universe. He argued that God was in everything. The creator, and that which was created, consisted of the same ‘substance’. It follows that all the relations between things are joined in one great logical system of relations. To understand the truth about the whole system would be to know the logical connections between its parts. These were necessary connections, and if they could be grasped it could be shown that God’s world was rational, that there were no contingencies in his grand plan: ‘In the nature of things nothing contingent is admitted, but all things are determined by the necessity of divine nature to exist and act in a certain way’ (Spinoza 1963, Pt 1, Prop. XXIX). The claim that within nature everything is determined corresponds to Spinoza’s notion that the one ‘substance’, which is God, has an infinity of ‘attributes’ but the human intellect can only grasp two of these, namely thought and extension. We can think of the universe as a system of minds or thoughts, or as a system of physical entities. An attribute constitutes an essence of a substance, a fundamental nature without which the substance would not be what it is; each of these ‘attributes’ is essential to a ‘substance’, its essence. Thus, extension is essential to corporeal things, and so it is essential to that aspect of the one ‘substance’ that is God. As well as the attributes, Spinoza also discusses ‘modes’. (1963, Pt 2, Prop. XIII). A mode is a modification of ‘substance’. For example, a human body is a mode of the ‘attribute’ of extension. Using his mathematical method, Spinoza argued that the human body is an arrangement or structure of particles of matter differentiated from the rest of matter by its particular structure. Likewise, a human mind is an ‘attribute’ of thought. It is the mental aspect of the ‘substance’ of which the body is the material aspect. Every mode of extension necessarily has a corresponding mode of thought. By arguing that there is but one ‘substance’, Spinoza avoided the Cartesian system of dualisms and was able to reconcile all things to the ‘One’. The reason for the influence of Spinoza’s ideas upon Oakeshott’s philosophy was that Hegel appropriated the notion of ‘substance’ for his own idea of the ‘One’, and in turn this idea was picked up by Oakeshott’s mentor, Bradley. More importantly, it appears that Oakeshott was directly influenced by Spinoza, enough to make the
Philosophical influences 21 idea of the ‘modes’ (dependent/modal) as the modification of experience (self-dependent/substantial) central to his philosophy. However, it would be misguided to associate this link with Spinoza too closely. His understanding of the ‘modes’ was underpinned by a mathematical premise that theorised a system of fixed and determinate principles. This has no place in Oakeshott’s thought that retains the neoPlatonic concern with morality as a pivotal point of his philosophy. Moreover, Spinoza’s writings seem to share little of the scepticism that was the general tone of neo-Platonic thought, and it was this lack of humility that Oakeshott rejected, not only in Spinoza’s work but also in Hegel’s.
German Idealism By way of introducing the ideas of Hegel from which Oakeshott developed a number of his most important concepts, I begin by outlining the general terrain of Kant’s thought.17 Kant’s ‘transcendental Idealism’ took the objects of experience (which exist in time and space, the necessary conditions of experience) to be ‘things-inthemselves’. These objects were unknowable. He maintained that ‘things’, which we generally regard as purely external to ourselves, are actually made of ‘forms’ or ‘moulds’ that exist in the individual’s mind. That which we know is a combination of these two elements, the subjective and the objective. ‘Things-in-themselves’ are only known by coming into contact with the mind (and in this way they are transformed). Kant’s transcendentalism comes from his argument that phenomenal experience depends upon synthetic a priori (antecedent to experience) judgements. In other words, our experience presupposes a realm of unknowable reality which affects the senses but which we can only perceive in forms ordered by the a priori categories in our minds. Kant concluded that the empirical phenomena that science took as the sole reality were mere ‘appearances’. The empirical world was ‘ideal’, a picture due to the functioning of the brain. As a result of this philosophical investigation, Kant went on to give supremacy in his thought not to science and ‘pure reason’ but to ‘practical reason’ and a theory of Will. His metaphysics led him to the opinion that the variety of experience should not be subordinated to the intellect. In this respect the tone of Oakeshott’s work matches Kant’s. As we shall see, an important part of Oakeshott’s understanding of human conduct is his theory of Will, although this is as much implicit to his notion of agency as explicitly stated. He is also known for a particular
22 Philosophy and morality analysis of practical knowledge. That said, the theoretical concepts used are of a different order. Oakeshott had little time for Kant’s subjectivism. Indeed, as I point out later, Oakeshott’s work may be used to criticise some aspects of contemporary ‘subjectivist’ accounts of morality and politics. It was from Hegel, who built upon the foundations of Kantian metaphysics, that Oakeshott took a guiding (although not uncritical) light. Hegel agreed with Kant that what we can know must be imposed by the mind. But he rejected the ‘thing-in-itself’ as unintelligible. Although Kant had stated that we could never know the ‘things-in-themselves’ he maintained that ‘things’ were still there. This view betrayed an empirical realism in his thought that stood in a relation of tension to his transcendental Idealism. Kant never fully explained how the categories of the mind and the ‘things-in-themselves’ came together. It was through this gap that Hegel took German Idealism.18 Hegel offered an ‘Absolute’ notion of mind in contrast to Kant’s metaphysical Idealism. For Hegel all existence was a ‘form’ of one mind. The subjective/objective distinction only existed as precipitates of an undifferentiated experience prior to them both. This was ‘Pure Being’ or the ‘Absolute’. The ‘Absolute’ was the ultimate reality, an objective fact in which all things participated and from which all self-consciousness originated. In the Phenomenology19 Hegel divided all forms of human consciousness into two categories. The first category distinguished all individual forms of consciousness into three levels: consciousness, self-consciousness and reason. The second category distinguished three levels of social consciousness from which the first forms were abstracted: spirit, religion and absolute knowing. These various forms of consciousness, and their related concepts, made up the hierarchically ordered, interrelated system which Hegel moved between in his analysis of mind. It established that the culmination of every individual human intellect, as well as collective human history, was to be found in the ‘Absolute’. In pressing forward to its true form of existence, consciousness will come to a point at which it lays aside its semblance of being hampered with what is alien to it, with what is only for it and exists as an other, where appearance becomes identified with essence, where in consequence its exposition coincides with this very same point in the science proper of mind, and finally, when it grasps this its own essence, it will denote the nature of absolute knowledge itself.20
Philosophical influences 23 Hegel’s ‘Absolute Knowing’ challenged the empiricist theory of knowledge that knowledge begins with physical particulars (‘ideas’ or ‘impressions’) and then proceeds by way of ‘association’ to universals. For Hegel the ‘Absolute’ was the totality of previous forms of consciousness.21 This point is crucial to grasp. In the next chapter I shall argue that when we come to look at the work of the British ‘Hegelian’ F. H. Bradley (whose thought was inspirational to Oakeshott’s philosophy) the ‘Absolute’ was understood significantly differently, as a new form of consciousness which left behind all previous experience. I will argue that by bringing together Hegel’s and Bradley’s theories, Oakeshott turns Idealism on its head, to set it upon non-foundational terrain. It might also be noted that in attempting to reconcile the subject/object distinction in this way Hegel subscribes to the Platonic search for rationality. By maintaining that the ‘Absolute’ was the totality of experience, Hegel wanted not only to challenge Kant’s view that the ‘thing-in-itself’ was unknowable, but to show that the whole world was open to reason. In so far as Oakeshott brings together Hegel and Bradley to demystify the obscurantism of Idealism, he continues this ‘project’ to make human thought rationally comprehensible. ‘Absolute Knowing’, then, is what is ultimately ‘real’ and ‘rational’. The various parts of the ‘Absolute’ were only real by virtue of being part of the whole. The ‘Absolute’ was the ‘universal’ (conceptually similar to Spinoza’s ‘substance’), which gave all things meaning. For Hegel the ‘Absolute’ was also a historical object towards which humankind was evolving. This was understood as a process of dialectical change. What is meant by the dialectic in the Phenomenology is not altogether clear.22 Suffice to say that it was the dynamic aspect of his system of mind. It was the way that the various forms of consciousness were hierarchically interrelated. Although Hegel was trying to come to grips with historical change, it must be emphasised that the dialectic was a philosophical concept. Hegel separated philosophical propositions from other sorts of propositions. Dogmatism as a way of thinking . . . is nothing else but the view that truth consists in a proposition which is a fixed result, or again is immediately known. To questions like ‘When was Caesar born?’ . . . a straight answer ought to be given . . . But the nature of a so-called truth of that sort is different from the nature of philosophical truths.23 For the philosopher the question ‘When was Caesar born?’ meant not a direct answer but an investigation into what we mean by
24 Philosophy and morality ‘Caesar’, and by the assertion that he was born on such and such a date. In the Phenomenology Hegel traced the dialectical process by which the ‘Absolute’ came to the philosopher.24 He argued that religion and art were means by which the ‘Absolute’ could be comprehended. But he regarded philosophy as the highest form of understanding, ‘Absolute Knowing’. This is because philosophy’s form of comprehension is a conceptual one that makes it conscious of its own method as well as the methods of art and religion. Only philosophy could give self-awareness to the whole of human intellectual life and, thereby, instruct other minor disciplines of the partiality of their knowledge of the Whole. In other words, philosophy criticises the presuppositions of human thought. This legacy, which I have traced from Plato, is the idea of philosophy that inspired Oakeshott. However, the way that Hegel uses his dialectic, to argue that history leaves behind what is irrational and the ‘spirit’ (the culture of a people) moves on to a higher plane, has no place in Oakeshott’s thought. There is no such thing as a collective conscience; for him, consciousness can only ever belong to distinct individuals. There are some grounds here for criticising Oakeshott as he never develops this aspect of Hegelian thought. On the whole Hegel’s dialectic was to be dropped by the British Idealists (only Green maintained it, as I discuss below). Furthermore, it has been a hallmark of British Idealism that philosophy has rarely been taken as a master-discipline in the manner that Hegel defines it. For Bradley, for instance, philosophy is not fully identified with the ‘Absolute’, and the forms of experience are not arranged hierarchically. Oakeshott also has a limited conception of the idea of philosophy, and he does not privilege philosophical discourse. However, in so far as philosophy is identified with the ‘Absolute’ (with ‘experience’) he is closer to Hegel than Bradley. What British Idealism did take from Hegel was the Monist view that truth and rationality were associated with the ‘Absolute’. The various parts that constituted the ‘Absolute’ were only ‘real’ in so far as they were related to it. This was maintained by a coherence (as opposed to the empiricist, ‘correspondence’) theory of truth. That is, individual facts and judgements are ‘true’ or ‘real’ in so far as they belong to a larger system of relations, as knowledge changes these facts and judgements change as part of the whole system of relations. It is only with the achievement of an absolutely coherent world of experience that these individual facts and judgements have a final stability. That is in the non-contradictory, non-relational, self-sufficient ‘Absolute’. The coherence theory of truth and reality does not
Philosophical influences 25 proceed on the basis that relations are established on something outside the elements that comprise it. The ‘universal’ interpenetrates the material parts, giving them their particular character. This theory of internal relations is the central tenet of the notion of the ‘concrete universal’. In the following two chapters I shall illustrate in more detail how this Hegelian concept affects Bradley and, consequently, Oakeshott’s philosophy.
British Idealism From the mid-1870s until the First World War a group of British philosophers (based largely at Oxford) became prominent, who founded their ideas around what I have described as the Idealist tradition. Included in this group were T. H. Green, Edward Caird, Bernard Bosanquet and, of course, F. H. Bradley. The ‘early’ Collingwood might also be mentioned. This group were notable in Britain for taking Hegel seriously. As it was, they were rather late in the running, as William James stated, ‘It is a strange thing, this resurrection of Hegel in England and America after his burial in Germany’.25 Although influenced by Hegel, this body of scholars were not crude interpreters. Rather, they gave the German tradition of Idealism a peculiar twist. Most notably they were concerned to emphasise the moral dimension of Idealism and in some cases (as in the work of Green) propose general social principles from their theoretical speculations. Bradley had a theory of morals at the centre of his thought but was set apart from the general tendency to edge towards rather prescriptive ideas. In his outstanding study of the politics of the British Idealists, Nicholson notes that, at a general level, they can be said to agree that human beings must be considered from two viewpoints, as distinct individuals and as members of a community.26 As an individual each person is a free moral agent capable of directing their lives and developing their character to its fullest potential. As social beings this is undertaken within the context of living with others and, therefore, of having moral responsibilities. The goal of each life, then, becomes the accomplishment of a morally worthwhile existence. Similarly the ‘end’ of the state is to provide a framework that allows its members to lead such a life. At this general level, Oakeshott’s work may be seen as preoccupied with the British Idealist’s search for an adequate theory of morals. For example, in OHC we find both an elucidation of the moral conduct of ‘free’ agents and an explanation of the moral
26 Philosophy and morality association of societas (a non-instrumental form of civil association). However, there is no prescriptive element in these philosophical inquiries. British Idealism was also permeated by an interest in religion. It has been observed that its most prominent members were all sons of clergymen within the Church of England.27 It may be no surprise, then, to find an understanding of religion as an important part of Oakeshott’s moral concern. In order to highlight the way in which moral concerns were central to British Idealism, and how ‘politics’ was an important part of this concern, I shall indicate where they sit in relation to the work of Bosanquet and Green. The basis of Bosanquet’s work is the Idealist emphasis on unity as the key to reality, and the process of thought whereby reality is grasped. Such is his project in the Logic28 and The Principle of Individuality and Value. In this latter work he defines logic as ‘the spirit of totality or effort to self-completion, which being the principle of individuality, is the key to reality, value and freedom’.29 Bosanquet used Idealism to admit, and in most instances praise, pluralism while arguing that this diversity was, ultimately, part of an interrelated whole. This standpoint, in terms of its moral and political implications, is stated in his Philosophical Theory of the State.30 Here Bosanquet emphasises the intimate relationship of the individual to the whole of society that ‘moralises’ the individual, endowing them with the capacity for creative and moral actions. Like Hegel, Bosanquet identifies what is ‘real’ and what is ‘rational’ with the ‘state’. But by ‘state’ he does not merely mean the political system but all social and political institutions, associations and influences in general. It is within the customs, laws and institutions that constitute the ‘state’ that individuals find their purpose in life, a moral purpose that gives their existence meaning. This is the case because the ‘state’ carries with it the embodiment of our ‘real’ will. As a collective or ‘general will’ the state carries us beyond our everyday selves, altering our immediate wants so that they harmonise with what we want at other moments, and also with the wants of others. In this way the ‘state’ liberates the self by disciplining it, and creates the conditions for self-realisation.31 The concept of ‘self-realisation’ is a central tenet of all the British Idealists’ moral thought. Bradley and Oakeshott have their own particular versions of it. Of the Idealists who occupied themselves with this notion it is Green who comes closest to tying it to theology. Time has not been good to Green. Although his social and political ideas were influen-
Philosophical influences 27 tial to those he taught at Oxford, he has a reputation for being considered obscure, incoherent and egoistic.32 In the Prolegomena to Ethics,33 Green attempts to find out what it means for someone to realise themselves. His answer is that he must will the Common Good. According to Green the moral agent (and only human beings can act morally) is a subject conscious of himself who acts on a motive. The motive is his idea of himself achieving some object, an idea that he strives to realise. As it is his own motive that brings about the act, he understands he is responsible for it and whatever the consequences of his actions he can change, refine or improve the actions in a desire for self-reform. Whenever a man acts, Green argues, he is seeking to realise a ‘conception of personal good’. Whether or not he achieves this will depend on the kind of objects he wills. If what he wills is towards the end of ‘goodness’ then he is likely to achieve self-realisation. The true good is the same for all: it is a Common Good. Any object whose achievement contributes to the Common Good is ‘good’. The Common Good is a state of character that displays itself in actions and is built up through actions. It is the moral ideal that guides a person’s acts by providing a criterion by which to appraise them. An action is judged to be for the Common Good if it provides the conditions for the perfection of the human character. The objects that are willed for the Common Good have always existed. Human life would not be possible without them. But the human character has not yet been realised; history is the unfolding potential of self-realisation. Through history we find what it is that should be willed for the ‘good’. Green argues that moral agents must necessarily be social beings and, therefore, self-realisation is a social activity. The ‘good’ is, then, bound to the Idealist notion of the interdependence between ‘state’ and self: the good ‘is the perfection of individuals which is also that of society, and of society which is also that of individuals’.34 Which objects selves might consider ‘good’ depends upon their society. A society’s institutions embody the ideas of the ‘good’. And these are an undeniable fact of history. For an individual to satisfy the ‘good’ and the Common Good they must look to their own social setting. Just as people recognise the responsibilities and obligations to their families so the moral agent who seeks self-realisation may recognise the actions that will be to the Common Good. Green argues that because we have not reached the final evolution of history where the human character is complete, we can never fully know whether our actions are good. But our limited knowledge of
28 Philosophy and morality the Common Good does not mean that we cannot act. Green states that which is common to all is the ‘universal will to be good’. It was the disposition to act, to make the best of unknown waters, which is most important. The attempt to will the ‘good’ even though the action may not be what is desired is, in the end, paramount. In the two accounts given above I have merely attempted to illustrate how it was that a theory of morals was a pivotal point for British Idealism. I have also indicated how ‘politics’, or a concern with the ‘state’, played an important part in this preoccupation. That morals and politics were central to British Idealism appears to be have been recognised by Oakeshott as it is continued in his work. However, he divests his explanation of morality from any historical or sociological theory. His understanding of self-realisation is a purely philosophical construct. In his earliest writings on religion he was interested to analyse what this might mean for the ‘religious’ man. In his last book-length text he redefines his ideas according to his theory of moral conduct along the lines of self-disclosure and selfenactment. In all these texts, and throughout his work, we hear the echoes of Idealist arguments gone by as Oakeshott attempts to come to grips, at various times and in various places, with the idea of human ‘motive’, the relation between the self and the ‘state’, what is the ‘good’, the inability to secure outcomes and other such legacies of the Idealist tradition.
Logical positivism The concern with moral conduct was something that was to come under attack from the logical positivists. In metaphysical terms they were at odds with the Idealists, but it may be their attempt to wipe out significant moral reflection in philosophy that most distinguishes the two schools of thought. By the time Oakeshott began publishing, Idealism was already replaced as the dominant intellectual beacon by logical positivism. Headed by Russell, the logical positivists set out to justify the knowledge of natural science in philosophical terms. In a sentence, logical positivism was an association between the new mathematical logic and the old empiricist tradition. Besides Russell, its chief exponents were G. E. Moore and, for a time, Wittgenstein. Russell began his intellectual career as a convinced Bradlian Idealist. But following Moore’s attack on the Idealist account of judgement in The Nature of Judgement35 he jumped ship. Moore had argued that facts were, in general, independent of experience. The validity of a judgement should not depend upon its relation to anything else. The
Philosophical influences 29 ideas involved in judgement are not mental states belonging to the person who judges them. Rather, they are real existents. So, for example, the truth of the statement ‘This rose is red’ depends not upon the coherence of a person’s ideas but upon whether such a conjunction of ‘redness’ and ‘rosiness’ is existent. While Moore attacked the Idealist epistemology, Russell challenged the logical basis of its metaphysics. That is the Monist position and the theory of internal relations. In place of the latter doctrine he proposed a classification of relations in logical terms drawn from the new theories of mathematics. This comprised many types such as ‘transitive’, ‘intransitive’, ‘symmetrical’ and ‘asymmetrical’ relations. It was particularly this last form, which, Russell argued, showed that some relations could not be analysed away into either of the related terms or characteristic of a whole composed of the related terms, which was devastating to Idealism.36 It is, perhaps, Wittgenstein’s Tractatus37 that sums up the general tone of the logical positivists’ doctrine and its challenge to Idealism. The concern of this small book was nothing less than the dissolution of all the traditional questions of philosophy. Wittgenstein attempted to uncover the logical structure that he assumed underlay language. In so doing he wanted to determine that which could be meaningfully said. He maintained that the structures of the language (constituted by propositions) and the objective world (constituted by compound objects) must be alike for it to be possible for them to be connected. Each level of the structure of language had its logical counterpart in the structure of the world. To illustrate this Wittgenstein put forward his ‘picture theory’ of meaning. He argued that pictures represent things and reality because they have a common structure. The internal structure of a picture, its pictorial form, is a logical one. This is identical to what it depicts enabling the thing to be pictured.38 The picture theory of meaning emphasised that language pictures what is the case. Thought has a passive role in framing propositions pictures of the world. This, of course, is fundamentally different to the Idealist understanding. For Wittgenstein the only ‘significant’ propositions are those that are pictures of reality. Therefore, the only significant discourse about the world is factual, the propositions of natural science. To speak about what is not within the world of fact is nonsense. Thus, the traditional questions of philosophy, regarding religion, morality and so forth, are outside the world of fact; nothing can be said about them. Wittgenstein’s ‘elucidation’ sets out to illustrate that philosophy is not needed as an intermediary between language and reality. His contention is that
30 Philosophy and morality philosophy does not really engage with these issues, as they are illusionary problems arising as a result of misunderstandings about language. Philosophy attempts to cross the threshold of what can be said, but language cannot express the problems in the first instance. So, for logical positivism, philosophy is dissolved. This, then, was the intellectual atmosphere in which Oakeshott launched his restatement of Idealist philosophy. While logical positivism sought to justify the natural sciences, Oakeshott’s work emphasised the importance of the traditional philosophical questions that had been debated in the Idealist school since Plato. In contradistinction to the positivists, his philosophical system had a moral concern at its heart and an interest in religion and politics as important component parts of this concern. However, there is one feature of his work that he shares with the logical positivists. The movements in philosophy that were going on in Britain and in the ‘Vienna Circle’ was to lead to the ‘linguistic turn’ of the twentieth century. Oakeshott, in defending Idealism, stood it on its head. His work may be situated upon the same ground as that of the ‘later’ Wittgenstein. His non-foundational idea of philosophy, which maintains the importance of traditional moral, religious and political debates, is as much set upon the ground of contemporary thought as engaged with the philosophical literature of the past.
Conclusion In this chapter I have attempted to set out a broad, introductory historical and theoretical account of the various sources of Oakeshott’s framing concepts. The intention of this narrative was to indicate the general map of ideas that he drew from. It ought to be noted that what he takes from Plato, Spinoza, Hegel, Bradley and others can only, finally, be understood by looking in detail at the terms of his philosophical system. I began by looking at Plato. My aim was to illustrate how the ideas he set down maintained their importance in the later Idealist movements in Germany and Britain. He gave these nineteenthcentury writers terms of reference in his distinction between the ‘One’ and ‘Many’ and the related dualism of ‘appearance’ and ‘reality’. More specifically, I indicated how Oakeshott’s idea of philosophy resembles the Socratic method in so far as it attempts to get to know more fully and clearly what, under different terms, we already know. This Platonic understanding, in Oakeshott’s hands, becomes the basis for a non-foundational idea of philosophy.
Philosophical influences 31 In the work of Plotinus I discerned a scepticism that came from Plato’s recognition of the imperfect nature of the human world. This is in contrast to the rationalist unification of theory and practice exemplified in the notion of the ‘philosopher-king’. The relationship between Idealism and rationalism may be taken from their mutual attempt to reconcile the dichotomy between ‘appearance’ and ‘reality’ in Monist terms. In this respect it was Spinoza who impressed Oakeshott (and Hegel and Bradley before him) and whose theoretical language became part of his own philosophical vernacular. However, here, as elsewhere, I have argued that this similarity must not be taken too far. The way that Oakeshott uses the notion of modality is similar to Spinoza’s idea of a dependent form of thought, but it is, in its detail, markedly different. My sketchy description of the Phenomenology drew out a number of important points of connection. First, Hegel’s notion of the ‘concrete universal’ was to become a framing concept of British Idealism.39 In this idea we find a doctrine of internal relations and a coherence theory of truth tied to a Monist conception of the world. This is to be found in Oakeshott’s philosophy. Second, Hegel’s idea of philosophy is similar to Oakeshott’s in so far as it follows the Platonic understanding of criticising the postulates of thought. But for Oakeshott philosophy is not a ‘master-discipline’. Third, Oakeshott’s work maintains the stand against subjectivism that Hegel attempted to avoid by taking Idealism beyond Kantian metaphysics. In my account of the British Idealists I have emphasised how a concern with a theory of morals was a central tenet of their work. In relation to this a theory of the ‘state’ was of defining importance. By relating Bosanquet’s consideration of the relationship between the individual and the ‘state’, and Green’s notion of the Common Good, I hope to have clarified this position. It is my contention that in Oakeshott’s work we have a continuation of these themes. We may take as a pivotal point (not the determining point) of his philosophy a concern with moral conduct that is based around his notion of selfrealisation. It might also be noted that a feature of British Idealism was an attempt to balance the role of the subject between being a distinct moral individual and a member of a community. How far Oakeshott manages this balance will be a subject for further debate. In the last part of this chapter I looked at the work of the logical positivists. I argued that besides their ontological differences they are fundamentally removed from the British Idealists in their attempt to
32 Philosophy and morality dissolve the traditional questions of philosophy, most importantly moral, political and religious debates. However, I have pointed out that a similarity between the two resides in the movement towards non-foundationalism that their work precipitated. I presented a brief review of Wittgenstein’s Tractatus that characterised the general tone of the positivists’ intent. However, the distinction between theory and practice found in this work (and also in the ‘later’ Wittgenstein) was grounds for a comparison to be made between Oakeshott and Wittgenstein, a task I undertake in Chapter 9.
2
Bradley
Introduction Of all the British Idealists, Francis Herbert Bradley can properly be said to have had the single most sustained influence upon Oakeshott’s thought. It is not too bold a statement to suggest that to understand Oakeshott thoroughly we must also get to grips with the philosophy of his mentor. In his first articles on religion (RPM p. 41) as well as in EM (EM p. 6) Oakeshott acknowledges his debt to Bradley. Even in OHC, during the discussion of moral conduct, Bradley’s arguments in Ethical Studies1 lie in the not too distant background. Overall, Oakeshott’s debt to Bradley revolves around his interpretation of Hegelian Idealism. Rather than understand the ‘Absolute’ as the totality of all individual and social consciousness, Bradley relates it, primarily, to all human experience. This move would enable Oakeshott to implode the concept of the ‘Absolute’ and associate reality with the various modes of human thought and action. Following Hegel, Bradley maintained that philosophy had its own distinctive conceptual apparatus. But this is not privileged in his thought, nor is it identified with the ‘Absolute’. Although Oakeshott’s idea of philosophy does, initially at least, identify philosophy with what is ultimately real, this is only in so far as what is real is fully identified with experience itself. In essence his understanding of philosophy owes much to Bradley’s sceptical position, particularly the division between theory and practice. Indeed, Oakeshott’s general style has much in common with Bradley’s. His inclusive system of thought, which takes all human acts as legitimate in experience, is reflected in Oakeshott’s general philosophical position. This is not to say that Bradley presented a philosophical world full of necessary features. On the contrary, he paved the way for Oakeshott’s nonfoundationalism by sustaining a theory of meaning, and a theory of
34 Philosophy and morality identity, which recognised the conventional and contingent character of human understanding. As I shall explain, many of the nonessentialist ideas that Oakeshott uses have their inspiration in Bradley’s more conventional metaphysical position. In common with the other British Idealists one of Bradley’s main preoccupations was with moral and religious deliberation. As the son of an evangelical preacher he was no stranger to religious debates.2 He proposed a theory of self-realisation that took religion to be the completion or ‘ideality’ of moral conduct. This point of view provided the starting place for Oakeshott’s own speculations on these matters. In particular, Oakeshott developed from Bradley a way of situating the individual as the sovereign of moral discourse. This standpoint is tied to Oakeshott’s general philosophical position that privileged the individual in practical experience. However, as I indicate in this chapter (and argue more fully in the next) by doing this Oakeshott not only forecloses the possibility of a collective moral consciousness, but also any form of communal knowledge. For Bradley, philosophy reflects upon what we do, it does not tell us what to do. The distinction between theory and practice was a fundamental tenet of his work. He understood philosophy to be quite separate from practical concerns. In his moral writings he took it that ordinary morality supplied the details which philosophy then ‘abstracted’ to judge these ideas adequate or not. But it did not interfere with these views. He was critical of Hegel’s ‘Good Will’ that attempted to account for the whole of morality.3 For him this was a confusion of philosophy’s conditional character with the specific contingent performances of human conduct. Because of this point of view he has been depicted as a ‘conservative’ or even a ‘reactionary’, defending the status quo of Victorian England with all its inequalities.4 Such an interpretation is largely based on a particular reading of Ethical Studies, especially the essay ‘My Station and its Duties’.5 It has been my argument in the last chapter that British Idealism, in general, upheld the classical questions of philosophy (on ethics, religion, etc.) against the positivist onslaught. While the intellectual style of Bradley’s philosophy might be ‘conservative’ and ‘sceptical’, the substance of what he has to say follows that of British Idealism in its seriousness and rigour in relation to trying to understand moral human action. In this chapter, then, I shall concentrate upon those aspects of Bradley’s thought that inspired Oakeshott’s philosophy. I hope to show that while Oakeshott owed much to Hegel (for example, the ‘concrete universal’), more often than not these ideas were in some
Bradley 35 way also coloured by Bradley’s interpretation of Idealism. As Bell states, ‘Bradley is nothing if not his own man, a distinctive voice aware of its distinctiveness.’6 What I shall relate here is quite dense, so to try and guard against the reader getting lost let me just outline what is to be discussed. I begin by looking at Bradley’s theory of knowledge. In this respect I examine his understanding of meaning as something constructed and artificial. Meaning is only given for Bradley in terms of a system of relations that are bound by belonging to a class or ‘concrete universal’. I point out how in Oakeshott’s work this idea loses its essentialist aspect. I also note that the relations that hold between objects are always internal: this points the way to Bradley’s Monism. Next I look at how all human thought is bound to experience, from the most basic form of mental life (Feeling) to the high point of experience (the ‘Absolute’). It is the self that brings coherence to all that is known in experience. I note that this is the philosophical starting point for Oakeshott’s ‘individualism’. Selves make judgements in experience to construct identities. These are always affirmative. There is no Hegelian dialectic. As constructs, identity is never fixed and Bradley confesses that there is no adequate theory that can explain this. However, he maintains that through ‘inference’ (which was to become the basis for Oakeshott’s ‘intimations’) we muddle along in experience. Given all this, truth is what can be maintained within a system of relations as part of a coherent ‘world’ or system of relations. However, ultimately for Bradley reality and thought cannot be associated with truth as there is only one true thing and this is the ‘Absolute’. I argue that Oakeshott takes Bradley’s ‘Absolute’ and fully identifies it with experience to radical effect. From this study of his metaphysics I move on to look at Bradley’s theory of morals and the place of religion in this view. I contend that Oakeshott follows Bradley’s concern in putting these ideas at the centre of his philosophy, although he moves away from a number of his standpoints.
Bradley’s theory of knowledge In the Principles of Logic7 (PL) Bradley outlines his theory of human knowledge that contests the empiricist point of view. He maintains that when we speak about anything in the world we must distinguish three different ‘sides’ of an object. We can say of anything ‘that it is’ (it has an existence), ‘what it is’ (it has a content) and ‘which it means’ (it has a significance) (PL p. 3).
36 Philosophy and morality Bradley maintained that empiricists attempt to relate the meaning of an object or symbol into its content. This is an error because all meanings are artificial, not given. An image, object or symbol takes meaning not from observable properties but from the use to which it is put. Long before Wittgenstein’s remarks, Bradley maintained that we bestow meaning upon things according to convention. We receive or entertain an image, and then make it refer to something other than itself. As such there is an element of action on our parts in bestowing meaning, however unaware of it we may be. From this position Bradley states that when in speaking of an image we refer to the meaning it has, the ‘it’ is ambiguous. This is because it is not the actual image that occurs in the mind that has a meaning. It does not carry a meaning in isolation; rather, meaning is possessed by a class, and the members of a class have meaning only in so far as they belong to a class. In short, meaning operates through a universal. (PL Bk 1, Ch. 1). Already in Bradley’s philosophy we can note the emphasis on the convention of meaning that was to become a prominent part of Oakeshott’s understanding of human conduct. This may, initially, seem an odd argument given that this theory of meaning relies upon Hegel’s ‘concrete universal’. According to this theory a universal is a concrete object existing in nature and given to the senses.8 As an object it is divisible into parts, and these parts are the instances or particulars of the universal. The relation of the parts of a universal to the whole is something more than the parts conjunctively making up the whole – the universal is not just the sum of its parts. Rather, universals are ‘systems’ and the elements of which they are constituted are intimately bound up with one another. No single member is indifferent to any other; to be what they are they must be in a certain relation to the others. For Hegel the ‘concrete universal’ is related to Mind; in Bradley’s hands it is identified with the ‘Absolute’ whose matter is ‘experience’. But this remains something outside of what we can know. Oakeshott’s move was to fully equate Bradley’s ‘Absolute’ with experience, join it to Hegel’s idea that this is the totality of all previous consciousness, and then maintain that it can be known (as, simply, all experience). Oakeshott’s philosophical system takes the ‘concrete universal’ and situates it on much the same territory as non-foundational theories of meaning. In his review of Polanyi’s Personal Knowledge Oakeshott seems to indicate some awareness of this. He remarks that Hegel’s concept of the concrete universal may take us beyond objectivism without falling into relativism or subjectivism.9
Bradley 37 In making this case regarding the theory of meaning, Bradley challenged the empiricist view of ‘ideas’, ‘fact’ and ‘reality’ with a Monist view. Reality was said not to be the sum of its parts but an unanalysable whole, and knowledge an indivisible system. Here Bradley’s Monism relies upon a doctrine of internal relations. The main discussion that Bradley has regarding this doctrine takes place in Appearance and Reality (AR).10 Here he maintains that ‘terms’ and ‘relations’ are both impossible without the other, and impossible with the other. First, he establishes that terms must possess relations and that these must be internal. He does this by attacking the notion of relations as external. Bradley argues that if relations are taken to hold between terms externally, to hold between them they must be something to them. But in order to be something to them they must be related to them. So, for two or more terms to be related there must not only be the terms and relations between them, but also a relation between each of the terms and relations (AR pp. 27–8) Only internal relations are relations against which this absurdity cannot be put. This is because internal relations are relations that cannot be thought apart from its terms. On the second part of the argument Bradley draws upon the Monist idea that relations are impossible outside a totality. Relations always exist in a unity, yet they are not ‘parts’ of it but are ‘collections’. Relations always belong to unities; they are not just ‘in’ wholes but also ‘of’ wholes. Therefore, relations are characteristics of a whole, not of the particulars that constitute wholes. In short, Bradley’s point of view is that in practical life we carve up reality and in this sense it is necessary to do so. However, philosophical reflection exposes the relational character of all reality and knowledge. In EM we find a very similar working through of these ideas. The view that objects only have meaning as part of a system of internal relations, where identity is constituted by a system of relations that are not fixed, lays down a fundamental theoretical openness in the work of Bradley and Oakeshott. This exhibits itself in their moral (and for Oakeshott political) thought which makes no general prescriptive comments about how individuals ought to conduct their lives.
Experience and thought, identity and truth. Having explored Bradley’s general theory of knowledge it is possible to move on to see how this relates to his understanding of thought and experience. What this means for his theory of identity (often
38 Philosophy and morality taken as the core of his logic) and truth may also be examined.11 Bradley maintained that at the lowest level of human thought there is Feeling, a confused mess of indiscriminate sensations. It has been noted that this idea is similar to Hegel’s ‘unity’.12 Bradley maintains that this state is a fact that cannot be ignored. (AR p. 508) There are two reasons for this. First, it provides the foundations upon which the ‘highest’ forms of knowledge are constructed. In so doing it also sets the limits of experience beyond which the higher forms cannot go. Second, Feeling is a kind of primitive ‘Absolute’ in the sense that the lowest level of thought provides the basis for what is ultimately real. One of the most important implications of this conception is that Bradley contests any degree of relatedness in even the most primitive forms of mental life. This means that there is no distinction between subject and object at the basic level. Furthermore, Bradley’s claim was that all our forms of knowledge are tied to the matter of ‘experience’, and, therefore, the ‘Absolute’ (ETR pp. 158–61). At every level of thought there is ‘experience’. Where there is no experience there is no-thing. ‘When we ask as to the matter which fills up the empty outline, we can reply in one word, that this matter is experience. Sentient experience, in short, is reality, and what is not this is not real’ (AR p. 127). Although Feeling is ‘relation free’, implicit in it is a tendency to develop a relational character. This occurs because of an increasing contrast within Feeling between a permanent group of sensations and a number of variable groups. This permanent group is further associated with pleasure and pain. Standing out in this way from the general body of Feeling, it comes to be identified as the self and all that it is not, the ‘not-self’. Once this first relation is established there is a consciousness of relations and further terms and relations occur in thought. In EM, a very similar view is proposed which becomes the basis of Oakeshott’s ‘individualism’. As I argue later, this is not a ‘political’ (in particular a ‘liberal’) point of view but a philosophical one. Oakeshott’s ‘individualism’ stems from the tradition of Hegelian Idealism in Britain, represented here by Bradley, which takes the self as the starting point of experience and that which brings coherence to experience. While this is philosophically accounted for it is also (as we shall see) grounds for critique, as Oakeshott never developed the ‘social’ aspect of Hegel. As mentioned above, when Bradley discusses the relations that the self constitutes and organises these are always internal. Furthermore, the judgements that establish relations are also always positive. For
Bradley 39 Bradley to assert an affirmative judgement one needed only to be confronted with reality. To assert a negative judgement one needed not only reality but also some prior affirmative judgement. For example, the statement ‘the tree is green’ rests upon the grounds that the tree is not merely ‘not yellow’, but also on the grounds that it is ‘green’.13 By making his case in this way Bradley makes an important break with, and explicit challenge to, Hegel’s dialectic that relies upon a notion of contradiction. (PL pp. 145–51). This understanding of judgement has a bearing upon his theory of identity. Bradley starts by taking identity along the lines of the ‘principle of the identity of indiscernibles’.14 According to this view, ‘X’ is the same as ‘Y’ if all the properties possessed by ‘X’ are exactly the same as those possessed by ‘Y’. This idea is intended to be subversive, finding it inconceivable that two elements may be the same in this manner. Bradley states that ‘X’ and ‘Y’ do not have to share all their properties to be considered the same: a certain ‘hard core’ will suffice: ‘We call an organism identical. It is identical because its quality is (more or less) the same, and because that quality has been (more or less) all the time there’ (AR p. 274). According to Bradley, the aspect of an object’s identity at particular times has to deal not only with its timeless properties but with the object’s properties qualified at certain times. In this case two terms are likely to have some but not all properties in common. Bradley is also concerned about the relation that holds between the different properties of the same object. He argued that for the different properties to be maintained together there must be an internal connection. Of this internal relation little could be said. All that can be stated is that when the properties of an object are organised in accordance with it, thought can move from one to the other ‘with a ground and a reason’(AR p. 501). For Bradley the actual relations of identity are not something that can be discussed apart from the context of a particular object. Even in this case it cannot be fixed. Ultimately it is something that we are only aware of in experience. Bradley finds theories of identity, in the end, limited. But he proposes a philosophical explanation of the practical application of identity under the terms of ‘inference’. Inference is the use to which we put our thought to construct identities. When we infer we are active. It is something that we do on the basis of what we already know in order to create new understandings. Bradley states that it is impossible to fix models for inferring. The best that can be done is to produce certain principles that are the tests of the general possibilities of making an identity construction (PL p. 268).
40 Philosophy and morality Oakeshott drew upon this ‘practical’ dimension of Bradley’s theory of identity in his own use of ‘intimations’. The idea of ‘intimations’ has received much criticism for implying that politics can only ever be of a ‘conservative’ character. But ‘intimations’ is a philosophical concept of how we construct identities in practice that has its roots in Bradley’s theory of identity. With the concept of inference and the idea of judgements as positive and non-contradictory laid out, Bradley attempts to find the process by which truth might plausibly be discerned. In regard to this issue he proposes a coherence theory of truth. Generally speaking this viewpoint has it that truth is a property of judgements, and judgements have this role in virtue of being members of a system of judgements. When one judgement coheres with another within a system it may be said to be ‘true’. But there is also another aspect. In the end, truth is a property that can only be associated with the system itself.15 Given this understanding, in Bradley’s thought the first aspect of truth is associated with the ‘worlds’ of understanding. Bradley states that no judgement is fixed, all things are open to change in the face of new experiences (ETR p. 210). Judgements only have meaning in relation to reality, and this relation is in terms of a judgement belonging to a ‘world’. Bradley never made it clear what the precise character of these ‘worlds’ was (although they were said to be infinite). For example in Essays he writes of the world of fact, duty, truth and science, of imagination, of poetry and fiction (ETR p. 31). But in Appearance and Reality he mentions Pleasure, Feeling, the Theoretical, the Practical and the Aesthetic (AR pp. 406–12). Oakeshott was to take on the task of more clearly defining this aspect of Bradley’s work. Whatever the exact character of the ‘worlds’, Bradley’s point was to illustrate that no idea or judgement could be floating.16 The coherence theory of truth, in this aspect, puts all judgements within a broad understanding of reality as the relations of a particular ‘world’. In this way all that is known in experience may be considered ‘true’. As to the second aspect of the coherence theory of truth, the identification of truth with the system, for Bradley this meant there is but one Truth, the ‘Absolute’. To know absolute truth is to know that which transcends all relations, what is the highest form of experience. However, this is something impossible for thought, as it is necessarily relational (AR p. 482). By pointing to the impossible logical end of the path he has been following, Bradley indicates that thought is inadequate as a vehicle for discerning what is ultimately true.
Bradley 41 This discussion points to a central tenet of Bradley’s work. Neither thought nor reality are, ultimately, true. Truth was only understood as the ‘Absolute’, a condition where thought and reality (along with Will, Feeling and Desire) are fused. The phenomena that in ordinary experience are reckoned to be real are for Bradley mere ‘appearances’. There is only one true real, the ‘Absolute’. However, Bradley also states that ‘appearances’ are aspects of the ‘Absolute’. Every phenomenon seeks completion that it achieves by finding a complete or perfect object in which it merges or is transcended. The ‘Absolute’ is, then, no more than its appearances: ‘Reality without appearances would be nothing for there is nothing outside appearances’ (AR p. 432). None of this, Bradley admits, can be discerned comprehensively. However, he states that a distinction should be made between the unknowable and the inexplicable. There are, he maintains, in metaphysics facts which we know ‘that they are’ (they can be theoretically accounted for) without knowing ‘why they are’ (their existence cannot be explained). To establish them, what must be argued is the reason for them and the absence of reasons against them. Thus, what ‘may be’, if it also ‘must be’, ‘is’ (AR p. 176). As I elucidate Oakeshott’s thought in the following chapters I shall argue that his theory of modality suffers from being unable to explain why certain systems of thought exist, as such. It may be argued that Oakeshott maintains the same position as Bradley, that what is most important is to show ‘that they are’ rather than ‘why they are’. However, I shall argue that in terms of the mode of ‘practical experience’ Oakeshott does give reasons why it exists and this undermines what might be sympathetically implied as his ‘Bradlian’ position. Bradley spends some time explaining the reasons for the ‘Absolute’. In Appearance and Reality he argues this point from two positions, from the impossibility of many ‘reals’ and from the notion of ‘substance’.17 These explanations of the ‘Absolute’ rely upon what has been said so far about internal relations and the coherence theory of truth. It will suffice here to merely summarise one of the ways that Bradley considers the ‘Absolute’ may be explained (although not known). This is in relation to ‘substance’. He begins by attempting to find a criterion by which true propositions may be recognised. He finds this in the idea that ultimate reality is that which is non-contradictory (AR p. 120). However, this criterion is only a negative one and in Bradley’s logic there must also be a positive dimension. He characterises this aspect by stating that the real is individual and that it is perfect (AR p. 123). He further states that each of these two ‘attributes’ is analysable into two aspects,
42 Philosophy and morality namely ‘extension’ and ‘harmony’. To say that something is a true individual is to say that it has a certain unity, which it coheres so as to form a whole. Thus, individuality demands harmony. A true individual cannot be restricted or finite. If it were then whatever lay outside it would confine and constrain it, and so detract from its individuality. Therefore, individuality requires extension. Perfection, by its very nature, requires harmony. It also requires extension. Bradley goes to some lengths to explain this, distinguishing his notion of extension in perfection from something denoting quantity. His criteria refers to the completeness that is required for perfection. Bradley’s interpretation of individuality and perfection lead towards one conclusion, that nothing may be considered to have these attributes except the ‘Absolute’ (AR p. 217). So we come to the end of Bradley’s ideas about experience, thought, identity and truth. Bradley steered Idealism away from the more abstruse elements of Hegel’s thought. He maintained that thought was not the essence of the world and that we could not reduce reality to the intellect. Thought was always tied to ‘experience’, the matter of the ‘Absolute’. Selves (themselves the product of ‘experience’ or Feeling) constructed their own meanings and identities to create worlds of understanding. What is taken for real in these worlds was, therefore, ‘appearances’, the constructs of thought. The only true real is the ‘Absolute’, which while unknowable is not inexplicable. Oakeshott continued the emphasis on the constructed character of the human condition and the idea that thought did not hold the key to the universe. He also maintained Bradley’s affirmative conception of judgement against the Hegelian dialectic. However, his idea of the ‘Absolute’ was radically different to Bradley’s. That this was the case not only affected his ‘metaphysics’ but also what he had to say about morals and religion. It is to this issue that I now turn.
Morality and religion It was moral conduct that first concerned Bradley and in this respect Oakeshott was to follow him.18 He begins his moral inquiry by stating what he is not concerned with (ES Essays I and II). The most important starting point which he wishes to reject is the question, ‘Why should I be moral?’ Such a question already carries with it certain assumptions. It implies that moral activity is a means to an end, and that the end is a justification for morality. Bradley wishes to show that morality is an end in itself, and one with no finishing point. For him the question to begin with is ‘What
Bradley 43 is the end of morality?’ To this self-posed question he answers with the central tenet of his whole ethical thought: the ultimate end for man is self-realisation (ES p. 64). The rest of Ethical Studies is taken up with an explanation of this position. There are two main reasons Bradley gives for equating morality with self-realisation (ES pp. 65–81). First, morality implies something to be done and the doing of it by a person; these are intimately connected and there is no point where one ends and the other begins. The means and end of moral actions are interwoven. This being the case, if an attempt is made to define morality by reference to certain acts that are to be done, these acts in turn imply as part of their content the doing of them by someone, and so we are returned to the notion of self-realisation. Second, the end of man must be self-realisation because man cannot do anything but realise himself. That is, all our efforts are directed to the realisation of the whole self. Bradley sustains this position by arguing that practical experience illustrates that a person’s actions are connected. Their smaller ends are taken up and embraced in larger ends and, ultimately, all these larger wholes are included in one vast all-embracing whole: ‘if the life of the normal man be inspected, and the ends he has in view (as exhibited in his acts) be considered they will roughly speaking be embraced in one main end or whole of ends’ (ES p. 70). All that is said here, of course, relies upon the metaphysical position (the Monist system of relations and idea of self) that has been related above. It is notable that Oakeshott too puts the self at the very centre of his theory of moral conduct, also on the basis of an earlier theoretical framework. He also takes morality to be, in Bradley’s terms, an end in itself. In his early writings Oakeshott uses the idea of self-realisation to express this view. But in OHC we find a more complex (and more satisfying) account of moral conduct that distinguishes between self-disclosure and self-enactment, two aspects of self-realisation that Bradley confuses here. In the third essay of Ethical Studies Bradley contests the idea that self-realisation can be understood in terms of the Utilitarian doctrine of ‘pleasure for pleasure’s sake’. In the fourth essay he argues against its assimilation to the idea of ‘duty for duty’s sake’. His arguments regarding hedonism need not detain us for long. Suffice to say that his main objection was that if morality is associated with the pursuit of pleasure this would be an extremely ephemeral thing. Nothing more, that is, than an endless series of practical goals that have no significance as a whole and cannot be useful as a way of constructing our lives.
44 Philosophy and morality More of an insight into Bradley’s understanding of morality is brought out by his challenge to the view that ‘duty’ should be the criterion of moral conduct. Bradley states that those who believe that morality resides in doing ‘bare duty’ take it that the moral self is to be identified with the Good Will. This has four related characteristics: it is universal, free, autonomous and formal. For its advocates the main point is that the Good Will applies to each equally, at all times, and that it is universal being a formal Will. Bradley continues: although the Good Will is formal it is intertwined with the empirical self. These theorists have it that the ‘lower’ sensual self must give in to the ‘higher’ self of the Good Will in order that duty be done. And duty must be for duty’s sake, otherwise it is not moral (ES pp. 142–8). Bradley maintains that this position is self-contradictory. First, the theory tells us that we must realise the Good Will, but for us to realise it, it must be materialised into actual existence. The main character of material things being particular is contrary to that of the Good Will. Second, Bradley states that in this view the ‘will’ has two aspects, a ‘higher’ and a ‘lower’ aspect. An act may be seen as a translation from the ‘higher’ to the ‘lower’ side.19 This translation would, necessarily, require a change of identity. Therefore, no action can be understood to be the carrying out of an abstract principle. No abstraction (such as the Good Will) has content capable of real existence. Finally, external action is entirely determinate in its properties. The principle or act of ‘will’ from which it is derived may be more or less determinate. For example, the intention to kill is one thing, to kill a particular man at a particular time and place is quite another. This creates another contradiction in the ‘duty’ thesis because to act you must ‘will’ something definite; to ‘will’ in general is impossible and to ‘will’ when one ‘wills’ nothing in particular is a fiction (ES p. 153). All this is precisely the character of Oakeshott’s main argument regarding the particularity of moral actions. However, this is based not on an assumption about ‘material things’ (as it is here) but on a theory of the mode of ‘practical’ experience and the character of human ‘practices’ or ‘traditions’. These arguments about the disparity between generalised principles and particular circumstances are the bedrock of his conception of political activity as the ‘pursuit of intimations’, which itself is based upon his distinction between theory and practice. Oakeshott’s argument regarding the ‘gap’ between general principles and particular actions keeps this distinction afloat. Furthermore, it ought once again to be noted that these
Bradley 45 are not ‘liberal’ interpretations of politics, nor any other kind of ‘political’ analysis, but philosophical concepts. Self-realisation, then, is to be found neither in the doctrine of ‘pleasure for pleasure’s sake’ nor in ‘duty for duty’s sake’. However, Bradley considers that neither are entirely without merit. As the latter theory would have it, there is a connection between morality and ‘will’. And the hedonist is correct in thinking that morality has to be concerned with that which is real. Bradley calls the doctrine that takes these points into account ‘My Station and its Duties’ (ES Essay V).20 According to this view, the self to be realised is the self of the social organism that is at the same time made up by distinct individuals. This constitutes a ‘concrete universal’. ‘It is a concrete universal because it not only is above but is within and through its details, and is so far only as they are’ (ES p. 162). The self of this theory is objective (as the self of the social organism) but also subjective, connected with human desires and appetites (as the self of living beings). People realise themselves by performing their functions as members of a community. That is, they realise themselves by performing the moral duties as members of a state. The state or community is here understood in the general Idealist terms of the totality of social relationships. The state is the community that encompasses other communities, families, professions and so on (ES p.174). Having appeared to defend this doctrine Bradley turns round and states that at its very heart is a contradiction between the ‘ought’ and the ‘is’ (ES 176–83). The self of the ‘I’ does not match up to the self of the community whose realisation is true morality. First, the identification of ‘I’ with ‘Them’ relies upon the exclusion of a ‘bad self’ (where the two selves do not meet). It would be impossible to exclude the ‘bad self’ unless the ‘I’ was engaged in individually and socially fulfilling work at all times. This is unlikely. Second, for many people the identification with the social rarely occurs. This could be for a number of reasons, from having committed a crime to having been brought up in an environment that is thought of as outside society, what we might term today as being socially excluded.21 Third, a society may not necessarily be in the best condition. It may be corrupt or confused. Finally, Bradley criticises the doctrine for taking too narrow a view of human beings. It is an error to assume that there is no part of human life that is not social. There is a part of an ‘ideal self’ that is not socially constructed. This part has duties that do not concern others. It relates to those aspects of culture that are concerned with truth and beauty.22
46 Philosophy and morality From this point Bradley proceeds to elaborate upon this ‘ideal self’ of morality (Essay VI). In short, he states that the ‘good self’ (which is to be realised in the moral life) derives its content from three sources: those of ‘my station and its duties’; that aspect of the self concerned with ‘higher’ and better social relations; and that aspect of selves which is moral but has nothing to do with social relations. It is the way in which an individual conducts himself in each of these areas that is the testing ground of ethics. A true moral theory must fit the whole world of human actions (which Oakeshott was to distinguish as practical experience). But why pursue a moral life? Given the difficulty of trying to reconcile the different worlds of moral experience, the task would seem futile. Bradley gives two answers. First, the ‘bad self’ is disharmonious and anarchical. If we choose it we will find ourselves unfulfilled as our aimless desires switch us from one course of action to the next. Second, the ‘bad self’ is not a ‘true self’ as it is not a universal. It is not a whole but a collection of desires with nothing in common except the feeling of being opposite to good. Given Bradley’s metaphysics, it is unsurprising that his moral theory (at this level) favours a conception of goodness that is rooted in the wholeness of the self (itself a coherent system of relations that stands out from Feeling). Against the ‘bad self’ morality is the quest for harmony. Where the multitude of desires and aims of an individual exhibits a degree of arrangement, that forms a single system. Having stated all this, Bradley once again turns around and declares something is amiss (ES pp. 228–35). Morality is still self-contradictory, demanding that what ‘ought’ to be, ‘is’. The obligation of an individual is to realise his or her self. To realise this self they must ‘will’ it, but in order to ‘will’ it the object of their ‘will’ must exist. Thus, they must already be what they ought to be. In contrast, morality demands that what ought to be is not. Essential to morality is the idea of process; in a world already moral the moral process would be impossible. Thus, human beings must not yet be what they ought to be if moral obligation is to have any point to it. If we see ourselves as a potential system to be harmonised and attempt self-realisation in this manner we soon realise it is impossible. We can never be more than a partial phenomenon. In this case we try to realise ourselves as part of a larger whole, and self-realisation turns into self-sacrifice. Humankind is aware of this contradiction and our inadequacy leads us to go beyond morality towards religion (ES p. 313). For Bradley religion is connected with some kind of belief in the existence, outside of the self, of an object that is real. Morality needs
Bradley 47 to be legitimated by a ‘higher’ self that gives the content of our obligations. The community, put forward in ‘My Station and its Duties’ was seen to fail in this respect. But the object of religion provides an ‘ideal self’ for morality. Yet in finding its satisfaction in religion, morality is swallowed by it. For if it is a given of religion that its object is something real which exists outside of the self, then in placing itself with religion morality is transcended. All that being said, for Bradley religion is, finally, a mere appearance. Bradley argues that both God and religion fall short of coherence. The idea God needs for its completion the notion of something other than God. And between God and not-God there must be a relation. Like all other relations, this is self-contradictory. This spells the death of God. And the same holds for religion. In undermining the philosophical grounds for declaring God real, Bradley is not unsympathetic to religion as such. The practical aspect of religion is still of crucial importance. God may not ultimately be real but God does possess reality to a higher degree than anything else we know. God requires less qualification than any other phenomena. The contradiction in morality can only be resolved by moving beyond the moral point of view to the religious. Oakeshott also maintains a place for religion as an important part of his moral concern. Chapter 4 provides an examination of the place of religion in Oakeshott’s philosophy and I discuss there how his views relate to Bradley’s. Suffice to say here that Bradley provided the main inspiration for these works. However, because of Oakeshott’s implosion of the ‘Absolute’, and the subsequent focus upon the ‘modes’, what he finds ‘practical’ about religion is somewhat different to his mentor’s view. For Bradley religion provides an object of transcendence for morality while itself being a mere appearance. Faith in religion becomes a practical faith as it provides the ultimate reason for acting morally. For Oakeshott, religion is also part of ‘appearance’ (in practical experience) but it must be in touch with morality to be of any significance, rather than morality being transcendent in it. In OHC we find religion so identified with practical life that it provokes the most ‘graceful’ response regarding our mortality (OHC pp. 81–6).
Conclusion A great deal of ground has now been covered. It remains to summarise the points of contact between Bradley and Oakeshott. In my account of Bradley’s metaphysics I wanted to relate the general
48 Philosophy and morality tone of his system of thought as being characteristically open and unfixed; where all things are constructed and everything is liable to change. It is this manner of thinking that Oakeshott adopts in his own work (and which leads him on to non-foundational terrain). I began by looking at Bradley’s theory of knowledge. In general this provided a way of relating in more detail than, as in the first chapter, Idealism’s Monist outlook, as well as the corresponding system of internal relations and the coherence theory of truth. Bradley took meaning as something artificial. Things are only given meaning in terms of specific uses. This does not mean that things are isolated; rather, they are related through a ‘concrete universal’. Although meanings are given in particular ‘worlds’ of thought, ultimately there is only one universal, the ‘Absolute’. I noted that Oakeshott was to take the ‘Absolute’ as the universal through and by which all things are related. However, by fully identifying the ‘Absolute’ with ‘experience’, in his hands the ‘concrete universal’ becomes a non-essentialist understanding of relations. Furthermore, Bradley argued that in metaphysics facts such as the ‘Absolute’ could be shown ‘that they are’ but not ‘why they are’. It appears that Oakeshott adopted this position, arguing that it was not necessary to show ‘why’ the modes of thought existed, as such. In the following chapters this point will become the basis for one of my criticisms of Oakeshott’s theory of modality. That is, he privileges practical experience by giving it a reason ‘why it is’, but this reasoning is not extended to the other modes. Following on from this I examined the character of experience and thought in Bradley’s work. As an Idealist he maintained that all that we can know is as a result of thought. And all that is known comes from ‘experience’, the matter of the ‘Absolute’. At the lowest level experience is a mess of sensations called Feeling. At this basic level there is no distinction between subject and object: all things are ‘One’ in experience. From Feeling there comes to stand out the self. The self brings coherence to all that is in ‘experience’, making affirmative judgements that construct further relations in terms of class and the universal. This points to the fundamental philosophical (as opposed to ‘political’) individualism that resides at the heart of Bradley’s as well as Oakeshott’s work. Everything is thrown on the self. Furthermore, Oakeshott was to adopt and adapt Bradley’s idea of selves making affirmative judgements, and this has implications for his theory of human agency. From this point I looked at Bradley’s theory of identity and truth. He examines Leibniz’s ‘principle of the identity of indiscernibles’
Bradley 49 finding in it some explanation for identities being consistent through time. However, he considers it of limited use concerning the relation between the properties of the same object. In the end the only adequate understanding of identity is given in the notion of ‘inference’ that is a philosophical explanation of the ‘practical’ application of knowing identities. This notion is drawn upon by Oakeshott in his understanding of the ‘intimations’ – the way we think and act in practical experience. Bradley contends that truth is established when selves judge meanings and identities to be from this particular ‘world’ of thought or that specific class of experience. In this way all that we know is significant. This corresponds to Oakeshott’s Socratic understanding of philosophy (given in the last chapter) that concerns philosophy with all that, in another sense, we know. This also means that there cannot be any false knowledge. However, Oakeshott differs from Bradley when he states that, ultimately, there is only one real, and that is the ‘Absolute’. Thought and reality are separated from the non-relational ‘Whole’. The ‘Absolute’ is unknowable (even though it may be explicable). In EM Oakeshott radicalises Bradley’s position, illustrating that thought may be associated with the ‘Absolute’ and that ‘experience’ is not its ‘matter’ but, in fact, its actuality. As I stated in the last chapter, the British Idealists put a moral theory at the centre of their work, and the British Idealist to whom Oakeshott was theoretically closest was no exception. By outlining Bradley’s moral ideas I wanted to illustrate that the philosophical background that Oakeshott came from was deeply concerned with moral issues and that he continued this preoccupation in his own writings. Morality has no ‘end’ for Bradley save that of ‘self-realisation’. In our actions humans can do no more than realise themselves. This is the argument that Oakeshott takes up in the first essay of OHC. He maintains that part of human conduct is for individual ‘free’ agents to realise themselves in their actions (disclosures) and motives (enactments). However, where Bradley writes of realising ‘the’ self, implying a ‘true’ self, Oakeshott discusses realising ‘a’ self. Conscious of the different ‘modes’ or ‘practices’ of human life Oakeshott never implies that moral conduct puts us in contact with our ‘essential’ selves. After running through arguments relating to the ‘pleasure for pleasure’s sake’ and ‘duty for duty’s sake’ theses, Bradley argues that all we can do is attempt to act in terms of our ‘good self’ (taking into account ‘I with them’, ‘Us’ and ‘I’) against our ‘bad self’ (a loose collection of desires). There is no universal guide or principle that can help us in this. His arguments distinguishing the universal from
50 Philosophy and morality the particular inform Oakeshott’s distinction between theory and practice, his moral sensibility, and what he says about politics. For Oakeshott morality and politics are part of practical experience, where human conduct is understood under the terms of particularity rather than generality. In the last part of this chapter I related how Bradley argued that all attempts at achieving completeness of the self in morality are ultimately doomed by the self-contradictory character of thought. Only in religion can we find some object of hope, outside of the self, which may provoke us to act morally. However, religion itself is an ‘appearance’. It is only as a matter of practical faith that morality can be transcended in a religious practice of self-realisation. Oakeshott followed Bradley’s interest in religion and morality coming, in the end, to see morality as inclusive of a ‘religious’ sensibility. In Chapter 4 I shall illustrate further how his ideas came to differ from Bradley’s in this respect. But before we turn to morality and religion in Oakeshott’s thought, we need to consider his first full-scale philosophical text.
3
Philosophical system
Introduction I now turn to a direct engagement with Oakeshott’s own writings. His first published works were essays on religion and morality. These, together with practical experience, are dealt with in the next chapter. Here I set out Oakeshott’s radical restatement of Idealist metaphysics as it is presented in EM. I wish to put forward the view that this first substantive philosophical text sets his work on nonfoundational territory. That this has not been fully explored may be due to the lack of analysis of how Bradley’s thought played out in his work. By putting forward this interpretation I also imply that Oakeshott’s work should not be read ‘politically’, that he is not to be taken as a ‘liberal’ thinker nor understood in the ‘conservative’ tradition. Rather, what he achieves in EM is a re-interpretation of Idealism that sets its philosophical principles upon a contemporary theoretical terrain. Oakeshott’s radical move was to fully equate Bradley’s ‘Absolute’ with ‘experience’, and bring this together with Hegel’s idea that it is the totality of consciousness, to rewrite Idealism in non-foundational terms. Oakeshott uses the ‘concrete universal’ as a non-essentialist theoretical concept that is designed to help take philosophy ‘beyond objectivism without falling into subjectivism’. By bringing Bradley’s ‘unknowable’ reality into human cognition, Oakeshott places the emphasis on the understanding of the ‘modes’ of experience. Most of EM is given over to an analysis of the presuppositions of the modes of science, history and practice.1 Oakeshott’s subsequent work had nothing to say about the ‘Absolute’. Once he had theoretically imploded the Absolute he was to concentrate on the modes of history and ‘practice’ (and in particular morality and politics) in his philosophical essays. In terms of critique, in this chapter I point to Oakeshott’s selfconfirming style and I note the concentration of responsibility on the
52 Philosophy and morality ‘self’. It is the ‘self’ that has the responsibility of constructing all meaning and identities. There is no room for any form of communal knowledge; ultimately the individual constructs what he knows. I shall argue that the possibility of communal forms of meaning and identity are foreclosed by Oakeshott’s philosophical logic. That said, I do wish to emphasise the philosophical depth of Oakeshott’s work and the way it can add something to current philosophical debates, in particular by maintaining a moral concern. Finally in this chapter to illustrate the character of Oakeshott’s philosophy, and the relation of experience to the modes, I look at his understanding of scientific experience. I show how this mode of thought is the whole of experience from a limited standpoint. This is because, according to Oakeshott, it is bound to a quantitative form of knowledge that is limited and based on a number of internal assumptions.
Experience and the modes The metaphysics of EM is chiefly concerned with the relation between experience and the modes, and the relations of the modes to one another. The emphasis upon ‘relations’ points to a fundamental supposition of his thought. That is, all that we know comes together in a system of internal relations. Experience is described as standing for the concrete whole. At an early stage Oakeshott makes it clear that experience, as the ‘Absolute’, is inside the realms of thought. He does this by making no distinction between ‘experiencing’ (subject) and ‘what is experienced’ (object). Both are said to be the interdependent relations that constitute ‘experience’ itself. These remarks also stand as the initial statement of Oakeshott’s Monism (EM p. 9). Oakeshott maintains that all experience is a form of thought. Consciousness, sensation, perception, intuition, feeling, volition and so on are all forms of thought. Thought is not a passive activity, as it was for Hume’s spectator,2 but an active one in which a self judges experience in a critical capacity. In order to substantiate his position Oakeshott refutes those arguments that maintain that there is something in experience which ‘falls short’ of thought (EM pp. 13–21) or is ‘more than’ thought (EM pp. 21–6). In the first instance he is mainly concerned with sensation, in the second with intuition. Oakeshott argues that sensations are a form of thought. He does not assert that they are indistinguishable from thought. Rather, he contests the empiricist view that the distinction between sensation and judgement is a distinction between immediate experience and a
Philosophical system 53 mediated form of experience. He begins by breaking down the logic of what is claimed of the character of sensation as immediate experience. In this view, Oakeshott maintains, sensation is understood to be isolated, simple, exclusive and unrelated; it is also transient, inexpressible, un-shareable, impossible of repetition, and without name or character. In short, a bare ‘this is’ where ‘this’ is indistinguishable and ‘is’ merely ‘here and now’. Oakeshott argues that while we speak of sensations as if they were isolated, no sensation is actually unrelated to previous experience. In stating this it seems that he is drawing on ‘Sense Certainty’ in the Phenomenology.3 Objects have meaning in so far as they are related to other objects in a class and different to that which they are not. Meaning operates in terms of their coherence to the class to which they belong. This class is, of course, the ‘concrete universal’ that finds its coherence through a system of internal relations. It might be noted that in this analysis, which at once dismisses empiricism and affirms Idealism, Oakeshott only puts forward a general argument. This is the character of his theory in all similar cases where he wishes to establish Idealism as the most rational philosophical perspective. It is part of his ‘self-confirming style’ that no detailed arguments are put that highlight specific points of theory of specific authors. Although this carries with it the technical logic of a system of internal relations, it ought to be noted that its theoretical coherence should not be used to deny its particularity, one that Oakeshott does not point to (indeed, there is no reason for him to do so) but which we ought to be aware of as it comes from a particular perspective and by its deployment forecloses the possibility of other formal logics. The universal through which, ultimately, all things are given meaning is the ‘Absolute’ of ‘experience’. Because experience is understood both as ‘what is experienced’ and ‘experiencing’ it is not an unknowable reality, but what selves are engaged in. Given this, I would argue that the ‘concrete universal’ for Oakeshott does not rely upon an unknowable essence, but is the construction of meanings and identities through systems of relations that selves articulate in experience as the different modes of thought. In the course of this argument Oakeshott approaches the question of the self. He states that the self in sensation must be correlative with its object. ‘Pure’ sensation implies an absence of any continuous experiencing agent. The self in sensation is, like the object, a mere abstraction devoid of continuity and individuality. But consciousness requires a self above the momentary sensation, a self that brings together a body of related experiences and organises them. As I discuss below, whatever can be known is known by a coherent, continuous self, who brings
54 Philosophy and morality coherence to their world of experience. Following Bradley on judgement, Oakeshott maintains that what the self analyses in experience is not fixed and the self’s role not merely a passive one: that which is given is always given to be transformed. The ‘primary datum’ in experience is never inviolable. Our attitude to what is given is always positive and critical. The content of a given world of ideas is never such that it is merely acquiesced in. The self always participates in defining its world. The self constructs a world making meaning a convention. Oakeshott remarks, in a form that could have come straight out of Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations, ‘In thought there is nothing analogous to the painter’s colours or the builder’s bricks – raw material existing apart from the use made of it’ (EM p. 19). This is the philosophical basis of Oakeshott’s ‘individualism’. It is not an ideological persuasion but a philosophical one, stemming from a Hegelian antipathy towards subjectivism. Any criticism of Oakeshott’s privileging of the self must engage with the conceptual framework from which it is derived. Commentators have made the mistake of regarding this view as a predetermined theory for a particular type of politics.4 I hope that I have indicated the philosophical reasoning that substantiates this theory. That said, it might be noted that this philosophical persuasion does move in a certain direction, away from any exploration of the possibilities of communal forms of identification or knowledge. For such accounts we must look elsewhere (to the traditions that include Rousseau and Marx, for instance) as Oakeshott offers us nothing in this respect. To further show how everything in experience is a form of thought, Oakeshott refutes the view that there is something ‘more than’ thought in experience. He claims that those that give intuition such a character have most persuasively argued this point of view. Intuition is taken as a direct ‘subject-predicate’ experience where all relations are superseded. The claim made is that intuition is a more direct or more truthful or more complete form of experience than one where consciousness intervenes.5 Oakeshott argues that such views mistake the character of thought and create a false duality between ‘knowledge of’ and ‘knowledge about’. All judgement is the explicit and conscious qualification of an idea and only in its full character, as philosophy, is thought anything more. Only by identifying thought as mere classification and analysis can this view be sustained. As pointed out above, Oakeshott maintained that it was a misconception to confine thought to conscious and explicit judgements. Furthermore, he states that the claims made for intuition are not self-evident. A form of experience unable to establish its own
Philosophical system 55 validity is less complete than that to which it must appeal. It is only by recourse to rational discourse that the notion of ‘intuition’ can be articulated. In this it reveals its own limits as a mode of thought. Oakeshott has challenged the two outstanding views, which argue against experience being identified with thought, with a largely negative form of argument. The style of this form of criticism has been such that it draws in opposing theoretical positions under the terms of Idealism. The argument is general rather than particular, dismissive rather than considered. EM is a restatement of a particular philosophical position. In making a stand in this way Oakeshott is not willing to engage in a close reading of counter-arguments. Rather, he shows how other schools of thought do not engage with the Idealist position, and it is for them to refute it. Once this is illustrated he does move on to more positive explanation. But it must be noted that he has not, strictly speaking, refuted other philosophical positions, but merely shown how they are not Idealist, such is the character of his philosophical style and philosophical assumptions which are bound to his Idealist position. Moving on, Oakeshott attempts to explain why experience is a world of ideas. In so doing he outlines his theory of identity and his understanding of knowledge, truth, fact and reality. Oakeshott maintains that experience is not constituted by particular ideas. Rather, ideas are ‘accidents’ or ‘arbitrary points’ which analysis or abstraction had ‘broken’ from the whole of experience (EM p. 29). A world of ideas is what is achieved in experience, what becomes complete and can maintain itself. He states that the development of a world of ideas proceeds by way of ‘implication’. This view is similar to the idea of ‘inference’ in Bradley’s theory of identity. It is also the philosophical starting place for his later notion of ‘intimations’, to be found in his political essays. ‘Inference’ was drawn upon by Bradley to illustrate how identity is constructed in practical terms. It is the action of an individual to identify an object and set it in relation to a world they are already familiar with. This process of identification is conventional and is always open to change. Similarly, Oakeshott maintains that in a given system of ideas identification is always amplified by the elucidations of its implications. Now, in experience, as the development of a given world or system of ideas, we proceed always by way of implication. We never look away from a given world to another world, but always at a given world to discover the unity it implies. (EM p. 31)
56 Philosophy and morality It is significant, I think, that Oakeshott’s chief discussion of meaning and identity does away with the mainly metaphysical route that preceded Bradley’s discussion of this topic. Instead, it concentrates exclusively on the ‘practical’ manner by which identity is constructed by selves in experience. This, I hope, adds weight to the argument presented here that Oakeshott ‘imploded’ the ‘Absolute’ to turn attention towards the modes of experience. The understanding of experience as a world of ideas is not based upon the elements of a mode being united by an essence, principle or any other common feature. Rather, Oakeshott’s notion is of a fluid, plural unity in which every element is indispensable and yet none immune from change. The unity of a world of ideas is brought together through an open-ended, unfixed, changing process of its ‘implications’. In short, a world is a world according to its coherence. What is achieved in experience is an absolutely coherent world of ideas, not in the sense that it is ever actually achieved, but in the more important sense that it is the criterion of whatever satisfaction is achieved. (EM p. 35) In this reading, knowledge is the achievement of the pursuit of the implications of a particular world. And truth is what is satisfactory as far as these worlds are concerned (EM p. 41). The significance of the arrests is the character of the world of ideas they bring into being. The character of a world of ideas is determined by considering its coherence; how far it succeeds or fails to provide what is completely satisfactory in experience. Modes are experience with restriction, shackled by partiality and presumptions. And their character is in the entire world that these postulates imply and maintain. Modal truths are always prone to change and open to doubt. Yet when a judgement is made in a world of ideas to be satisfactory it must be asserted. The acceptance or rejection of an idea is always a question of the result of the world of ideas in which it is intended to be understood. What is ‘knowledge’ is what is satisfactory in a coherent system of ideas. If we know something, we know it as a whole and in virtue of its place in our world of experience. The process of knowledge is the ‘re-creation’ of an entire world of ideas (EM p. 42). Whatever is known is also true and whatever is true is also a fact; truth, fact, knowledge, Oakeshott states, are, ‘what we are obliged to think’ (EM pp. 42–7). They are what in experience has been achieved as a coherent world of ideas. No particular idea can be true,
Philosophical system 57 no particular idea a fact. Truth and fact belong not to a given world of experience but to what is involved in experience. They are a result of what is coherent in experience, not the cause of coherence. This notion of the modes providing the criteria upon which basis we act in particular ‘worlds’ was to be developed by Oakeshott into one of his major themes. In his later work he tries to come to an understanding of the underlying conditions that set the norms or ‘rules’ for human conduct which enable us to act in a certain manner (as historians, politicians, citizens, etc.). Following Plato, Oakeshott states that there cannot be any false knowledge, properly speaking. Everything that we understand, all that we are capable of in thought, is a fact. As regard the relations of ‘things’ in the external world and ‘fact’, Oakeshott begins by stating that reality is experience; the character of reality derives from the character of experience (EM p. 49). Furthermore, in experience knowledge and reality are connected. If experience is not real, nothing can be real and consequently nothing unreal. This is a strong statement by Oakeshott, and although substantiated by the entire edifice of his philosophical system it is another statement (like those regarding the self) that can only be maintained by looking inward (accepting the internal coherence of his argument) towards his Idealist position. It may be challenged from the ‘outside’, from a different manner of thought, for example from the kind of positivist standpoint that was in the ascendancy when Oakeshott was writing EM.6 On this basis Oakeshott continues that if reality is separated from knowledge it must be a ‘noneity’, an empty concept without significance. Reality is experience not because it is made real by being known but because it cannot without contradiction be separated from knowledge. Reality is, then, a coherent world of ideas or ‘things’. Reality is complete, absolute and, therefore, real. Like fact, truth and knowledge, it is ‘what we are obliged to think’. And as to think is to experience, and to experience is to experience meaning, the real is always what has meaning or what is rational (EM p. 58). For Oakeshott there is nothing that can be said to be more ‘true’ or more of a ‘fact’ than that which we know in our experience. All that we have to go on is what we are ‘obliged to think’: nothing more, nothing less. It is at this moment that Oakeshott brings the ‘Absolute’ down to earth. For Oakeshott the ‘Absolute’ is not unknowable but the totality of all experience. In EM he illustrates this when he states that the modes are not specific kinds of experience but defective worlds of experience. They are defective not because they cease to be experience but because they no longer try to satisfy that criterion
58 Philosophy and morality in full. So, modes are not separate parts of experience but ‘the whole from a limited standpoint’ (EM p. 71). In OHC experience is also described as simply ‘all that is going-on’ and its ‘arrests’ as specific ‘goings-on’ (OHC pp. 1–2). The ‘Absolute’ is not, then, a new form of consciousness, as it was for Bradley, but the totality of consciousness, as Hegel maintained: not a ‘new’ kind of experience but the totality of experience. As such it is accessible to thought in its modes (as history, practice, science, poetry) or as a whole (to philosophy). While ‘experience’ maintains its character as what is whole and complete, this is only in virtue of being the coherent unity, the ‘concrete universal’, of ‘what is experienced’ and ‘experiencing’. It is not an abstract or unknowable ‘One’ but what we are engaged in. What is absolute means here that which is absolved or emancipated from the necessity of finding its significance in relations with what is outside itself. It means that which is self-complete, whole, individual, and removed from change. What is absolute, in this sense, is no inscrutable Absolute, beyond conception and outside the world of experience, it is the world of experience as a coherent unity, for that alone is absolute. (EM p. 47) The notion of reality as separate from experience is so ingrained in our way of thinking and not easily thrown off . . . if we could do without speaking of what we believe to be abstractions, our manner of expressing what we believe to be real might be less ambiguous. Perhaps the only satisfactory view would be one which grasped, even more thoroughly than Hegel’s, the fact that what we have, and all we have, is a world of ‘meanings’, and constructed its philosophy without recourse to extraneous conceptions which belong to other views. (EM p. 61) These two passages illustrate the radical move that Oakeshott was making within Idealism: that is, to purge philosophy from any relation to something beyond conception, to set its sights upon experience as the various activities of human life. When Oakeshott comments that his greatest inspirations have been Hegel and Bradley (EM p. 6), he means it. What he does is take their ideas, combine them, and come through with a radically redefined Idealism. Oakeshott, like Bradley, relates thought and experience, but he also identifies reality and thought with truth and experience. Reality
Philosophical system 59 is both a coherent world of ideas and what is ‘complete, absolute’ at one and the same time. It can be so because experience is the totality of ‘what is experienced’ and ‘experiencing’: no more, no less. It seems that the notion of the ‘Absolute’ is ‘imploded’ into the notion of the ‘absolute’. This is confirmed not only by Oakeshott’s later work but also by the fact that in EM it receives barely three pages of commentary, as such (EM pp. 46–7, 348). The majority of EM is given over to the study of the modes, which now that the ‘supernatural’ (EM p. 46) idea of the ‘Absolute’ has been killed off becomes the focus for philosophy. There are no theoretical limits placed on how many arrests in experience there might be, but in EM Oakeshott interrogates what he considers the most highly developed modes. These are history, science and practice. In order to enquire into these worlds of experience Oakeshott acknowledges the need to determine what is valid, significant or relevant in experience. This is the role of philosophy. Philosophy brings to light what is ‘concrete’ in experience and what is ‘abstract’. It is able to do this not only because the ‘Absolute’ is understood as the totality of experience (and, therefore, accessible to thought) but because of the particular type of experience ‘doing’ philosophy is: ‘Philosophical experience, then, I take to be experience without presupposition, reservation, arrest, or modification’ (EM p. 2). On one hand, Oakeshott is restating the classical view of philosophy as unbound contemplation. Philosophy is something pursued for its own sake. It has no other end than that which is internal to its own character: that is, to present a complete and coherent world of experience. For Oakeshott philosophy is equated with experience as a coherent unity. It is experience that has become self-critical and self-conscious. In this sense EM stands as a positive statement of philosophy and an assertion of its important (but not essential) place in human life. On the other hand, the view Oakeshott presents limits philosophy to providing a criterion. This perspective denies that philosophy is or can be concerned with any specialised set of problems beyond the world of experience. This is because for human beings there is nothing beyond what is experienced. Philosophy’s task is to explain the boundaries of human thought using only that to be found in experience. It can do no more. Both the ‘positive’ and ‘sceptical’ dimensions of philosophy outlined above draw a fundamental distinction between theory and practice. Philosophy is either contemplation or a criterion. As Oakeshott puts it, philosophy is neither guide nor gospel. And the
60 Philosophy and morality philosopher has nothing in common with the ‘philosophe’ (EM p. 1). Paradoxically, while philosophy is identified with the ‘concrete’, for the purposes of practical life it is remote, as if it were concerned with some specialised metaphysical knowledge. Like Schopenhauer, Oakeshott maintains that philosophy is an escape from practical life, its very denial. Philosophy, then, is the critical standpoint from which the modes are accounted for. It does not attempt to take the place of, or abolish, the modes. Rather, it clarifies their basic purpose in human experience. In undertaking this task philosophy seeks to avoid irrelevance or ignatio elenchi. This occurs ‘whenever argument or inference passes from one world of experience to another . . . [or] . . . from what is abstract to what is concrete, and from what is concrete to what is abstract’ (EM p. 5). Ignatio elenchi refers to the fallacy of arguing to the wrong point. Oakeshott maintains that it is impossible to pass an argument from one world to another without committing a fallacy. The modes are irrelevant to each other. As homogenous worlds of abstract ideas, each mode is a particular way of seeing the world. Philosophy sets out the criterion of the modes. Yet it has no bearing upon them. It cannot even ‘cure’ them of irrelevance. When Oakeshott sets out his challenge to rationalism in politics he is not bent on proposing a particular ideological persuasion, but on setting out in a philosophical manner why the rationalist theory of knowledge is irrelevant to politics. The above quote and the argument that Oakeshott sets out here has given rise to one of the main criticisms of his work, namely that the modes have fixed terms of reference and that there is a lack of fluidity between them. It follows (so it has been argued) that in ‘real’ life this is not the case: our experience, say in studying history, may have an impact upon our politics and so on. Such an interpretation as this is, I would argue, misplaced. First, it relies upon a view of Oakeshott’s philosophical system as one that is traditionally Idealist and fixed. But as I have argued, this is not the case. Second, it also ignores the fact that Oakeshott is commentating from a philosophical perspective. The concept of ‘irrelevance’ is rooted in the voice of philosophy. In so far as this is the case it does not mean that other areas of discourse cannot usurp ideas from other modes (although in so doing it will change them). This is clear when Oakeshott discusses the use of history for practical purposes. The question of the ‘fluidity’ of the modes will be further explored in the second part of the book.
Philosophical system 61
Scientific experience Oakeshott distinguishes his idea of philosophy from Hegel’s and from British Idealists like Collingwood.7 Philosophy is not presented as a master-discipline. In common with the modes, it has a particular but limited place. Nor does it have a foundational role. Philosophy may be associated with what is concrete, with experience as a totality. But as the ‘Absolute’ it is no more than experience itself. As a form of thought without pre-conditions, its most distinctive characteristic is that it is the voice of rationality. We can see this further if we look into Oakeshott’s inquiry into scientific experience. In EM Oakeshott attempts to put science in its place; it has a legitimate place, but it is understood as one kind of knowledge and not, as positivists declared, to be identified with knowledge itself. To begin, an attempt is made to show why it is that science does not provide what is complete in experience. Oakeshott maintains that to some extent the scientist understands that his knowledge is constructed. But there is something fundamental to science that prevents him realising the limitations of scientific experience. This is the belief that the methods of science correspond with nature. The scientist holds the view that there is a reality outside of his scientific experience which he must grasp and analyse, concrete facts of nature. But Oakeshott questions the data of science, its conclusions, and the matter that is presumed to be real. According to Oakeshott, scientific experience does not begin with mere observation. These perceptions he takes to be part of a pre-scientific stage of experience that he calls ‘natural history’. Natural history, a kind of semi-detached observation of uniformities in the world of perception, may be taken to be the point at which scientific thought springs from the main stem of experience; and the desire which prompts it is for an escape from the private, incommunicable world of personal experience as such, into a world of common and communicable experience, a world of experience upon which universal agreement is possible. (EM p. 169) Oakeshott takes ‘absolute communicability’ to be the sole ‘explicit’ criteria of science (EM p. 170). But ‘natural history’ cannot provide this. This is because its attribution of a ‘common name’ to those things that it finds in nature only gives a small degree of communicability to what is experienced. In order to achieve its goal of ‘absolute communicability’ science must let go of the world of perceptions, and
62 Philosophy and morality it must not be tempted by applying itself to practical interests (EM p. 171). Science may in some senses begin with these ideas, but unless they have been transformed in the attempt to elucidate a stable world of experience then the result will not be scientific. Science is not the world of hard facts taken from the reality of nature, but a world of ideas. Stability is the master-conception of science, its ultimate end. As such it is the world sub specie quantitatis, the world seen under the category of quantity (EM p. 198). In scientific experience we find a world of quantitative ideas, not a collection of data or mere observation. Scientific thought begins by way of hypotheses framed by means of the quantitative concepts given in scientific experience. Only later does observation and experiment come into play. These are limited by the presumptions of that mode of thought, being always quantitative. The data of science being such the conclusions of science are always quantitative generalisations or statistical generalisations. These do not refer to individual observations but to series of observations. This means that no scientific generalisation can be disproved by a single observation or counter-example (EM p. 187–90). From this point Oakeshott looks at the ‘matter’ of science. The methods of science are said to be adapted to its matter. Oakeshott maintains that this point of view is too simple, the nature which science deals with is not simply ‘there’; rather, it is something determined by the postulates of scientific experience itself (EM pp. 209–10). Science does not move from an external, real world of nature to a world of abstract scientific ideas. It moves always within a single homogenous world of ideas based upon measurement and quantification. Oakeshott repeats the same kind of arguments given in his discussion above. That science is a world of ideas sub specie quantitatis. Science attempts to assert its own presuppositions of the whole of reality. But it fails to give coherence to reality. The essential abstractness of scientific experience is to be found in its hypothetical character. Science is nothing but hypothesis in its method and conclusions. Of this the scientist is not necessarily aware. Moreover, its hypotheses are of a generalised character (EM p. 215). However, science is not a world of mere ‘supposals’. There is an implicit assertion of reality in science. Explicitly science depends upon its own postulates and presuppositions. Implicitly it refers to and depends upon concrete reality. Because its explicit character falls short of its implicit character, it falls short of complete coherence. Science is a self-contradictory abstract mode of experience. And it must remain this way if scientific experience is to exist as such (EM pp. 216–19).
Philosophical system 63 Oakeshott’s account of scientific experience illustrates how the modes are in general ‘abstract’ in relation to experience. There are two points I wish to emphasise. First, science is a valid form of knowledge. It is not an inferior kind. Philosophy may explain its presuppositions and relate how it is ‘abstract’ (only one point of experience), but it cannot replace science and it does not aim to belittle it. There would be nothing irrelevant about understanding the world in terms of ‘a science of humanity’ or ‘a science of society’, as long as such studies were done under the terms of measurements, statistics and other quantitative methods.8 The object of inquiry is unimportant to determine the character of that inquiry. History, practice, science: each has its own categories for understanding human beings. It is the way that this is understood in particular worlds of ideas that is important. Second, it follows that in Oakeshott’s view there cannot be anything wrong with a ‘science of politics’. This is so long as this is determined sub specie quantitatis. When it comes to the discussion of the essay ‘Rationalism in Politics’ this point is important. It is not simply the use of science in understanding politics that disturbs Oakeshott, but that the rationalist takes the generalised claims appropriate to scientific discourse and attempts to reach generalised conclusions on the basis that these are external ‘facts’. These are then applied to practice. But practical actions and utterances (as we shall see) operate on a level of particularity. So confusion arises when the methods and conclusions of science are applied to practical experience. What the rationalist misses is that even though politics and science appear to share the same object of study, their ways of understanding them are totally at odds.
Conclusion In this chapter I have begun to map out the way that Oakeshott’s work is set upon a contemporary terrain by his radical restatement of Idealist metaphysics. This places his theory along non-foundational lines while maintaining a distinctive place for philosophy as well as legitimating all human practices.9 The most important analytical point that I have tried to make here is that Oakeshott takes Bradley’s notion of the ‘Absolute’ as experience, combines it to Hegel’s conception of the ‘Absolute’ as the totality of thought, and thereby implodes the ‘Absolute’ into experience itself. This focuses attention upon the modes of thought. Experience is ‘concrete’ not because it exists apart from the modes or is an object that the modes constitute, but because
64 Philosophy and morality it is what the modes are engaged in, experiencing and what is experienced. It is also the standpoint of philosophy. This is not a specialised knowledge but simply unconditional thought which is able to reveal the modes as conditional by referring them to the criteria of experience: the criteria, that is, of all human experience. Within the modes meaning and identity is bestowed according to the ‘concrete universal’, where ‘universal’ is understood as nothing more than experience as ‘all that is going-on’. It does not rely upon an essentialist ‘Absolute’ but it is the construction of meanings through a system of relations according to previous experience and the similarity and differences that objects hold to what else is experienced. In this way Oakeshott maintains the Monist position that there is no distinction between subject and object, yet he puts this upon non-foundational territory. In practical terms he understands this as selves identifying objects in experience by way of implications. This was to become the basis for his idea of politics as ‘the pursuit of intimations’. The role of the self is not presented as a Cartesian founding point. But the self is a judging, discerning individual. Selves bring coherence to the worlds, constructing what is real, true, knowledge and fact. Although Oakeshott’s understanding of the self is a logical part of his argument, and one not easily criticised apart from a general critique of his Idealism, it may be pointed out that he does burden the self with a great deal (the construction of meanings and identities, the construction of ‘fragmented’ selves – as historian, politician, citizen, etc.). This is not to say that he has no awareness of how associations of individuals construct ‘rules’. This is the central discussion of OHC. But it is always as ‘associations’ of ‘individuals’ that any human group or ‘collectivity’ is understood. There are no terms by which ‘social’ or ‘communal’ systems of identity or shared understandings are possible for Oakeshott. The reasons for this are deeply rooted and clearly explained in his philosophical system, and certainly not part of a ‘political’ (particularly ‘liberal’) point of view. However, his philosophical system is unable to explore the possibilities for communal forms of knowledge, and here lies one of its fundamental limits. In EM Oakeshott explains what he considers to be the most complete worlds of experience, namely history, practice and science. By elucidating the presuppositions of the modes, philosophy in no way touches them. It may point to the irrelevant use of one mode of thought against the next, but it has no way of stopping a collision. There is a fundamental distinction drawn between theory and practice and this remains throughout Oakeshott’s work.
Philosophical system 65 To illustrate the philosophical task and further highlight the character of the modes, I looked at Oakeshott’s understanding of scientific experience. I showed how this mode is taken as the whole from a limited standpoint, how its knowledge is shackled around a particular set of quantitative assumptions. For Oakeshott knowledge is always tied to a world: it is ‘what we are obliged to think’. The explanation of the character of the ‘tacit’ knowledge that underpins various human practices is a continuing theme of his work, as is the general assumption that I have pointed to here regarding the use of the theory of internal relations which, I maintain, gives rise to an ‘inward looking’ style that tends to subsume other points of view under its own theoretical terms. This is a basic assumption of Oakeshott’s philosophy, and while it may not be a problem as such for Oakeshott (as it is philosophically consistent), it is an issue that is important to us (as critical readers) to be aware of as we assess his work.
Part II
Politics and morality
4
Practice, morality and religion
Introduction We now move on to Part II, where I aim to set out how it is that what Oakeshott has to say about politics and morality are intertwined. This chapter is concerned with an elucidation of practical experience and the place of morality and religion within that world of experience. The account of practice given here is taken from EM. I shall combine the views set out in this text with Oakeshott’s initial writings on morality and religion. These articles had been tucked away in the dark recesses of obscure journals. However, thanks to the interest in Oakeshott’s work in North America they have been published as collected essays.1 It is not without significance that moral conduct first occupied Oakeshott. His earliest published works attempt to get to grips with what it means to be a moral individual and to explain the relationship between morality and religion. These are interests that remained with him throughout his academic career. For example, his study of Hobbes’ Leviathan produced an influential account which emphasised the largely ignored importance of the chapters on the ‘Christian Commonwealth’.2 Similarly his writings on Locke interpreted all that was worthwhile in his work as having a theological basis.3 In OHC he returns to the themes of moral conduct and religion, setting their analysis within his refined philosophical system. For Oakeshott practical experience is a world of human action, the world sub specie voluntatis. It is where individuals exercise their ‘will’ to pursue or avoid discrete objects guided by selfish or unselfish motives. Practice, like history, deals with particulars, not – like science – with generalisations. It is where selves attempt to reconcile ‘what is’ to ‘what ought to be’. But this can never be achieved without the disappearance of practical experience itself. A presupposition of practice is the ‘integrity of the self’. This points the way to
70 Politics and morality morality being concerned with self-realisation. Rather than being a set of principles or guidelines, this is a sensibility. Moral conduct is a form of knowledge that is learnt as a consequence of practice; it is incapable of being written down, hard to articulate and, in the end, provides no sure means of right conduct. Its fullest expression is religion. This is where the desire to be honest with oneself is uppermost. To be sincere in one’s actions is religious practice, and this needs no institution, no priest and no Bible to sanctify such acts. In the preceding chapter I made two criticisms of Oakeshott’s philosophy: the first was in relation to the ‘internal’, self-substantiating style of his philosophical method, the second concerned the burden placed upon the self. In both respects I argued that these criticisms illustrated the limits of his philosophy. In this chapter I continue to point to the privileging of the self. In addition I argue that he also privileges the mode of practice. As I have indicated, his notion of the self is difficult to argue against without taking apart his whole philosophical system or stepping completely outside of it. Therefore, with dissatisfaction, I merely voice a doubt, indicating that we must look elsewhere to find a theory which is not so ‘self’ obsessed. In the case of practical experience there is more firm ground for criticism. By tying practice to the necessary existence of all human life, as well as moral and religious conduct, Oakeshott appears to give the reasons why practice is important. This he does not do for philosophy or the other modes of thought which are only considered in respect of what they are. The view of practical experience given in EM, and the essays on religion, illustrates the way that a moral concern permeates Oakeshott’s work. If we understand this then what he has to say about politics is given coherence within the terms of his philosophical system. Such a view also challenges the tendency to isolate his political writings from his philosophy as a whole and, more recently, vice versa. For Oakeshott politics is an important part of practical experience. Although not much is specifically said about this in EM, the ground is set for the distinction between political theory and political practice which will be important for the discussion of politics in the next chapter. For now, I turn to the topic at hand.
Practical experience In EM Oakeshott begins his account of practical experience by stating that this mode is the most difficult to account for. It is also one that has most often been taken as the whole of experience.4 He
Practice, morality and religion 71 attempts in the following elucidation to illustrate that practice is a world but it is not the whole of experience. His starting point is to argue that practice is thought, a world of ideas, rather than isolated actions; this is done by referring to the general arguments already given above which are designed to illustrate why all experience is thought (EM p. 251). As Franco5 points out, Oakeshott is not arguing that our actions are preceded by thought but that action is a form of thought. Oakeshott looks at practical experience as volition (EM pp. 251–3) and as a collection of ideas, instincts, intuitions, feelings, opinions, etc. (EM pp. 254–6). In each case he finds these views wanting when set against the criteria of coherence which characterises a world of experience. For example, he states that if practice was the world of mere opinion there could be no difference of opinion. The character of a mere opinion means that it can never be contradicted, it can only be denied as an assertion. But this view necessarily maintains the possibility of different opinions. A mere opinion must, then, fall outside possible experience. Everywhere there is the possibility of contradictory opinions: we have left behind a collection of mere opinions and moved to a world of opinions. Oakeshott continues that it is sometimes said that this defect can be overcome by arguing that practical experience is not a collection of mere opinions but a collection of true and false opinions. However, if the distinction between true and false is admitted into this collection of opinions, it is impossible for it to remain a collection, it becomes a world. This view implies a distinction between knowledge and true opinion that cannot be sustained. Opinion is not the opposite of knowledge but unorganised knowledge. Whenever there is true opinion there can be knowledge. A world of true opinion is a world of imperfectly integrated world of ideas in which the principle of knowledge, inherent in every world of ideas, remains implicit. Practical experience never fully realises itself as a world of knowledge. But this is because it is a world of experience and, like all other worlds, abstract. It is not because it is often only a world of true opinion. With this argument Oakeshott has illustrated that practical life is a world of true opinions in so far as these are understood to be not what is ‘true’ and ‘false’ but what belongs to the world of knowledge that constitutes practice. All that takes place in practical experience is given meaning by virtue of its place in that world. Practical life is a world not of mere opinions (or instincts, intuitions, etc.) but of judgements whose character is coherence. From arguing that practice is a world of experience and thought, Oakeshott moves on to the examination of its postulates. In the
72 Politics and morality course of this argument he also illustrates that practice cannot be identified with the whole of experience. Practical activity is first distinguished as a world of actions (EM pp. 256–7). This is not to say that each individual has to be constantly active, but that all that occurs in practice is activity, whether that be building a city or sitting in a chair. Activity involves a discrepancy between ‘what is’ and ‘what is to be’. This is so when practice takes the form of change but also when it appears to try to maintain ‘what is’. That is because this maintenance always takes place because of proposed change. Practice is always action and change. All this is worth keeping in mind when it comes to looking at Oakeshott’s politics. As one author has stated, his philosophical understanding of practice makes it clear that the idea of Oakeshott being a conservative along the lines of Burke is a myth.6 What Oakeshott has to say about politics is a consequence of his philosophical thought. It does not arise from a set of unaccounted-for historical and emotional prejudices. In acting and changing an attempt is made to create a coherent world of experience. Unlike any other mode of experience, the means to be followed to pursue this end is the ‘will’: ‘the aspect of mind involved is the will; practical thought is volition; practical experience is the world sub specie voluntatis’ (EM p. 258). Through the ‘will’ the self attempts to reconcile ‘what is’ with the world ‘to be’. In judging, selves designate what is individual in practice. The criterion that is used to determine things is that of separateness, rather than completeness. For the purposes of practical experience, that which is separate in perception is taken to be real and a thing. Even if what is understood is a conception greater than a thing or individual, a ‘society’ say, it is still understood as something separate, a discrete reality. The self is the sovereign of practice (EM p. 269). This is, specifically, the self which thinks in the idiom of practice (in terms of action and change) and which practical thinking recognises in others (as individuals). It is notable that Oakeshott discusses a particular type of self rather than assuming a ‘single’ self. The notion of a ‘fragmented’ self is, of course, familiar to us now. But here, in 1933, Oakeshott was already distinguishing between selves as historians, practical individuals, scientists, etc., each with their own language conceived around a system of meanings. This does not make Oakeshott a ‘post-modern’ (although it does make him relevant to such debates), as this would just be another reductionalist, ultimately meaningless, label. The conception of the self that Oakeshott presents, although fragmented, is supremely ‘modern’ in
Practice, morality and religion 73 respect of its overall individualised character in all worlds of experience.7 It is always ‘a’ scientist, ‘a’ historian, ‘a’ practical individual, which constructs and brings coherence to experience. The self attempts to unify the contradictions and oppositions that are part of the ever-present process of change in practice; whenever individuals act they always do so in their interest (EM p. 270). This is not because Oakeshott deems selves to be only self-seeking but because, as the organisers of coherence, all their actions, necessarily, have to be in their interests, even when directed towards others. The acts of selves are also always ‘free’ and ‘self-determined’, this being the character of ‘will’. The self is ‘free’ in so far as it is defined as a selfdetermined self. The practical self is ‘free’ by virtue of the fact that in practical experience it must be presupposed to have this character. Where the principle of reality is taken as separateness, that which has demonstrated its separateness has also demonstrated its character as an end in itself and, therefore, ‘free’. Action would be impossible without self-determined, separate selves. And the ‘will’ could not operate in a world of ‘wills’ unless the integrity of the self was recognised as real. It is in so far as this is the case that the self is understood as ‘free’. When we turn to the discussion of ‘free’ moral agents, what Oakeshott means by this must be taken in this way: the ‘free’ moral individual is a presupposition necessary for the existence of practical experience upon which moral conduct depends. By attempting to reconcile ‘what is’ to ‘what is to be’ the self acts upon terms which are also presuppositions of practice. In philosophical terms, ‘what is’ is abstract, a particular construction that the practical self identifies as ‘fact’. Whatever changes occur in practice the character of ‘fact’ remains the same. But from a practical point of view all ‘facts’ must be transient, otherwise they could not belong to that world of experience. The world ‘to be’ is understood as that which is more coherent than existing circumstances. It is a value judgement that states what ‘ought’ to be. The world ‘to be’ is a presupposition of practice without which it could not be sustained. However, the ‘ought’ of practice is not to be identified with the whole of practical experience, and Oakeshott goes to great lengths to show this (EM p. 274–88). In relation to his understanding of politics, an important part of practice, Oakeshott recognised that it belongs to a world of valuejudgements. A presupposition of politics is the contesting of what ‘ought to be’ by individuals (or, later, affiliated individuals in civil associations). There are no grounds for seeing Oakeshott’s attitude towards politics as merely a polite ‘conversation’. Neither can it be
74 Politics and morality said that he is anti-political.8 All that he is doing is explaining, philosophically, the presuppositions of practical experience. In the process they are transformed into theoretical categories that have no bearing upon the actual goings-on of practice. Philosophy, as we have seen, cannot touch the modes: it merely accounts for them. The attempt to change ‘what is’ for ‘what ought to be’ is, in the end, futile. A world of coherence is never possible because the presuppositions of practice plot against it. Every action taken to increase coherence leads to the need for further acts of ‘will’. There is no breaking away from this, otherwise practical activity would be destroyed. Like all the modes, practice is self-contradictory. It depends upon there being a discrepancy between ‘what is’ and ‘what is to be’. Practice is not the concrete whole of experience and it is not until we relinquish its embrace that we can find what is satisfactory in experience. However, Oakeshott does not take practical experience as a ‘lower’ form of activity. He accepts it as the epitome of our mortal existence. Without it there would be death – not individual deaths, but the death of everything that we understand as mortal existence (EM p. 273). With this comment it seems to me that Oakeshott betrays a privileging of practical experience: without it there could be no history, science or even philosophy. Furthermore, without practice moral conduct and religious experience would not be possible. While they are not essential, Oakeshott implies that morality and religion do, at least, give meaning to human existence. In this way he can be said to give the reasons ‘why’ practice is a mode, rather than simply stating ‘what’ it is. This is something he does not do for either science or history, or philosophy. Philosophy does not save practice from death, nor can it prevent it from dying. And if we wish to leave behind our separate selves, such self-deception is rarely sought for in philosophy. [And] it is never the philosopher, persuading us that this separate self is an abstraction, who will succeed in ridding us of this obsession, it is the lover who momentarily convinces us that it is an illusion. (EM p. 272) Practice comprises of moral and religious life (EM p. 296). In EM it also includes aesthetic experience, something that Oakeshott later revises.9 Oakeshott does not say a great deal about these matters in EM. But what he does say must be seen in relation to his earlier writings on religion and the moral life. It is to these works that I now turn.
Practice, morality and religion 75
Religion in Oakeshott’s moral theory I have argued that Oakeshott radicalises Bradley’s notion of the ‘Absolute’ by bringing it fully under the terms of experience. It follows from this move that morality can no longer be ‘transcended’ in religion. Although Oakeshott maintains religion as the fullest expression of moral conduct, unlike Bradley he does this with religion more thoroughly identified with, and more firmly situated in, practical experience. In the 1920s Oakeshott published three essays that were to set out his understanding of the relation between morality and religion. The views put forward here were to remain with him, not only in EM but also some fifty years later in OHC where he returns to similar themes. Below I examine each of these essays in turn. It must be noted that these essays were not intended to be a systematic account of a theory of morals. However, by including them as an important part of Oakeshott’s writings I endeavour to show not only how they relate to EM, but also their relation to Bradley’s ethics, and the radical move which, I have argued, Oakeshott makes. In addition it illustrates that a moral concern is central to Oakeshott’s philosophy. There is only one other account which I know of that tries to place what Oakeshott has to say about religion within the context of his thought to any significant degree. This is Fuller’s ‘introduction’ to the collected essays.10 But this is not undertaken with any reference to Bradley’s moral position. The discussion below takes account of Fuller’s commentary but also covers some rather different ground. ‘Religion and the Moral Life’ It has been documented that Oakeshott was a practising Christian.11 This was reflected in the localised reviews that he produced for Caian and the Journal of Theological Studies12 while he was a student. It is the essay ‘Religion and the Moral Life’13 that constitutes his first serious attempt at discussing religion philosophically. However, even in this text he relies upon secondary accounts and the text stands somewhere between a review and a philosophical essay. It is an immature work. This is shown by its uncritical reliance on Bradley’s theory of morals. That said, in this work we may discern the beginnings of Oakeshott’s own standpoint which was to become the basis for his ideas on religion in EM and OHC. In this essay Oakeshott sets out some basic ideas about the relationship between religion and morality. His argument is that religion does not stand outside of the moral world. His task is to try to
76 Politics and morality understand the connection between religion and moral conduct, to show it theoretically and as a whole (RPM p. 39). That it is ‘as a whole’ betrays Oakeshott’s Idealism. He denotes three ways that this connection has been made: that religion is morality itself, religion provides the sanction of morality, and that religion is the completion of morality. The view that ‘religion is morality’ is initially described as a ‘travesty’ because such a phrase is meaningless. Those who have expounded such a explanation (for example, Comte and the early positivists) did no more than set it down as a statement of fact without explaining its meaning (RPM p. 40). However, Oakeshott continues that there is a modified version of this view that has a great deal of importance. In its simplest form it is ‘honesty with oneself’. Augustine, amongst others, had expressed this argument in the past. It is noteworthy that Oakeshott sets a neo-Platonic view against an empiricist position drawing upon what I have described as the Idealist tradition. But it is the idea in its contemporary form that most interests Oakeshott. From this point he explicitly begins to paraphrase another text.14 This serves the purpose of illuminating his own reasoning, but it confuses a more general issue: whether Oakeshott has recourse to God in this essay. The argument proceeds that as an activity of human beings, religion must also be an activity of moral personalities. And no religious doctrine can properly be called religious if it does not meet the criteria required by moral personalities. It is God’s end to help moral persons. Since religion is a relation between God and moral persons, the notion of grace operating mechanically is impossible, as a characteristic of moral personalities is their autonomy. An order imposed by God otherwise than through our own sense of right . . . would be no true moral order. Nothing is morally observed which is done as the exaction of God’s will. It must, even if it be only in submission, be the expression of our own. (RPM p. 40–1) It is not entirely clear how far the use of God in this context is deployed by Oakeshott to do justice to the work he is drawing from, or how important God was to his ideas about religion at this stage. Certainly, God has no place in the essay from 1929. And the argument here could be sustained without recourse to God. What remains consistent with the rest of his writings on religion is the maintenance of the integrity of the individual in the idea of ‘honesty with oneself’.
Practice, morality and religion 77 Oakeshott also maintained the view that it is the individual’s responsibility to guard his or her actions and not rely upon the sanction of religious doctrine. Oakeshott is more dismissive of the second way that religion and morality have been drawn together. This is the view that ‘religion is the sanction of morality’. It is an explanation that relies upon the argument that a basis for morality is to be found not in the individual, but in some ‘higher’ sanction. In Christianity’s case this is usually understood as being revealed in God’s will. It implies that morality is something objective being handed down to men in, say, the Gospels. This interpretation may be deemed the ‘rationalist’ view and it is a position that Oakeshott strongly refutes, finding it both immoral and unchristian (RPM p. 43). It is here, as a part of his understanding of the moral life, that Oakeshott first critiques rationalism. The connection between what he says about religion here and politics elsewhere is the understanding that the kind of knowledge that constitutes practice (to which politics and religion are bound) is concerned with particularity (not generalisations) and that this form of knowledge is not only technical but ‘practical’ in character. This will be explained more fully in the next chapter. Suffice to say here that Oakeshott’s critique of rationalism is tied not to a particular political point of view, but to a theory of knowledge that is part of his philosophical system as a whole. Furthermore, this theory is the basis for an understanding of moral conduct, which becomes a criterion for defining rationalism as not only irrelevant but immoral (in that it denies the possibility of moral experience). To challenge the ‘rationalist’ position Oakeshott returns to the argument of the first interpretation, that religion is morality, identified as ‘honesty with oneself’. Here moral personalities and moral actions are associated with absolute independence, as the distinguishing characteristic of moral persons is autonomy. However, religion appears in the second view to require absolute dependence on God. Oakeshott argues that, in fact, absolute moral independence and absolute religious dependence are not opposites but one indivisible whole. Once more he draws on Oman’s text that he associates with the legitimate aspect of the first view: ‘For we serve God only as we are true to our souls, and we are true to our souls only as we serve God’ (RPM p. 43). The point is that if the moral law (i.e. the Gospels) are the commands of God to be obeyed blindly, then we are ‘moral immoral’. This is absurd. If morality consists in the autonomous self choosing its own course of action, then the notion of an external law
78 Politics and morality is an immoral notion. The Gospels do not become moral until they are accepted as such by autonomous moral individuals. There is no direct line between God and humankind. Rather, what we have is a range of interpretations of the Gospels that match individuals’ (practical) circumstances. Only in this way are moral independence and religious dependence reconciled. Furthermore, while a particular religious doctrine might serve as a starting point for morality, in no way is it fixed. The individual may legitimately reject what they find inconsistent with their time and place (in practice). In short, morality changes according to an active sensibility. Although Oakeshott sets out this account as preferable to what may be called the ‘rationalist view’ (that morality is ‘revealed’ in God’s will), he maintains that it needs to be supplemented by a third view.15 This is the idea that ‘religion is the completion of morality’, which Oakeshott attributes to Bradley and Bosanquet (RIP p. 41). The position of this account is that morality is a selfcontradiction and to a degree abstract. There are two aspects of this self-contradiction. First, morality tells the individual to do good now. But out of every moral success another moral goal springs. Second, morality as it evolves in a moral community is constantly changing and there is no end to this. So the ‘good’ is never finally achieved, either individually or socially. Morality is an ideal. However, in religion there is a belief in an object other than the self that is real. And this is deemed good and has been achieved. Therefore, in religion we achieve goodness not by becoming better, but by losing ourselves in God. Religion is, then, the completion of morality. It is the whole of which morality is an aspect and where it perishes as an abstraction. Oakeshott maintains that this view can be used to substantiate the claims of the ‘religion as morality’ thesis. The notion of autonomy is merely the ‘form’ of moral personality that requires some definite ‘content’ to rescue it from abstraction. ‘Free’ action is not moral action unless it is ‘wise’, and this element of wisdom is what requires definition. Moral action comprises more than the autonomy of the actor: ‘A concrete moral action is the autonomous, free, and “adequate” reaction of a personality to a situation’ (RPM p. 44). To what may be described as the Kantian notion of ‘autonomy’ given in the first view, Oakeshott adds Bradley’s idea that morality is a certain kind of knowledge. If we look back to EM we can see that here, in his earliest essays on religion, Oakeshott developed the idea of a ‘free’ moral agent. It is a coming together of the idea of autonomy as independent action, with the idea of an ‘adequate’
Practice, morality and religion 79 response to the criteria of the moral world. As yet Oakeshott had not developed the idea that this knowledge was part of the presuppositions of a particular mode of experience, namely practical experience. Rather, Oakeshott continues, it is religion that is the whole in which morality is set. What urges us to be moral is not a set of doctrines but recognition that religion both shows morality as an abstraction and reveals its significance (RPM p. 45). Religion is the view of the whole that makes us search after the good. For Oakeshott, then, religion is not the sanction of morality. But religion is morality in the sense that it is its completion or ‘ideality’. In Bradlian terms, religion is presented as a world, a moral world. Although Oakeshott was to maintain the idea that religion provided a perspective on the whole of mortal life (in OHC, a ‘graceful’ response to it), this was not as its ‘ideality’. In his subsequent writings the idea of religion becomes tied to a fuller notion of practical experience in which moral conduct and religion are set. This is a consequence of his move that takes the ‘Absolute’ as experience itself. It might also be noted that, although here it seems that Oakeshott accepts religion as the ‘ideality’ of morality, in Bradley’s terms, no mention is given of the ‘Absolute’ as such in this essay. ‘The Importance of the Historical Element in Christianity’ Written in 1928, this essay considers the question of whether or not the historical element of Christianity is as necessary and as important as it has been taken to be.16 Of the three essays, this appears as the one most involved in a pressing practical concern for Christians. Moreover, it reveals Oakeshott’s distinction between practice and history,17 as well as setting out some of the terms of the latter which were to make up his general understanding of that world of experience. Oakeshott begins to answer the question by looking at two theories regarding the identity of Christianity (RPM p. 63). First, Christianity has been taken as the whole original Christianity, and hence its historical dimension is of paramount importance. In this view, if a new aspect of Christianity is proposed that does not fit with the original idea it is rejected as not really Christian. But, Oakeshott asks, where is this absolute unchanging original? The New Testament is a record of change and development, so it cannot lie there. It is, in short, an unsatisfactory theory. Once more Oakeshott challenges a doctrinaire view of Christianity. The idea that there are fixed and unchanging objects of historical ‘fact’ was one he opposed in his general writings on history.
80 Politics and morality The second theory regarding the identity of Christianity admits historical changes but maintains that there is a ‘core’ idea of Christianity that has remained the same. Oakeshott terms this view the identity of substance. He finds it equally as wanting as the first view because it demands identity without difference. Furthermore, he asserts (but does not explain) that it makes Christianity an abstraction that has but a small place in our experience. After this brief review Oakeshott attempts to put an alternative viewpoint. He states that this will not be a complete and unassailable theory of identity but merely suggestions. These are aimed at showing that, for Christianity, identity must be discovered in history as a qualitative sameness. Identity is meaningless without differences, just as differences are meaningless without something that is not destroyed by change. Identity lies, first, in the avoidance of any absolute break in a thing’s existence but also in some qualitative element to be discovered by reference to the general character of the thing concerned. This position leads Oakeshott to set out a quite ‘radical’ case for pluralism within Christianity, one, at least, that cannot be said to be ‘conservative’ and goes beyond the merely ‘liberal’. On this view of identity . . . the characteristic of being Christian may properly be claimed by any doctrine, idea or practice which no matter whence it came, has been or can be drawn into the general body of the Christian tradition without altogether disturbing its unity . . . an idea or practice may properly be called Christian which, in part, runs counter to much that had previously been regarded as Christian. (RPM p. 67) A religion must represent to its adherents the best of their desires, and these do not remain unchanged. Oakeshott states that Christianity would have failed if it did not meet people’s present demands. The value of religious ideas is, in part, to be judged pragmatically (RPM p. 68). A subtle change has occurred here. Not only is religion a practical faith, in Bradley’s understanding, because it provides a glimpse of the ‘Absolute’ while tied to the world of ‘appearances’, but religion is now identified with practical experience. Religion is not the ‘ideality’ of the moral and practical world, but Christianity must respond to people’s circumstances.18 The use of the historical argument for Christianity’s sake has undermined this enterprise. In the past intellectual efforts had a tendency to inflate history and Christianity was caught on the wave of this endeavour.
Practice, morality and religion 81 (RPM p.69) It has meant that the struggle for credibility has become tied to a historical explanation. But, Oakeshott maintains, historical argument is no longer enough. Religion exists to satisfy no craving for knowledge apart from the knowledge that comes with the strength to take life as it is. One of these ‘felt wants’ is the need for some perception of the reality of the object of belief. This is not that the necessity of its existence should be proved, but that people are intensely aware of the actual existence of the object of belief. Religion gets its force from feelings that connect with an everyday sense: that is, it must be, literally, ‘lively’. This may be made possible through ritual or visual representation. Christianity has developed its rituals but the emphasis is placed on history, upon the actual happenings to Christ. This moves from ‘sense’ to ‘memory’ some of the power of Christianity to give actuality to its beliefs. It is not that history has no place in spiritual awareness, but the relationship is a subtle one. What religion demands is not a consciousness of the necessity and individuality of past events, but a consciousness of the individuality of present experience. This is to be found in the participation of determining present practical life, to face up to what is new and achieve some freedom from the past. The necessary actuality of the objects of Christian belief must be sought (again and again) on a ‘higher’ plane than one of mere sense and mere history, but where the two connect with practical life and create a sensibility. In this essay, then, I think we can discern Oakeshott beginning to construct his own philosophical point of view. For Bradley the relationship between morality and religion was a one-way street. Morality found its completeness in the religious ideal. In the last essay we found Oakeshott largely agreeing with this. But here the relationship between morality and religion is a ‘two-way’ process. Religion is now a ‘sensibility’ that helps us face up to the world. It is, then, firmly tied to what Oakeshott was to later call ‘practical experience’. We also find in this second essay that religion, as a part of practice, is differentiated from history. The element of history that is said to be important for religion was to be developed by Oakeshott as the ‘practical past’. Furthermore, there is the continuing criticism of what I have called the ‘rationalist’ view of religion, in Oakeshott’s challenge to doctrinaire attitudes towards Christianity. I have remarked that this view cannot be easily labelled as ‘conservative’ or ‘liberal’ but comes out of a philosophical concern. Finally, it must be noted that the question of the status of God in Oakeshott’s essays on religion is still ambiguous. It is stated that the object of belief should
82 Politics and morality be ‘felt’ to impact upon people’s lives, but its existence does not have to be proved. Whether such an object is ‘real’ or might be an ‘appearance’ is a question that is touched upon in the final essay. ‘Religion and the World’ In the last essay on religion we find Oakeshott trying to define his understanding of a religious sensibility that has been expressed but not fully explained in his previous works.19 Religion, Oakeshott maintains, is not an ‘other-worldly’ experience nor does it provide an escape from the world. Often when such claims have been made no examination of what constitutes the ‘world’ is undertaken. In a potted history Oakeshott sets out what it is that Christianity has, in the past, deemed to be inimical to a religious life. In each case he relates how Christians have attempted to remain ‘unspotted’ from the taint of earthly existence. For the early Christians the world was understood as in a present state of darkness and evil; only the second coming of Christ could bring about a New Age. For them religion articulated the Hebrew notion of the dualism of historical periods. They could remain ‘unspotted’ by glorifying the imminent return of Christ and disparaging all that was associated with the present (RPM p. 28). As the day of the final reckoning failed to materialise, Christians reconciled themselves to the delay. What evolved in the Middle Ages was a view that the world was inimical to religion because it contained the temptations and vices of material existence that were absent in the heavens. Thus arose a dualism between materialism and spiritualism and, correspondingly, between body and soul, natural and supernatural. To remain ‘unspotted’ from the world now required an avoidance of earthly pleasures. As this view spread and crystallised, a set of beliefs and values based upon it emerged. To keep ‘unspotted’ from the world required a lifestyle directed towards the pursuit of a religious idea and the avoidance of all worldly comforts (RPM pp. 28 – 30). Oakeshott maintains that this view of the religious individual is superficial, and a more refined understanding is needed: ‘What really distinguishes the worldly man is, I think, his belief in the reality and permanence of the present order of things’ (RPM p. 30). Oakeshott considers the worldly man to have an external standard of values; he prizes the things in his life on the degree of success, status and so on that they bring him. It might not be a mere reputation that the individual seeks: in fact, contributions in the fields of
Practice, morality and religion 83 science, art and the like may be rooted in external value systems. Nevertheless, a career is usually deemed to be the most important aim of life, especially as most worldly men do not have the talent or opportunity to make a contribution to a particular discipline. Such an attitude belongs to a world truly inimical to religion, but it is hard to avoid its grasp. While the tone in which he writes is more disparaging than normal, Oakeshott still maintains the importance of practical life. I think it is best to see the description here as a deliberately exaggerated character, in the way that the ‘rational man’ is portrayed in RIP. In the latter case, a ‘straw man’ is set up in order to elucidate a particular theory of knowledge. In this case a rather exaggerated, one-dimensional character is deployed to put forward an understanding of religious knowledge as a ‘sensibility’. In contrast to the worldly man, Oakeshott considers the religious man. In place of external values he urges (with a touch of prescription) that we should adopt a ‘more personal standard’ (RPM p. 32). What he means by this is that each individual should embark upon a journey of his or her own self, a project that is of the ‘realisation of a self’. It might be noted that Oakeshott does not write as if we might discover our ‘true selves’. This fits the view of the ‘fragmented’ self that we find in EM. Despite the notion of a differentiated self, Oakeshott privileges the individual and his endeavour to be religious over and above that of the attempt to make religion an object of collective attention. This goes against the character of many religions, including some denominations within Christianity, most obviously Catholicism. Oakeshott continues that once what is striven for in an individual’s life is the realisation of a self, the things that he does in practical life become not ends in themselves but of significance only in so far as they aid the maintenance of the self. If this is the case then not only does the desire for a successful career become insignificant, but so too does the ‘empty and futile’ idea that the success of practical life should be measured by a contribution made to something thought to be more permanent than the self (a race, a people, a science, etc.). As Fuller puts it, Oakeshott will take nothing in exchange for the self.20 The world has no charm for the religious man, Oakeshott tells us, in the sense that his richest possession is his sensibility which is something acquired in the ‘here and now’. Religion has nothing to do with the future, nothing to do with heaven’s gate. Oakeshott admits that all this sounds fanciful, and to establish such a view would be tantamount to a revolution. His sceptical intellectual style comes to bear here as he recognises the dominance of the practical mind: ‘for it is so
84 Politics and morality much easier to imagine ourselves achieving our end by a career or a contribution, just as it is easier to know all about a picture than to achieve a sensibility for it’ (RPM p. 34). Nevertheless, Oakeshott maintains that all of us have moments of acting religiously. Whenever we live for the present and for the sake of ourselves (not for a divine authority), whenever we are convinced that what we are doing is for our highest good (and not for the pleasure of others), then we are religious (RPM pp. 34–6). These moments are rare, and indeed, it is part of our predicament in practical life that we are unsure of how to proceed and of what the consequences of our actions will be. But the fact that these moments arise (as an integral part of practical life) is enough for Oakeshott to hope that the insight they provide will be grounds for a recognition that at religious times we are given a moral gift, that of sincerity. In Oakeshott’s view, an ‘unspotted’ religious life requires the freedom to achieve a personal sensibility, in the present, in order to realise a self. This is not a life away from the world or a life given to the service of an abstract religious ideal or deity. It is instead a desire for the maintenance of individual integrity in the face of ‘worldly’ vanities. The religious man loves life, and his love for it is expressed in the desire not to lose sight of the moral sincerity that a religious sensibility reveals. As was the case in the previous essays, religion is taken as the fullest expression of practical life. But as we have seen, this is not because it is the abstract ‘ideality’ of practical experience but because, at its best and on rare occasions, religion is the condition in practice when we are most sincere with ourselves. It also seems here that God is not a necessary part of religious life. Acting sincerely is religious practice. A religious life need not meet any standard except that which is set by the self. No authority is capable of providing a ‘higher’ sanction for the religious man than oneself. Oakeshott’s concern to preserve the individual’s ‘integrity’ is maintained in his political writings. We shall come across it again when we approach one of his dilemmas in OHC, which is to say why it is that individuals obey the authority of the law when they have not given their explicit consent. I have argued above that Oakeshott privileges the self and practical experience. Given what has been said here I think that still remains the case. The self remains the focus for moral attention, there being no place for a communal ‘good’. Although Oakeshott appears to bemoan the dominance of the practical man’s mentality over the religious, practice still remains the grounds for religious
Practice, morality and religion 85 experience without which there would be nothing mortal. Religion is born out of practice, but it also provides a full perspective upon it, reminding us of our mortality and provoking a sincere response. Such a view does away with any abstract notion that ties religion to the ‘Absolute’ or takes it as the ‘ideality’ of morality. In Oakeshott’s hands, religion is part of our present earth-bound experience: returning briefly to EM may indicate this further.
Practical experience and religion One might have expected a long elucidation in EM of Oakeshott’s understanding of religion, given the fact that it had preoccupied him for nearly ten years. However, it is disappointing to find that this is not the case. Even less is directly said about morality. It is not until OHC that Oakeshott’s thoughts on this matter were finally spelt out in full, and he may have had some regrets about this.21 However, this is not a reason for dismissing the centrality of morality to his philosophy. EM is a limited enterprise; as Oakeshott states himself, it is concerned with a single idea, to explain what is concrete and what is abstract in experience. As I have already indicated, during the next four decades his moral ideas appear in relation to his critique of rationalism as well as in his readings of political texts. We left EM where Oakeshott had asserted that morality and religion were part of practical life (EM p. 296). I interrupted the systematic account that I was giving in order to illustrate how this related to his earliest work. But by giving the intellectual background of what Oakeshott had written on this subject before EM, I hope, in turn, to show how these essays throw light on what he says here. The unsystematic character of practical experience, Oakeshott tells us, affects morality (EM p. 301). This is something to be preserved, not suppressed. Moral conduct guided by a book, a set of rules, and so on, is devoid of vitality. When morality is identified with the observance of rules it ceases to be moral, and if moral action is reduced to mere reasoning it gives up the characteristic that most distinguishes it. Furthermore, there are kinds of thought which paralyse moral sensibility and make an individual in the practical world less capable of conducting their lives (EM p. 303). There is a hint that one such kind of thought might be that associated with the rationalist: ‘Law is the enemy of the moral life; casuistry the grave of moral sensibility’ (EM p. 301). Two points are worth noting here. First, in OHC, far from being the antithesis of rules, moral conduct is described as a rule-bound
86 Politics and morality activity. However, what Oakeshott understands as rules in that text is similar to what he describes as practical experience here, except the view has passed through the attempt to define the ‘norms’ of human conduct that underpin such a world. This is undertaken in his political essays using the notion of ‘tradition’. Second, Oakeshott now writes of a ‘moral’ sensibility, not merely a ‘religious’ sensibility. In this account he has further closed the gap between religion and morality and, therefore, practice. Oakeshott appears to have recognised that if religion is the whole of morality, then moral conduct must itself have certain features that can ‘lead on to’ a religious sensibility. Oakeshott cites religion as the only example he will give of a practical activity (EM p. 292). Again, religion is defined as practice at its fullest state, at its most concrete. That is, religion takes furthest the practical task of defining ‘what ought to be’. Whenever practice is least reserved by extraneous interests, whenever it is nearly homogenous, it becomes religion. Religion is a practical activity not simply because it is involved in the conduct of life but because religion is itself the conduct of life. All religions are a way of living. A particular religion is a way of life. Whatever is a way of living is an activity. It therefore belongs to practice. Religion and practice are one and the same. Further, as practical experience is a mode of experience, then it follows that religion identified with practice is also a mode of thought. Oakeshott takes on two views that might be used to counter this argument (EM p. 293). First, the position that religion is ‘a retreat from life’. To this point he refers back to his initial argument that all practical experience is activity. Whether that be residing in a monastery or preaching from the pulpit, it is still a way of living, an activity that comes under the presuppositions of practice. Second, religion may be taken ‘as a theory’ (or semi-theoretical idea), not a practice, and be said to provide ultimate knowledge. To this point Oakeshott retorts that there has been little found in the discussion in EM that would associate practice with the whole of experience. Religion is the attempt to change practical experience in order that it corresponds with an idea that is ultimately not Truth but ‘true’, in so far as it fits the presumptions of practice. It is the attempt to reconcile ‘what is’ to ‘what ought to be’: ‘if it [religion] looks to “another” world, it is for the purpose of determining what shall be our conduct in “this” world’ (EM p. 294). Having set out why religion is a practical world of experience, Oakeshott must explain why religion is that world to its fullest. In actual experience, he maintains, the conduct of life is not at all times undertaken with the same degree of integrity, intensity, completeness
Practice, morality and religion 87 or coherence (EM p. 295). However, all activities attempt to find integrity, to satisfy what is complete in practical experience. Whenever this attempt at achieving a coherent world reaches a certain degree of intensity that dominates us, then practice has become religion. There is no exact moment when religion can be said to have begun as it is differentiated from other practical activities, not by kind but by degree. As such it may be said that religion is part of the nature of practice. Whenever we reach the achievement of what practice demands as a complete world of experience, whatever is selected as its object, religion finds its place in the world. In this discussion Oakeshott sets down more forcefully than in the essays on religion why it is that religion is bound to practice and morality. Any possibility that religion may be considered ‘abstract’ is squashed. Religion is described as different from practice by degree, not kind – it is practice, an activity of life at its most stable that manages to circumvent constant change by the loss of oneself in a religious object. This does not have to do with a deity, salvation or immortality (EM p. 309). It can be the pursuit of any object to an intense degree as long as this does not foreclose a moral sensibility by being doctrinaire. Post-Rousseau, we tend to think of morality in a social context. But for Oakeshott one can be moral in isolation. It is a characteristic of the practical self at all times.
Conclusion In this chapter I have illustrated the character of practical experience as it is presented in EM. I have also shown how morality and religion (as well as politics) are an integral part of practice. In so doing I hope to have indicated that a concern with morality is central to Oakeshott’s system of thought. This point of view will help us, in the following chapters, to grasp more fully Oakeshott’s understanding of politics. In addition I have been critical of two aspects of his work, the privileging of practical experience in general and the self in particular. Oakeshott has argued that practice is not the whole of experience but a world of thought to be explained by its coherence. The presuppositions of this mode are action and change, will and judgement, separation and individuality. All these characteristics belong to the sovereign abstraction of practice, the self. I have noted how for Oakeshott this is a ‘fragmented’ self, not a single subject. Not only do selves exist as part of different modes of experience, but also even within practice a self may be differentiated as a practical, moral or
88 Politics and morality religious individual. However, at all times the self remains individualised, and in this respect Oakeshott burdens the self with constructing, for itself, a whole world of experience and a whole system of interrelated meaning systems. Selves are described as ‘free’. This is in so far as they are selfdetermined and separate. Individuals are ‘free’ because they belong to a world of experience that presupposes this character. In practical experience selves attempt to alter ‘what is’ to ‘what ought to be’. This is based upon value judgements. I have indicated how politics, as part of practice, must also inherit some of this character, although this is not what the whole of practice or politics consists of. In the end the attempt to find coherence by determining ‘what ought to be’ is like fighting with the wind. As abstractions, the ‘is’ and ‘ought’ are necessary presuppositions for the maintenance of practical experience. Coherence cannot be achieved without destroying practice itself. Morality is a sensibility that is achieved (although never finalised) in practice. It is not a technical form of knowledge, it has no set principles and it is anything but doctrinaire. It is not until OHC that Oakeshott fully explains moral conduct, but we can understand it as a sensibility in opposition to the rationalist view of the world. Such a view is immoral as it forecloses the form of knowledge necessary for a moral sensibility. The moral individual, as the individual of practice, must be ‘free’, not autonomous but bound to a world of understanding. They have no higher reference for their actions than their judgement, their own sense of right, and they take responsibility for their acts, which can never be fully determined. Religion is the highpoint of morality. It too is not a theory, even less a history. It is part of practice, the here and now. In this way religion is not associated with anything ‘mystical’ or abstract. Morality is not transcended in religion (it is not its ‘ideality’) or a new form of consciousness. Rather, religion is morality and practice understood from a wider perspective. To maintain this role religion is dependent upon what goes on in practice. It must look to people’s ‘felt needs’ and ensure that it can represent their desires. It must be an everchanging doctrine (as all things in practice), open to all forms of moral judgements, even when they do not sit comfortably with what is already there. Oakeshott’s view means that Christianity could be associated with an entirely different criteria to that set down in the Gospels. These are understood not as a guide but a starting point for interpretation. The object of ‘worship’ is unimportant: it need not be God or Christ. It is the kind of act (in OHC the ‘motive’) or response
Practice, morality and religion 89 to a situation that is significant, how an individual does justice to their self. Religion is, like morality, a sensibility. It is to be honest with oneself, to realise a self, to be sincere. Although Oakeshott argues that practice is not the whole of experience, in a sense he gives it a privileged position. He states that without practice all mortal life would cease to exist. This seems to mean that history, science, poetry and even philosophy are dependent upon practice. Furthermore, the idea that mortal existence revolves around practice also gives it a degree of meaning as to why it should be an arrest in experience. Oakeshott fails to say this of the other modes, only explaining what they are. In addition, moral conduct and religion are tied to practice. When we become moral or religious we are said to achieve a degree of integrity of the self that is not possible in any other mode. Again, practice is privileged because it allows us a form of being, a graceful state, which would not otherwise be possible. Situating morality as part of practice assists Oakeshott in setting out his underlining philosophical reasons for his understanding of politics. Given the ground that we have now covered in relation to his philosophical system, it is now appropriate to turn to Oakeshott’s political writings.
5
Conversation and intimation
Introduction In the first part of this book I argued that in EM the ‘Absolute’ was fully identified with experience, bringing Idealism ‘down to earth’, and focusing attention on the modes. In the essays that followed the publication of EM, Oakeshott began to refine his philosophy and revise the language of Idealism.1 This is centred round the novel idea of the human world as an open-ended conversation. In conjunction with this notion he uses the contentious terms of ‘tradition’, ‘intimations’ and ‘voices’. That these are deeply philosophical concepts is something that I shall illustrate in the following discussion. Moreover, I shall argue that although the traditional language of Idealism is left behind, much of its theoretical baggage is still being carried. This explanation, of Oakeshott’s changing philosophical language, is undertaken as part of a coming to terms with what political theory and political practice mean for Oakeshott. Political philosophy is mentioned just once in EM and then only to decry it as a contradiction in terms (EM p. 335). It is brought up alongside ‘moral philosophy’ as a ‘pseudo-philosophical’ experience. Oakeshott argues that these forms of thought are indeterminate arrests in experience. Both fall short of the full realisation of philosophy as the pursuit of an absolutely coherent world of ideas; moral and political philosophy attempt to take a particular mode of experience, that of practice, as the standpoint for the totality of experience. Yet despite their philosophical character they remain arrests. They are the world of philosophical ideas from the single, abstract and incomplete viewpoint of practice. There can be no ‘moral’ philosophy, no specifically ‘political’ philosophy. To subdivide philosophy, Oakeshott argues, would be to destroy it. This position was to change, to a degree, in OHC where political philosophers are understood as ‘self-consciously conditional theo-
Conversation and intimation 91 rists’.2 But the view, in general, remains the same and can be understood as part of the distinction that Oakeshott draws between theory and practice. What, then, is his understanding of political theory? It may be no surprise to learn that in his writings on politics Oakeshott distinguishes between political theory and political practice. What he meant by the former was an understanding of a certain human activity by means of either philosophical or historical enquiry. What he took to be the latter was a ‘vocation’ with its own form of ‘education’. Like Machiavelli, Oakeshott took the ability to rule to be a practical art, a statecraft that very few had the ability to master. However, unlike Machiavelli who offered himself alongside his book as an experienced guide, Oakeshott wrote about political practice from a philosophical point of view. He was certainly not interested in a political career or being a political activist in the way that other political thinkers like Machiavelli (as well as Edmund Burke, Thomas Paine, Karl Marx and many post-Enlightenment thinkers) have been.3 However, it ought to be noted that Oakeshott did take on the perspective of a political commentator in the tradition of Machiavelli (and, to a degree, Montaigne, one of his great heroes) in a number of essays that he left unpublished but which can now be found in another of Timothy Fuller’s edited collections.4 The commentary on Oakeshott’s political thought that I set out here is also undertaken within a context of trying to draw out the specific moral connotations that these writings have. As I have shown, in his early writings on religion Oakeshott challenges any kind of attempt to bring practical experience under the categories of understanding that belong to technical knowledge alone. The rationalist in politics, like the rationalist in religion, acts immorally by attempting to take away from practice that form of knowledge that belongs to it and sustains the moral individual. I begin, then, with those essays that set out Oakeshott’s philosophical position in the redefined language that he adopts in his essays from the 1950s. I move on to examine the distinction he draws between political theory and political practice and I touch, briefly, upon his ideas of the state. Next I look at how he ‘reads’ a political text. Finally, what has been said in regard to his philosophical position and theory of morals is related to his critique of rationalism.
Conversation and intimation ‘The Voice of Poetry in the Conversation of Mankind’5 provides us not only with a re-evaluation of the arts in Oakeshott’s philosophical
92 Politics and morality outlook but also an account of the conceptual language that was, for many years, to be his philosophical framework. For this reason I shall begin the examination of his political writings with this text. Like Hume, Oakeshott’s philosophical texts (EM and OHC) underpin the more ‘literary’ style of his political and moral writings. I shall point out where remarks made in these essays fit important philosophical points already covered, but I shall not bore the reader with each connecting detail. Therefore, not every part of the essays that I describe will be ‘matched up’ with an element of his philosophy. I take it that if readers have got this far they will by now be able to make these connections themselves. There is a meeting place, Oakeshott suggests, where all the diverse modes of human intercourse come together. This meeting place is the conversation of mankind (RIP p. 489). By participating in the conversation we take part in an unrehearsed intellectual adventure. The conversation has no aim or goal: it is an end in itself. We are engaged neither in an enquiry nor in a debate: no truth is to be discovered or proposition produced. These features belong to argument, and although conversation may have passages of argument it is not this alone. The circumstances of human knowledge are such that we are the inheritors not of an inquiry about ourselves, or of an accumulated body of knowledge, but of a conversation that began way back in time when humans made their first utterances. Oakeshott takes the ability to participate in ‘conversation’ as a distinctive feature of human life. In OHC, where he considers the civil condition, he takes this claim, made in Aristotle’s Politics, as a starting point for his discussion (OHC p. 110). However, his idea of ‘conversation’ here must not be taken at face value. It must be understood to be the notion of ‘experience’ reformulated in essay form. Indeed, he still maintains that ‘the real world is a world of experience’ (RIP p. 495). What we can discern, however, is a more explicit non-foundational understanding of human practices than was given in EM. Oakeshott continues that the conversation is made up of a number of ‘voices’. Each voice in the conversation is the reflection of a human activity with a specific character of its own, a ‘tradition’ of thought or action. There is no end to the number of voices in the conversation but the most familiar are practice, science, history and (now) poetry. These are, of course, the modes. Philosophy maintains the role of studying each voice and reflecting upon the relationship of one to another. However, now it appears this is not primarily to expose their abstract character. In conversation, fact and certainties
Conversation and intimation 93 are shown to be contingent because of the presence of other voices (RIP p. 493). In this way their claims to truth are subordinated to the task of ‘keeping the conversation going’. This does not mean that because the modes are able to cross their own boundaries they give up their unique voices. Oakeshott maintains the concept of irrelevance. The modes are described as not having anything ‘substantial’ to say to one another. They do not compete on the same ground and so there is no agreement reached. However, most importantly, Oakeshott does not say they are completely closed to each other. Philosophically, for the sake of coherence, it seems they may be theorised as irrelevant to each other, but Oakeshott does admit that in their use the various modes or discourses do touch. At the very least the fluidity of the modes is paradoxical. All in all, there seems to be little reason to criticise Oakeshott for rigidity in relation to the modes. Given the move he makes to take Idealism into non-foundational theory and the whole context of his thought (that aims to situate coherently but not prescribe a place for all human activity), this would seem to be a reasonable interpretation that fits in with the general tone of his philosophical system. The distinction to be made in what Oakeshott is saying in relation to the modes or voices is one between how they ought to be understood from the point of view of philosophy (as separate) and how they function in their use (as fluid). After introducing the voices to us in this essay, Oakeshott goes on to express this paradoxical position. He explains that in conversation modal utterances are qualified by their self-recognition as provisional utterances, where their integrity is maintained, that they affirm the ‘facts’ presupposed in their contents but also recognise the possibility of other kinds of experience. In entering the conversation, the worlds of experience do not renounce their identity but they do renounce their claim to exclusive validity, they do ‘hear’ other voices. From this point of view Oakeshott moves on to a consideration of how the voices of practice and science have been the dominant voices of recent times (RIP pp. 497–508). Here Oakeshott is keen to distinguish the mode of poetry from these other modes. What is most important about this discussion is that part of it addresses a central moral question. Oakeshott denies that ‘poetry’ (the arts in general) can have any moral dimension whatsoever (RIP p. 510–11). Even if works of art were originally ‘practical’ (i.e. magical, devotional, didactic), in the making of these images they become emancipated from practice. Poetry’s only ‘purpose’ is ‘delight’, the enjoyment of images for their own sake.6 But it is not only in formalised art that
94 Politics and morality we enjoy poetic contemplation. Whenever nature or human artifice is taken in a disinterested aesthetic fashion, then we have entered the realm of poetry. On the face of it, it would seem that Oakeshott wishes to dissolve moral debate in the realm of art. But I think that this would be a conclusion too easily jumped upon. Poetry is not divorced from a moral perspective merely because it is claimed it has no place in practical experience. Its distinction as a particular human activity separate from political, ‘social’ or historical concerns is itself a liberating value not to be taken lightly. The broader ethical point that I think Oakeshott makes here is that although poetry cannot give us any practical (moral, political) lessons it is an important part of human life in its own right. Of course, Oakeshott would not recognise this as a ‘moral’ or ethical point of view, merely a philosophical one, but I do not think it would be inappropriate to see it this way. Oakeshott states that it is through education that we are initiated into the conversation. We learn to recognise the voices and distinguish which utterances are appropriate to use on particular occasions. For Oakeshott, education is always something more than that which takes place in formal institutions. It must be understood within ‘traditions’ of behaviour. His essays dealing with appropriate approaches to teaching reveal not only the specific role that establishments have but also their limit in teaching techniques. Oakeshott’s writings on education are not mere adjuncts removed from his main preoccupations. Rather, education is what it is for Oakeshott in virtue of its character and place in his whole body of thought.7 In ‘The Study of Politics in a University’ Oakeshott argues that there is a need to distinguish the type of education offered at university from that of any other kind, especially a vocational education. Students involved in the latter set about acquiring the skills of a civilisation – those of a farmer, lawyer, plumber or whatever (RIP p. 191). They obtain a ‘state of the art’ body of information. How this knowledge came to be the current shape of understanding is not important. A vocational education is concerned only with a ‘literature’ or ‘text’, not a ‘language’ (RIP p. 192). The study of languages (a manner of thinking) rather than literatures (what has been said at a given time in a language) is the preserve of a university education: that is, with the study of the modes of thought which are employed in an explanatory rather than a prescriptive manner. Universities incorporate a variety of languages each having a unique voice and set of utterances. The modes of thought are related to each other conversationally. The doctrines, ideologies and theories that are learnt as
Conversation and intimation 95 part of a vocational education are in a university recognised as temporarily explorations of a language. What is important is the familiarity with the modes of thought. A university education has no practical concern except in so far as it reflects life as a conversation. Once again we see in this essay the position in EM restated while incorporating the notion of ‘conversation’. So too is the distinction between theory and practice. These illustrations, of poetry and education, bear out the overall consistent philosophical character of Oakeshott’s work. Furthermore, now that we have touched upon these points we are drawing closer to an analysis of his political writings. In ‘Political Education’8 another theoretical mark is set down. Alongside the notions of ‘conversation’ and ‘voices’, ‘language’ and ‘literature’, the idea of ‘tradition’ is introduced. This concept was rearticulated in OHC in terms of the more philosophically exact notion of ‘practices’. Had Oakeshott used this term earlier much of the negative controversy that surrounded the notion of ‘tradition’ might have been avoided.9 For him ‘tradition’ is used not in a historical manner but in a philosophical one. Furthermore, it takes his work into the terrain of non-foundationalism more overtly than perhaps any of the concepts we have looked at so far. This will be seen more clearly when we come to look at Oakeshott’s work in relation to Wittgenstein. Oakeshott’s ‘tradition’ carries with it no injunctive force but attempts to explain the preconditions that enable human actions to take place. Human activities are, inevitably, ‘traditional’. A ‘tradition’ is a further elucidation of the idea that a practical or moral self is ‘free’ in so far as they belong to a world in which their individual, self-determined character is a presupposition. ‘Tradition’ is not, therefore, a constraint upon an individual’s ‘freedom’ but part of its precondition. In practical discourse we reflect upon proposals about what to do and with recommending or justifying them in argument (VLL pp. 139–45). In deliberating upon a situation that arises in practice we bring with us a variety of beliefs, emotions, approvals and disapprovals, preferences and aversions, feelings and so on. All these pull in different directions. They do not constitute a self-consistent ‘principle’ capable of delivering an unequivocal message about what we should do. It is this whole world of deliberation that Oakeshott calls a ‘tradition’. Practical discourse is the process by which we elicit from this ‘tradition’ decisions about what to do in particular circumstances. ‘Traditions’ do not only appear in individual propositions but exist also in institutions and a whole range of activities.
96 Politics and morality Oakeshott maintains that while the voice of practice is one that consists largely of argument, the deliberating procedure that he calls a ‘tradition’ is a conversation. This, it seems to me, is because it is the whole world of experience from the standpoint of practice. Oakeshott continues that ‘tradition’ is not fixed but dynamic. However, change is slow and its main feature is that of continuity. In OHC Oakeshott relates this to the idea of ‘nodal points’. In an unfortunate but characteristically cheeky use of Burke’s10 famous phrase, Oakeshott characterises ‘tradition’ as constituted by the past, present and future, between the old, the new and what is yet to come. But that his usage is different to Burke’s is not only discernible by what I have argued above but also by his understanding of the practical past, as will be shown in the next chapter. It is, of course, ‘tradition’ as it applies to politics that is of the greatest concern to Oakeshott in this essay (VLL pp. 146–55). Like any other activity that is part of practice, politics depends upon a ‘traditional’ manner of behaviour. Because of this understanding of human activity, politics is defined as ‘the activity of attending to the arrangements of a set of people whom chance or choice have brought together’ (VLL p. 137). It is ‘attending’ rather than ‘making’ because the activity builds upon existing circumstances. Furthermore, the arrangements enjoyed always exceed those needing attention. Oakeshott describes political activity carried out in this manner as ‘the pursuit of intimations’ (VLL pp. 155–8). This is not a description of what motivates people or even of what people may think they are doing, but of what they succeed in doing. In making a practical decision of a political kind we determine the relative importance in the given circumstances of the various intimations that derive from our ‘tradition’. To understand this further we have to remember that the idea of ‘intimations’ may be traced to Bradley’s understanding of ‘inference’, which appears in EM as ‘implications’. The idea of ‘inference’ was used by Bradley to illustrate the constructed and ever changing understanding of identity that constitutes a world of ideas. Oakeshott took this notion to explain the manifold, fluid character of knowledge within a mode of experience. Now we find it here, in essay form. The notion of intimations is designed to show that the kind of knowledge that illuminates political practice is not a guide, an ideology or dogma of any kind. In politics we rely upon what we already know as part of our ‘traditional’ way of acting. Relevant political reasoning exposes the sympathy for a particular intimation and attempts to demonstrate that it should be recognised. But,
Conversation and intimation 97 Oakeshott admits, his notion is an elusive concept. There is no way to elucidate the intimations worth pursuing without making mistakes and the effect of a pursuit may not have the intended result. This is an inherent part of political practice. This view is expressed in perhaps his most famous quote. In political activity, then, men sail a boundless and bottomless sea: there is neither harbour for shelter nor floor for anchorage, neither starting-place nor appointed destination. The enterprise is to stay afloat on an even keel; the sea is both friend and enemy; and the seamanship consists in using the resources of a traditional manner of behaviour in order to make a friend of every hostile occasion. (VLL pp. 149–50)11 It follows from all that has been said that for Oakeshott governing is a specific and limited activity. It is the provision and custody of general rules of conduct that enable people to pursue the activities of their choice. Government does not decide where the intimations are going but upholds and amends laws to ensure the ground rules for their coexistence. It keeps the conversation going but does not determine what is said. The business of ruling so perceived would be based upon a form a government understood as ‘civility’ (an idea that does not receive its full elucidation until OHC). It is not hard to see why it is that Oakeshott has been taken as a liberal. The language of ‘conversation’, ‘voices’, ‘tradition’ and ‘intimations’ all adds up to a view of politics that resembles many of the features of classical liberalism. It recalls, for example, Hobbes’ and Locke’s ideas of a limited state and a large civil society. If there is one area in which Oakeshott appears most as a classical liberal it is in his economic views. In ‘The Political Economy of Freedom’ he argues that the right to private property is a form of economic organisation that is compatible with the political freedoms that we enjoy.12 The ‘freedom’ he discusses is not a developed theoretical construct but a ‘way of living’. Freedom begins not with an abstract definition but with what is already there. That is, Oakeshott is not concerned to outline an ideological point of view but merely to try and explain philosophically what it is we take as our political freedom. The most notable feature of this he finds as the absence of large concentrations of power. This is maintained by the rule of law. It is this character of our political system that Oakeshott argues private property upholds.
98 Politics and morality The idea of private property put forward is one that neither tolerates monopolies nor is merely laissez-faire. Rather, it is one that is maintained by the law in order to promote ‘effective competition’. It is notable that in these essays there is a moral component. Whenever Oakeshott discusses economics (and this is a task undertaken as a philosopher, not an economist) he always subordinates it to a moral concern.13 For example, he writes that ‘maximum productivity’ is one of the most damaging moral superstitions of our time. This is because the ‘good life’ here is understood as nothing more than the enjoyment by more and more people of more and more of everything. Here Oakeshott outlines what in OHC he describes in more detail as an enterprise association. This is an instrumental form of association that he argues has most often been taken for the whole of the civil condition. But what is lacking in such associations is that they do not allow for the full expression of moral actions. In respect of what he says about economics, Oakeshott could be taken as a classical liberal, but such a view fails to take into account the overall philosophical context of what he is saying. We could, if we were searching for political labels, find others. He is, of course, often associated with ‘conservatism’. One author even deemed him to be the architect of the ‘re-orchestration’ of the Tory Party in the 1970s.14 Another has taken his ‘love of freedom’ to be close to anarchists like Ortega y Gasset and Nicolai Berdyaeu.15 While these labels may be useful in a limited sense, in the end, they reduce Oakeshott’s thought. Politics was important for Oakeshott as part of his general philosophical concern with practical experience and the moral life. Only by divorcing politics from this context have writers been able to stick labels upon what he has to say. Oakeshott’s idea of philosophy is to explain rather than prescribe. As government is part of practical life he theorises it the way that he sees it and that, inevitably, means taking account of the British liberal tradition.16 In so doing he draws not upon ideological criteria but on the Idealist understanding of the state which takes this concept in broad terms. In one of his first articles about the state17 Oakeshott addresses the question of its character. He argues that although we are faced with countless theories about the state this should not prohibit analysis. To be a concrete fact the state must be self-subsistent. That which fulfils this criteria is the ‘totality in an actual community which satisfies the whole mind of the individuals who comprise it’.18 Oakeshott goes on to reject the separation of the state from society and ends up with a definition of the state that fits the general
Conversation and intimation 99 character of British Idealism. That is, the state is understood not merely as a ‘political machine’ but comprises social and political influences, institutions and associations. It is only in relation to the state so conceived that individuals enjoy their freedom (and in this there is something of a Hegelian point of view). Oakeshott’s understanding of economics and the state reveals not a ‘political’ point of view but a philosophical one. It should be clear that his notions of ‘tradition’ and ‘intimations’ stem from a particular Idealist tradition of understanding the world of human conduct. All that being said, there is an aspect of Oakeshott’s writing that is undoubtedly conservative; this is not an ideological persuasion but an intellectual style underlined by a philosophical standpoint. In ‘On Being Conservative’,19 Oakeshott outlines what he takes to be the contemporary character of the ‘conservative’ disposition. Conservatism, he says, has nothing to do with nostalgia for the past but is a tendency to esteem what is familiar in the present. It is a disposition that appeals to those able to enjoy current opportunities and this is more likely to be found in the old than the young. The conservative is wary of change (which is only revered by those who esteem nothing), he prefers slow innovation and values continuity. The conservative understands that not all modernisation is an improvement. Oakeshott acknowledges that the fascination for what is new predominates. Nevertheless, the conservative disposition is appropriate in many situations and is often the usual course of our inclinations. Whenever activities involve present enjoyment and not the pursuit of profit, reward or result they can be said to be conservative (RIP p. 408–12). This includes a large variety of human activities, not least of all friendship. Oakeshott’s conservatism is not based upon a belief in the wisdom of history. Nor is it a view of the world he wishes to prescribe. But underlying his conservatism is a philosophical explanation of the way we act: that is, within a ‘tradition’, the ‘voice’ of which belongs to a world of experience in the ‘conversation’ of mankind. Oakeshott’s conservatism is indicative of the general intellectual style that may be said to be the central strain of philosophical political theory. In this respect he is in a long line of thinkers from Plato to Arendt. There is a conservative strain that runs through the tradition of political theory, which is intellectual rather than political. Arendt’s ‘web of relationships’ is a good example of the kind of limits to human action that political philosophers have discerned since Plato. As I shall indicate later, Wittgenstein’s ‘forms of life’ also has something in common with Oakeshott’s ‘conservatism’ in the same way.
100 Politics and morality
Political thought So far I have looked at the way in which politics as part of ‘practice’ is philosophically situated in Oakeshott’s writings. But I have yet to look at the place of political thought, as such, in his work. I shall now address this issue. Let us return to the subject of education.20 As stated above, Oakeshott distinguishes a vocational education from a university education. In terms of the study of politics this would mean that a vocational education would involve learning about political parties, the civil service and pressure groups. There would be a specialised vocabulary that would consist of words like ‘democracy’ and ‘liberty’ understood in their contemporary use, as well as a teaching of ‘socalled’ political theories such as ‘Socialism’ and ‘Liberalism’ (RIP p. 200). This view highlights Oakeshott’s understanding of ideologies and everyday political terms as contingent beliefs associated with practice. The language of politics is constituted by the language of practice with the emphasis on desires and aversions, opinions and disagreements, and so forth. However, those engaged in political activity tend to make their opinions attractive to others by offering them as generally held beliefs and they try to denigrate the views of their political opponents. The voice of day-to-day politics is the voice of argument. In an essay written in the 1930s Oakeshott states that politics involves the false simplification of life: it is ‘vulgar’, ‘bogus’ and ‘callous’ and attracts characters of this stamp.21 This is not to say that Oakeshott has little regard for politics as such. Again we can see a philosophical viewpoint here, not a practical judgement or mere opinion. Politics is ‘bogus’ to Oakeshott in that it pertains to understand the world as a whole, but its truths are in fact the limited statements of a particular mode of thought. Oakeshott perhaps ought to have been more cautious in his use of irony in his political essays as it has opened his work up to many unwarranted charges.22 As it is concerned with explanatory languages, the study of politics in a university must be different to that which might plausibly be given to those who wish to participate in practical politics. However, politics itself is not a language: it belongs to the world of practice and its vocabulary belongs to that world of experience. It does not have the self-contained complete character of science or history. There is no specifically political explanation of anything; the word ‘politics’ stands for holding certain kinds of beliefs, and
Conversation and intimation 101 opinions, making certain judgements, performing certain kinds of action and thinking in terms of practical considerations. (RIP p. 212) This does not mean that politics can only be studied as a vocation. It may be explained in terms of one of the recognised languages of explanation, the most appropriate being history and philosophy. Oakeshott does not rule out a scientific approach. As I have stated in Chapter 3 he is not against any human activity coming under the gaze of scientific experience, as long as it stays within that realm of thought. However, he doubts whether science could prove satisfactory (RIP p. 213). In a historical mode we may read, say, Machiavelli’s The Prince in order to acquire the manner of thinking and speaking appropriate to history. By doing this we learn what people thought and said in a particular context. What we do not learn, and cannot learn, is how to avoid the political errors of the past. Theory and practice remain separate. The history of political thought does not constitute an accumulation of solid results and conclusions about how to conduct political activity. It is not uncommon for those who have examined the political conditions of their time to mistake the character of political thought. Oakeshott cites Mill as an example of someone who failed to recognise this when he proposed that ‘representative government’ was a ‘form’ of politics proper to all civilised societies (RIP pp. 69–70). As well as being considered from a historical point of view, a writer’s political thought may also be considered as part of an author’s philosophical system. What is studied in the text under this mode of thought are the incoherencies philosophy has detected in ways of thinking and the manner of the solutions that have been proposed. In ‘The Concept of a Philosophical Jurisprudence’,23 Oakeshott maintains that every philosophical doctrine consists not only of conclusions and opinions but also of ‘reasons’. It is with these that the philosopher must primarily be concerned. In a sense they are the conclusions of a philosophical doctrine. The ‘what’ and ‘why’ of philosophy are inseparable. A philosophy is such because it is not only concerned with a condition of things but a manner of explanation. The only thing that matters with a philosophy is its coherence. This is the position outlined in EM and it further highlights his contention made there that time and place are irrelevant for the philosophical investigation of political thought. Although every philosophy necessarily has a time and a place this is insignificant to it as philosophy. Whether it is coherent or not has
102 Politics and morality nothing to do with its setting. So, when we look at the ‘classic’ texts of political thought we do not look for their authors’ political dispositions, still less their political opinions. The concepts which they use, ‘justice’, ‘natural law’, sovereignty and so on, must be understood as explanatory concepts part of their systems of thought. To abstract Mill’s ‘democracy’ from his philosophy would be to distort its meaning. Such concepts should not be given the appearance of explanations themselves. This reduces the philosophical content of an author’s work. When their ideas are treated in this manner it turns them into a ‘political theory’. A philosopher who has a sophisticated understanding of political life has his thought misrepresented and is labelled a ‘democrat’ or ‘liberal’ or whatever. What are truly explanatory terms are taken to be prescriptive concepts with an injunctive force. All that is properly philosophical about their work is lost. In ‘The New Bentham’24 Oakeshott’s method is employed to expose Bentham as a ‘political theorist’ rather than the ‘philosopher’ he pertains to be. Against those who see in his ideas the operation of a keen and original mind, Oakeshott argues that Bentham is a ‘philosophe’ par excellence. Those who defend him do so based on misconceived grounds. His greatness is attributed to his anticipation of contemporary views. But this ignores the undeveloped character of his thought. The preoccupation with the supposed effects and influences of a philosopher not only results in a misjudged opinion about their stature but also prevents a reflective understanding of their thought. Bentham belonged firmly to the eighteenth century, according to Oakeshott. The grounds and reasons underlying his conclusions were those of this time; he was nothing if not a conventional thinker. Bentham never examined his own presuppositions and never attempted to elucidate his first principles. As well as exposing philosophical pretenders, Oakeshott applied his method to distinguishing writers of originality. He did this most profitably in his work on Thomas Hobbes. Much has been made of the fact that Leviathan was said by Hobbes to be ‘occasioned’ by the present disorder. But in his study Oakeshott does not emphasise this historical reading. Rather, he looks at what he calls Hobbes’ master concepts of ‘will’ and ‘creation’.25 Oakeshott warned against abstracting certain political opinions from Hobbes’ thought that might reduce the philosophical manner of his thinking to a handful of simple propositions. He believed that commentators had not appreciated the systematic character of his work but had taken his writings as a mere collection of ideas. Moreover, he argued against the judgmental reading of Hobbes as immoral. For example, the
Conversation and intimation 103 claim that Hobbes presents a picture of human nature as essentially self-centred: when we turn to what Hobbes actually wrote, and treat it as a systematic whole, we find that the essential selfishness of man is not, in Hobbes, a premise, but (if the doctrine is to be found anywhere) is a conclusion, the result of a long and complicated argument. His premise is a doctrine of solipsism, a belief in the essential isolation of men from one another, and expounded as a theory of knowledge.26 Oakeshott’s views about the character of political thought lead him to a not unsurprising sceptical conclusion about its possible achievements. The analysis of general ideas associated with political activity in so far as it removes some of the crookedness from our thinking and leads to a more economic use of concepts, is an activity neither to be overrated or despised. (RIP p. 351) Oakeshott hoped that the possible benefit of such an analysis might be a more profound understanding of political activity and our political tradition. This could, possibly, make us less prone to the seductions of political ideologies that purport to offer a clear lead in political conduct, when no such guides exist. This comment seems to indicate that Oakeshott unites theory and practice, at least to some degree. But in reply to such suggestions he always denied this possibility. In a well-known exchange of views, Raphael criticised Oakeshott’s understanding of political thought.27 First, he argued that past political philosophers had practical as well as theoretical purposes in their writings and that it was false to separate the two. Second, to recommend an explanation is tantamount to recommending a way of thinking and, thus, a type of behaviour. On the first point, Oakeshott replied28 that it was plausible that philosophers had practical aims but he doubted whether these general prescriptive expressions could be related to particular recommendations about what to do in practical circumstances, which was how political decisions were derived. Furthermore, even if this could be shown it would not provide strong grounds for maintaining the position that political thought was both explanatory and practical. Nor could it show that such an activity would be capable of reaching
104 Politics and morality valid conclusions (which, of course, it could not do for Oakeshott because of irrelevance). To assert that a philosopher is to be found writing in an explanatory manner and an injunctive one is to say nothing more than that he is both ‘philosopher’ and ‘preacher’. On Raphael’s second point, Oakeshott argues that this is an equivocal proposition. A writer who offers us an explanation ‘recommends’ it as just that, an explanation. This does not carry injunctions about how to behave in particular circumstances. To reach a decision about what to do and to recommend it as an argument does not require recourse to a philosophical explanation of conduct; the two are separate. I have mentioned this confrontation because it also focuses upon Oakeshott’s theory of modality, as well as the distinction between theory and practice. In terms of the latter I think that Oakeshott does largely sustain the division between theory and practice. As I have shown, its conceptual premise stretches back to his theory of human action and knowledge given in EM, and is described in different conceptual language in ‘Rationalism in Politics’ and throughout his body of work in an amazingly consistently manner. In relation to his theory of modality I think it is worth reiterating Oakeshott’s reply to Raphael’s first point. He states that an individual may write as ‘a philosopher’ and ‘a preacher’. This implies a fluidity of movement between the modes of thought that is not theorized as such. Oakeshott never sufficiently sets out this fluidity: he describes the modes as irrelevant, the ‘voices’ as not finally meeting, so implying that there is some kind of distance between the modes of thought. Oakeshott might have thought that he had made his view clear; moreover, it is fair to say that unless we are to take Oakeshott’s philosophical system as incredibly rigid and fixed (which would seem to go against the analysis set out here as well as the whole tone of his thought) then there should be room for interpreting Oakeshott’s thought as open and allowing for more than one process of thought, one form of explanation, one way of arguing a point at the same time. But the explanations that we have from him are not sufficient to get around this ambiguity that he has left us with. By comparing Oakeshott with Wittgenstein and more recent thinkers this view may be looked at from another perspective (as we shall see).
Rationalism and politics Given all that has been said, what then is the most appropriate way to approach Oakeshott’s most famous essay?29 I would like to
Conversation and intimation 105 suggest that it ought to be situated alongside a broader understanding of his ‘politics’ and philosophy as a whole. Moreover, I think it can be seen as articulating a central theme of his work but in a particular way. Underlying the caricature of the rationalist that we find in this essay is a philosophical position that is spelt out in EM and OHC. It is a view that looks upon rationalist knowledge as one that, more than any other, diminishes the possibility of a moral life. This is because the ‘rationalist’ is symbolic of a kind of technical knowledge that undermines moral conduct. As we have seen, morality and ‘religion’ reside in practice. They rely for their very existence upon a form of knowledge that is learnt, hard to articulate other than in the doing, and governed by non-quantifiable criteria. This sensibility is put at risk by the dominance in practical experience of the type of knowledge that the rationalist promotes. In ‘Rationalism in Politics’30 Oakeshott is concerned with modern rationalism and its penetration into politics; his critique is not confined to any particular political persuasion. So, while he deemed Marxism to be the most ‘stupendous’ of all political rationalisms, he also berates Hayek for devising a plan to resist all planning. The propositions of rationalism are, initially, set out by way of a characterisation of a ‘rational man’, a person governed solely by reason. Such an individual is equipped with all the modern techniques of analysis. Armed with these he believes that he may find an infallible guide in political activity. All political problems (and for the rationalist politics is primarily about solving a series of problems) may be resolved by the intellect and by rational technocratic administration. The rationalist holds no other conception of politics than that of seeking perfection. He has no sense of the variety of life or its ambiguity, which makes universal prescriptions unworkable. Nothing exists which is of value to him. He has no understanding of accumulated experience, custom, habits or tradition. Everything needs to be changed, destroyed, criticised. The only appreciation of political practice that he enjoys is derived from a chosen ideology: ‘That formalised abridgement of the supposed substratum of rational truth contained in the tradition’ (RIP p. 9). At the centre of rationalism there is a doctrine about knowledge which supplies the rationalist with his belief in the intellect and faith in prescriptive politics. This was the conviction that man could reach an ever greater understanding about himself and thereby increase his control over his environment. In opposition to this point of view, Oakeshott maintains that all human activities involve two distinct but interrelated types of knowledge. First, technical knowledge that
106 Politics and morality can be formulated into rules: such knowledge has the appearance of certainty and is amenable to being written down in books. Second, practical knowledge that cannot be formulated into rules: it is a form of knowledge that is acquired in practice and because of this it appears to be imprecise. However, no activity is complete without it. This notion of practical knowledge has similarities to Ryle’s ‘knowing how’ and Polanyi’s ‘tacit knowledge’.31 The rationalist is under the illusion that technical knowledge is the only kind there is.32 But knowledge of a technique is not conjured from thin air: it presupposes and reformulates knowledge that is already there. It is only by ignoring or forgetting the total context of knowledge that a technique can be made to appear self-contained and certain. The world, according to Oakeshott, is littered with rationalist projects. Amongst their number are: ‘The Declaration of the Rights of Man’, the Beveridge Report, ‘Nationalism’ and any kind of plan for global government. What Oakeshott was attempting to do in this essay was to illustrate how technical rationalisation (in, more or less, the Weberian sense) had come to dominate political life and to point out how this was a consequence of the Enlightenment obsession with scientific method (RIP pp. 17–25). That is not to say that science, as a manner of thinking, was to blame for rationalism. Rather, the problem was that science had been taken out of its modal criteria and applied to an irrelevant world of experience. Politics was therefore not understood as part of practice but as a set of ideas that could be set down and related in ideologies, rules and books. Just like the cook who makes a dish not from experience but from a pre-set list of ingredients, political practitioners developed all manner of guides for their business but, as Oakeshott puts it, ‘it generates ideas in their head but no taste in their mouths’ (RIP p. 27). For Oakeshott, practical experience presupposes a judging, willing self and a self-reflective individual responsible for their acts. The character of practice is such that there is no sure way of either deciding upon an action (from a ‘tradition’) or making sure of its outcome (we can only ‘intimate’). In contrast, the rationalist takes practice as a field of problems that can be solved under the terms of science. The rationalist has the conviction that what is needed is to find the correct method for determining right technique. This could then be generally applied to all contingent circumstances. Oakeshott’s criticism is a philosophical one. By understanding practice in this manner, the rationalist challenges the very thing that makes practice distinct and the sensibility that enables selves to act as
Conversation and intimation 107 reflective, responsible moral agents. Given this line of reasoning, I do not think that it is too much of an exaggeration to suggest that we may understand Oakeshott’s ‘Rationalism in Politics’ as a critique of an immoral persuasion of thought. Furthermore, it is not any one particular political persuasion that Oakeshott sets out to challenge, but it is the character of all ideological knowledge that Oakeshott finds morally abhorrent.
Conclusion In the essays that followed EM the radical revision that Oakeshott made to the theoretical standpoint of Idealism was further expounded upon. Here we have seen that Oakeshott maintained that the human world is a world of experience inhabited by the various voices that make up the conversation of humankind. These voices are the modes. By changing the way that these concepts were communicated (but not the concepts themselves) the language of non-foundationalism is much more prominent and identifiable here than it was in EM. Oakeshott uses the explicitly open-ended concepts of ‘tradition’, ‘conversation’, ‘languages’, ‘literatures’ and ‘intimations’, all of which reveal the non-foundationalist tendencies that are present in EM. The major difference between the modes there and the ‘voices’ here is that now the modes are said to be capable of recognising their own limited vocabulary. It no longer takes philosophy to distinguish them. In conversation the modes acknowledge their differences but do not cross. On this point I have argued that there is a paradox concerning the fluidity of the modes in his theory. However, I have suggested (and shall explore in the next few chapters) that contemporary comparative analysis may illustrate that we can interpret Oakeshott as articulating a great deal more fluidity between the modes then his critics have maintained. I have also argued that the distinction that Oakeshott makes between theory and practice remains intact. This is because it rests upon his theory of knowledge and human action presented in EM (and OHC) and further articulated in ‘Rationalism in Politics’ (and other essays). The concepts of ‘tradition’ and ‘intimations’ have also been seen to illustrate the philosophical character of Oakeshott’s political writings. Oakeshott is neither ‘liberal’ nor ‘conservative’, but simply and merely a philosopher. What he understands about politics must be seen within the terms of his whole system of thought. ‘Tradition’ and ‘intimations’ are philosophical ways of trying to explain what happens in practice when we make a decision. The ‘tradition’ is the
108 Politics and morality deliberative procedure and ‘intimations’ the act to decide in this respect. That this leads to a sceptical or conservative conclusion about political activity is of little consequence to political practice in Oakeshott’s terms. Political practice and political theory are two distinct activities according to Oakeshott’s explanation. Day-to-day politics is identified with the world of practice. Its voice is known only because it holds the same accent and intonations as practical activity. It is that part of practice which is concerned with ‘attending to’ the arrangements of an association. In making these arrangements there is no guide. As with all practical actions, we take decisions hoping that they satisfy our intentions. Political theory, in contrast, is an activity of thought. It has no bearing on the practical world. Its conversation is undertaken under the terms of history or philosophy. These voices do not touch, as their criteria are distinct. But in so far as they may be used as explanatory tools they can help to overcome some of the ‘crookedness’ of our thought. The division between theory and practice in his thought means that Oakeshott will accept no moralising about theoretical texts; morality belongs to the world of practice. A moral theory cannot be said to be the basis of a system of thought but can only develop from a philosophical explanation of human conduct. This is Oakeshott’s enterprise in OHC, but it has already been a running theme of his work. The reason that the attack on rationalism was so consistent and vicious was that it represented the antithesis of the possibility of moral conduct. If we lose a sense of practical knowledge we lose the moral sensibility with it. The realisation of a self, in Oakeshott’s understanding, would not be possible. While many recent commentaries have begun to recognise the philosophical character of his work, the non-foundational character of Oakeshott’s framing concepts and the possibilities for exploring his relation to postmodern or contemporary debates, few have yet recognised the way in which his philosophy, moral concern and politics are all intimately bound together.33 This is what I hope to have illustrated here.
6
History and politics
Introduction We come now to the one mode of experience yet to be investigated: that of history. By looking at what Oakeshott takes to be historical experience, the themes of the last chapter can be examined further – that is, the non-foundational character of his philosophy, the distinction between political theory and political practice, and the corresponding concern to ensure moral conduct is situated in practice. Oakeshott presents a multi-faceted understanding of history, and his writings in this respect have had some degree of attention within the discipline of history itself.1 Whereas it is common to think of the past as what has gone before the present, Oakeshott argues that there are different types of past. Furthermore, rather than being something gone by, the past is necessarily present. Historical facts are not given, handed down in the annals of recorded events, but constructed. All this, of course, relies upon everything that we have said of Oakeshott’s philosophy so far. As would be expected, he comes to history from the point of view of a philosopher and what he takes that role to be. In his writings on history we find attacks upon the idea of a ‘philosophy of history’ (as it is represented by Collingwood)2 just as we have found a challenge to the idea of ‘political philosophy’ and ‘moral philosophy’. Oakeshott started his academic life as a history graduate3 but his feet were soon firmly placed on philosophical ground. Except for the final chapter of OHC the historical examples he uses are little more than caricatures or potted histories, although he has been called a historian by more than one commentator.4 Oakeshott’s writings on history have been consistent. The way that history is discussed appears to have gone through no real revisions since the ideas were first set out in EM. This being the case, I have used the explanation given there as the primary text and introduced
110 Politics and morality his other essays on history only when a particular point has received a clearer interpretation.5 I begin by giving a systematic account of historical experience. I move on to see how these ideas are applicable to understanding politics. I compare Oakeshott’s views to the influential account put forward by Skinner, that to understand the meaning of a political text we must understand the linguistic action performed by the author writing it. I go on to make some comments regarding Oakeshott’s notion of history and that of Michel Foucault. My intention in situating Oakeshott’s writings on history alongside those of Skinner and Foucault is to highlight how easily Oakeshott’s non-foundational, constructivist notion of history relates to trends over the last few decades. Furthermore, I argue that Oakeshott’s work is useful as a critique of Skinner and Foucault who reduce, respectively, history to practice, and philosophy to ideology. However, that said I maintain that their theoretical approaches are ‘legitimate’ even under Oakeshott’s terms.
Historical experience In EM Oakeshott’s preoccupation was to consider the validity of history as a form of experience and to determine its character in relation to the other modes (EM p. 86). He was not concerned with explaining why history, as such, emerged. On this point he has stated elsewhere that historical activity developed naively, like a child’s game (RIP p. 151). That Oakeshott gives no reason ‘why’ history is a mode relates back to my criticism of Chapter 4, where practice appears to be privileged in this respect. As we have covered the general ground of how he establishes the modes as thought and as worlds of experience, I will here concentrate on that explanation only in so far as it aids our understanding of what, according to Oakeshott, historical experience is. In any case he spends little time justifying history as thought (EM p. 89). He merely asserts that history is not simply a world of sensations, immediate experience or intuitions that occur without the intervention of thought. Thought is part and parcel of history: this is self-evident because of its reflective character. Bosanquet,6 (following Schopenhauer) took history to be a timeseries, a successive course of events. Oakeshott is against this strand of Idealism, maintaining that history is a world of experience. History is concerned with what appears in or is constructed from some kind of record. Some of these records might be lost, and so the historical series differs from the time series. Furthermore, history is
History and politics 111 not an uncritical account of the records that we do have at our disposal. What is recorded is not simply taken as accurate, and the records need translation into categories of history. For example, what is a miracle for the writers of the Gospels cannot be for the historian (EM p. 90). Here, for the first time, Oakeshott points to one of his central claims, that what we understand as history is imperfect and constructed and not handed down upon tablets of stone. History constructs its material and determines its method at the same time. When Oakeshott discusses the records of history he is adamant that they are not merely isolated or objective facts. History cannot be a collection of isolated events, as under the terms of his philosophical system nothing can be independent of experience as a whole and nothing can be untouched by thought or judging selves. For Oakeshott we can only understand what is already endowed with meaning by the fact that it belongs to a world of experience. The historian has a homogeneous system of postulates in terms of which she relates material. She also has a general hypothesis of the course of events that is governed by these postulates. The task of the historian is to see what bearing new detail she acquires has upon the world of history. The process of historical thought is not that of the incorporation of new isolated facts, but where a given world of ideas is transformed into a world that is more of a world. History is not the correspondence of an idea with an event as no event is not an idea. History is the historian’s experience. It is only when the historian writes history that history is made: ‘The historian’s business is not to discover, to recapture, or even to interpret; it is to create and construct’ (EM p. 93). The postulates that Oakeshott defines as those upon which history rests are the ideas of the historical past, historical fact, the historical truth, historical reality and historical explanation. Each of these must be briefly considered in turn. The historical past is not merely the past per se (EM pp. 102–11). It is most easily distinguished from the personally remembered past or the mythical past. However, the greatest confusion, Oakeshott maintains, is when the historical past is taken to be the same as the practical past. The practical past is to be found whenever the present is sought in the past. Most commonly, this is when the past is used to justify certain political or religious beliefs. Often this involves the substantiation of a basis for moral behaviour. Oakeshott is not claiming that the practical past is untrue, as such, but simply that statements made in this manner are not statements about the historical
112 Politics and morality past. Most importantly, Oakeshott challenges the attempt to find a guide to the present in the past.7 The past is not simply ‘there’, always the same for whoever considers it. What it is depends upon how we think of it. The historical interest in the past is for its own sake. Even though the historian may maintain a general similarity between the past and the present, her business is with their dissimilarity. For the historian the past must be ‘what really happened’, a way of thinking about the past as a virgin world stretching out behind the present: ‘the past of history varies with the present, rests upon the present, is the present’ (EM p. 107). It is not ‘what really happened’ that dictates the historical enterprise. All that history has for its existence is evidence. This is part of the world of present experience. In ‘The Activity of Being a Historian’, Oakeshott states that the past is merely a certain way of reading the present (RIP p. 161). Historical events are ideas in the historian’s experience. Apart from her present world of ideas she can know nothing of ‘what really happened’. There can be no Collingwood type of ‘living-present’.8 Nor can historians immerse themselves in former events, as E. H. Carr desired.9 Paradoxically, for Oakeshott, the historical past is not past at all (though it is a ‘dead’ past – that is, not a practical past) the past must be present otherwise it cannot be history. The criterion of history is best understood as ‘what the evidence obliges us to believe’. It is the coherence of present evidence as organised by the historical agent that informs the historical discourse. The second postulate which Oakeshott considers is historical fact (EM pp. 111–12). This is dealt with briefly. Fact is what is achieved in experience, rather than something that is given. To be a fact means to have found a place in a world of ideas. In the case of history, a historical fact is a conclusion, result, inference or judgement that belongs to a world of present experience. Historical truth is the third postulate with which Oakeshott deals (EM pp. 112–18). Truth in history is what is satisfactory in historical experience, what is coherent in the world of historical ideas. The truth of a particular fact depends upon the coherence of all facts. In historical experience there is no absolute data, nothing which is immune from change; each element supports the other elements. It is impossible to fix a text. What the historian does with facts is ask whether her world of experience gains or loses when she takes these facts in this particular way. These facts have no single authoritative existence. They may come from the past (written records, eye-witness accounts, etc.) but they cannot stand by themselves as authoritative.
History and politics 113 Historical truth relies upon historical fact that is always a matter of judgement and, therefore, construction. There can be no given truth. The ultimate reference of historical judgement is to the fourth postulate of history, namely to historical reality, the criteria of which is self-completeness (EM pp. 118–25). Reality in historical experience comprises events (i.e. the fall of the Bastille), institutions (i.e. the Roman Empire) and persons. All of these Oakeshott terms ‘historical individuals’. History does not provide us with the historical individual, but history is itself constructed on a postulated conception of individuality. So the history of natural science, Christianity, Essex or whatever depends upon a presupposed conception of their subject which is merely a ‘designated’ conception. What is important, for history to remain intact as such, is not that the designation of historical individuals be absolutely coherent, but that they should be stable and consistently adhered to. The designation takes place upon the principle of continuity and discontinuity. For example, the Roman Empire stands out from its environment not because it does not change but because its beginning is marked by an apparent break in continuity of what came before, and once established it could maintain a continuous existence. Similarly, in relation to historical persons, birth is the discontinuity that establishes individuality, death the discontinuity that ends it. The self in history is centred in the body. This principle of continuity/discontinuity is applied to varying degrees of thoroughness. Oakeshott states that the historian may even be aware of the relatively stable and to some degree arbitrary character of the historical individual. For example, there are questions raised within historical study itself regarding the beginning and end of historical events. Yet history tends to supersede the conception of individuality upon which it is based while necessarily retaining it. It depends upon this balance for its own survival. If the problems that the historians themselves understand as dilemmas of their discourse are questioned too much, history would not be reinvigorated but destroyed. From the continuity/discontinuity principle comes the problem of how the historical individual maintains its identity when it is constantly changing. Oakeshott states that the solution that appears to be satisfactory to history itself can be found in Bradley’s conception (from Leibniz) of the ‘identity of indiscernibles’:10 ‘so long as an ideal content is identical no change of context can destroy its unity’ (EM p. 124). What he takes from this concept appears in his explanation of the final presupposition of history that is its explanatory method
114 Politics and morality (EM pp. 125–44). What history attempts is to give a rational account of the world in terms of the historical mode: that is, through examining the historical past and changing identities. The most frequent explanation is that of cause and effect. A number of causal explanations are irrelevant for history. First, causes which are too broad, such as the idea of God, which explain everything and, consequently, give no rational explanation of any one thing. Second, so-called ‘great events’ – and Oakeshott gives the example of isolating the emergence of Protestantism as the sole cause of modern capitalism. This seems to point at Weber, and in OHC Oakeshott spends some time criticising the whole sociological outlook (OHC pp. 23–5). This is despite some significant similarities between Weber and Oakeshott in terms of their critique of rationalism and its emphasis upon technical knowledge. Oakeshott continues that the distinction of one historical event like this implies a distinction between essential and incidental events that is, in fact, an incursion of a scientific manner of thinking upon history. Rather, Oakeshott insists, every historical event is necessarily non-contributory. Otherwise historical explanation would not be consonant with the historical conception of facts outlined above. Similarly, where individuals are taken as ‘movers of history’ they are relieved of all connections and placed outside the world. Again, no event can be isolated in history. Given that the conceptions of cause discussed above are irrelevant for history, Oakeshott moves on to endorse another explanation of the historical past and changing identities. He maintains that change in history carries with it its own explanation. The cause of events is one so far integrated, so far filled in and complete that no external cause or reason need be looked for. The historian is like the novelist whose characters are presented in such detail and coherence that additional explanation is superfluous. This principle Oakeshott terms ‘the unity or continuity of history’. It is this that he takes from Bradley. It is the primary presupposition of historical explanation, and attending to the character of historical experience from the viewpoint of philosophy reveals it. The principle takes all history as contributory and positive; there are no errors or mistakes in historical facts (even if the fact is, say, a forged document). There is no place for negative concepts such as evil or immorality. Historical explanation involves neither condemnation nor excuse. Similarly, nothing in the historical world can be unexpected or strange, all elements are completely integrated. They just happen. For Oakeshott, then, history explains itself. The concepts of accidents, necessity, determinism and so forth become irrelevant. Events,
History and politics 115 things and individuals are neither free in the sense of being ungoverned by other relations, nor determined in the sense of being governed by logical causes. But they are free from the influence of determinism and determined by their place and relations in their own world. Much of what has been said will already sound familiar: the analysis of the presuppositions of a mode of thought, the highlighting of its particularity and so on. More than any other explanation, Oakeshott’s description of history appears most explicitly ‘non-foundational’. Indeed, he has been criticised for an over-use of contingency in his view.11 History is presented as a construction, a creation (not merely an interpretation) of the experience of the historian. It is the self as a historian that brings coherence to what evidence of the past appears to be saying. But in reading that evidence now, history is necessarily present. The facts, truth and reality of history are exposed as artifice. Nothing about the details of history is fixed. The principle of continuity/discontinuity upon which historical individuals are established is open-ended. As these rely upon the historical evidence as a whole their character will undoubtedly change, first as you investigate them and then as I do. History is likened to a novel, except that just as in practice our actions take their cue from a ‘tradition’ that ‘obliges us to think’, so in history we take our cue from what the evidence ‘obliges us to believe’. The creation of history is a theoretical enterprise. It is agents reflecting upon ‘dead’ experience. Although it is constructed in the present, it deals with evidence abstracted from practical experience and put under the categories of history. For example, the remains of a ‘free’ agent become a historical individual. So it is that history has no bearing upon practical life. The appeal to history as a guide to present conduct mistakes the character of the historical past. Socalled past events may be drawn upon for a practical end or to serve a practical point of view. But this is not history. History is not the voice of morality. The historian cannot make moral judgements; a historical individual’s actions cannot be said to be ‘right’ or ‘wrong’, they are merely ‘dead’. This understanding is important in respect of further elucidating how Oakeshott reads a text. To explore the political dimension of this more I would like to compare these ideas with those of Skinner.
Oakeshott and Skinner Over the past thirty years or so an approach to political theory has grown which has had an enormous impact upon the discipline. This
116 Politics and morality has largely been developed from the work of Quentin Skinner (although Dunn, Pocock and others have contributed12). As this is arguably one of the most influential approaches in reading a text in the post-war period, it is worth briefly contrasting Oakeshott’s views with those of their chief proponent. The account put forward here in Skinner’s name is the one outlined in his major essay ‘Meaning and Understanding in the History of Ideas’.13 Although I fully realise his position has altered somewhat since this article was penned, it still serves as an outline of his basic position and, more importantly, as a backdrop for understanding Oakeshott’s philosophy more satisfactorily. Against the various ‘textualist’ and ‘contextualist’ accounts of how to do political theory, Skinner put forward the view that writing a text is performing a linguistic action. His intervention radically cut across both wings of the debate. Skinner maintained that to understand the meaning of a text we ought to understand the linguistic action performed by the author writing it. The key to such an understanding was to recover the author’s intention. Drawing upon Austin’s analysis of speech acts, Skinner argued that language and action were central to the study of the text. Alongside the task of discovering the author’s intention, Skinner argued that these needed to be re-described within a field of ‘language-games’. The text is bound up with what can be said, the conventions of an age. The relationship between text and context in this understanding becomes an instance of hermeneutics. The text’s meaningfulness is not immanent within the text itself. The implication is that it is of no use to simply take the thought of a so-called classical political thinker apart from his/her time. So, for example, Hobbes could only be understood from the perspective of the English revolution. On this understanding Skinner’s central thesis developed that political thought can only be studied as the ‘history of ideas’. Although the detail of his contention changed over time his general position remained the same. Political writing should be considered a form of political action. In other words, all political thought should be looked upon as ideology. Skinner agreed with Collingwood, who maintained that the attempt to look to philosophy for the answers to perennial problems is a mistake.14 There are only different questions and different answers for different times. No study of the history of ideas can elicit any enlightenment of supposedly timeless questions. It is not that there might not be similar questions asked of the human condition in different ages, but that the answers to these questions will look so different in a particular culture or period that it could
History and politics 117 not possibly be useful to consider the question the same. The value of studying the classic texts was to expose the essential variety of moral positions and political commitments. To recognise that our own society has local values, just as any other society, reveals the contingency (and, therefore, the possibility for change) of current political and social life. Both Skinner and Oakeshott regard political thought as distinct from any practical guide; they agree that no study of the past can elicit answers to the fundamental problems of human existence. However, Skinner believes that the consideration of the thought of the past will reveal one general lesson for the present: that is, that the recognition of the contingent character of past societies and their value systems holds out the possibility for a critique of every political text as ‘ideological’. Now while Oakeshott would not disagree about the constructed character of the past and the contingent nature of historical individuals, his overall philosophical understanding of history stands as a refutation of the Skinnerian view. From his perspective Skinner’s work requires a privileging of history at the expense of philosophy. The reduction of all thought to the ‘history of ideas’ means that the study of political texts in a philosophical manner is subsumed. As all political thought becomes ideology the historical past itself is lost to the practical past. From Oakeshott’s point of view it might be said that Skinner’s method stands as a moment when, using the criterion of history, an argument had been made to treat all political thought as practically concerned. This would have been achieved on the basis of denying a philosophical understanding of political texts. In Skinner’s view the character of history is itself a historical question. Oakeshott refutes this on two levels. First, once history becomes self-conscious of its own constructed character in its entirety it is no longer history. For history to exist, as such, there needed to be certain unexamined postulates (such as the historical past) on the basis of which its activity is conducted. Second, if when the historian considers the character of history the postulates remain unexamined then her view is necessarily limited. For example, when Skinner examines the character of historical experience and maintains that there is a past that can be considered, he is relying upon an unaccounted-for postulate of that ‘voice’. However rigorous in confounding the distinction between text and context, it remains under the presumption that the past exists as something to be investigated. While he has developed a new method
118 Politics and morality for investigating it (far more sophisticated than a simple causal explanation) the enquiry remains historical. It maintains the historical postulates of the ‘past’, ‘fact’, ‘truth’ ‘reality’ and ‘explanation’ that Oakeshott has presented. This being the case, there are no grounds upon which, in Oakeshottian terms, we have to accept Skinner’s account that all political thought is part of the history of ideas and, therefore, ideological. The attempt to recover the author’s intention is an enquiry that from Oakeshott’s point of view remains bound to postulates that are unaccounted for. Skinner understands what he is doing as attempting to ‘recover’ the past, the attempt to establish ‘what really happened’. But the philosophical view which Oakeshott puts forward suggests that what he is actually considering is ‘what the evidence obliges us to think’. Skinner is no nearer developing a ‘true’ or more ‘real’ sense of the past than any other historical method, as all history, according to Oakeshott, is bound to the present.
Oakeshott, Foucault and post-modern history The points raised above may be looked at from another angle, by comparing what Oakeshott has to say about history to what might generally be called the ‘post-modern’ perspective. I have already remarked that this aspect of Oakeshott’s thought appears to be most explicitly non-foundational. The discussion below compares and contrasts his view to Foucault’s to see what can be said in this respect. The aim here is not to place him in any particular camp (he certainly is not a post-structuralist) but to try and see how relevant his work remains and to draw out some similarities and dissimilarities to ‘post-modern’ historical method. I do ask the reader to allow me to forego a general discussion of what post-modernism is. For this there are many texts on the subject.15 Suffice to say here that in general theoretical terms it is the denial of the fixity of language and of any correspondence between language and reality. To say this is also to deny any possibility of essentialist concepts. The age of the philosopher searching for ultimate truth is said to be well and truly over. In history, post-modernism is, broadly, a denial of the fixity of the past, of the reality of the past apart from what the historian chooses to make of it. The past cannot be said to provide us with any objective truth. Although such debates have been going on in the historical discipline itself for some time, post-modernism has taken this contention a step further. All history is understood as in some sense flawed. The role of
History and politics 119 post-modern historians is to ‘de-mythologise’ history, to expose its inherent ideological biases and its antiquated methodology. Narrative history is the main target of the post-moderns. This is because it takes the form of a logically structured ‘text’ that is presumed to relate to a reality of past circumstances. But for some, such as Hayden White, the text has endless creative possibilities. No distinction between history and philosophy or literature need be made.16 History is ‘aestheticised’, it is story-telling plain and simple. The ‘text’ is open to endless potential interpretations. All that being said, it has fallen to a number of historians who celebrate this view to argue that there are, in fact, particular political implications that come from this way of reading history. One such ‘historian–philosopher’ is Michel Foucault. Foucault’s historical analysis begins from the general point of view, outlined above, that historians make the past. In his early structuralist phase he termed his methodology an ‘archaeology’.17 He was concerned to find out how history renders necessary certain forms of thought. As a structuralist his approach was to ‘uncover’ the unconscious laws and rules of formulation that regulated the emergence of discourses. These formulations he called ‘epistemes’. He took recent history to be divided into three periods, the Renaissance, the Classical age and the Modern age. Each period had its own epistemes. He argued that historical analysis had to reveal each episteme, which were the conceptual strata underpinning various fields of knowledge. The epistemes determined the ‘truths’ of a particular society. They did not emerge logically (i.e. as the particular project of a particular social class) but they were founded in the constructs of power. These themes were to be continued as Foucault developed his methodological outlook. In the early 1970s he began to move away from his own ‘archaeology’ and he drew upon Nietzsche to do so.18 Nietzsche had attacked historians for promoting subjection by propagating a belief in the reality of the past. He sought to replace this with a relativist history that tamed the past for the use of the present and future. This meant that history could no longer deem to deal with the ‘truth’ but was a useful tool for current needs. Foucault formed his own ‘genealogy’ on this basis. He went further than Nietzsche by claiming not only that ‘God is dead and we have killed him’ but also announcing the death of man and with him his traditional theoretical methods. Of his own genealogy Foucault has said that it is a question of presenting a critique of our time based upon a retrospective
120 Politics and morality analysis.19 His genealogy is a history without the subject, a form of history that attempts to show how knowledge/power and discourses arose without putting the subject at the centre of historical analysis. In particular he has criticised political theory for taking the self as the object of its enquiries and focusing upon ‘sovereign’ power. Foucault argues that we must eschew the model of Leviathan in the study of political power.20 He is, of course, well known for his argument that power is a creative force that discursively constitutes subject identities. This proves functional for a particular ‘regime of truth’. At present the web of power serves advanced capitalism. This power is all-embracing, a ‘disciplinary’ power that reproduces its own truth by setting the parameters of discourse. However, he puts forward a limited conception of emancipation. He suggests that the on-going struggles of various groups – and he cites that of the opposition to the power of men over women, parents over children, psychiatry over the mentally ill – could be potentially liberating as such resistances were anti-authoritarian in character. These groups shared a number of common features. They attacked the immediate effects of power and they were not all-embracing ‘universal’ movements. They promoted new forms of identity and were not ideologically dogmatic. In short, Foucault’s understanding of history brings him to a point of view prominent in the New Left from the late 1970s that supported the rise of new social movements. Much of what has been said about the relationship of Oakeshott’s work to Skinner’s may be repeated here. Initially, it seems, there is a degree of correspondence between ‘post-modern’ historical method and Oakeshott’s understanding of history. We may, indeed, be tempted to take Oakeshott as a ‘post-modern’, pure and simple. But although he shares some similarities with this perspective this label would only be another restricting one. As I have related it, postmodern history understands the past, as read through various texts, to be open and contingent. History does not tell us about reality or truth but exposes the biases of historians, their ideological projects and their flawed methodologies. The dominance of narrative history is replaced by a self-conscious interpretation of history that, while dealing a blow to traditional accounts of the past, sets up its own counter-culture point of view. The initial difference between this general perspective and Oakeshott’s claims is the difference between historical interpretation and a philosophical understanding of historical construction. For the post-modern, history is story-telling that cannot be taken out of a practical context. The historian interprets, she is selective, she chooses to read history this way rather than that,
History and politics 121 and this reflects her social position, political beliefs, moral imperatives or whatever. For Oakeshott history is not simply a matter of interpretation but one of construction and creation. What this means must be understood from his philosophical understanding of these terms as the creation of a world of experience. Moreover, it is not denied that the historian may become self-conscious of the ‘relativity’ of what she is doing, as Oakeshott deems might happen when one ‘voice’ meets another. From this point the historian might decide to exploit the creative possibilities opened up by this discovery. Philosophy, according to Oakeshott, cannot prevent this from happening. But on a theoretical level it can point out that in the process of joining historical evidence to practical concerns a certain sense of the autonomy of history is lost. Foucault’s historical readings are an example of the post-modern attitude par excellence. He has introduced a radical new historical method. History shows us how certain forms of thought (‘regimes of truth’) arise and set the parameters of discourse. The boundaries between disciplines are said to have collapsed and the job of the historian is to use history to criticise current discourses and promote alternative ones. This process is a creative Nietzschian one, taking history as a type of power relation that infuses discourses with knowledge. Oakeshott’s understanding of the past does allow for a political reading of history. His view is not a denial of a purposeful political use for the past; he simple calls it a practical reading. Foucault’s work deals with the past in this manner. Moreover, in this Foucault employs a particular method, that which is based upon the presuppositions of history. In terms of Oakeshott’s philosophical perspective, Foucault’s idea of a history without the subject still relies upon a historical assertion. For Oakeshott the subject in history is also not necessary. The subject is one of a number of historical individuals. The more important point is that a presupposition of history is the principle of individuality, and we find this in Foucault’s work in his notion of power. Power may be said to be de-centred, working in a ‘web’ of truth, but in so far as ‘power’ is conceptualised as having historical significance, it is individualised, it is a historical individual.
Conclusion History is a theoretical enterprise that might be said to have a completely contingent character in Oakeshott’s philosophical explanation. I have described the presuppositions of history, each of
122 Politics and morality which, Oakeshott argues, exposes it as a construct of the historian. The historian constructs and creates her own world. However, this is not merely a free-floating exercise. It is based upon a ‘voice’ with established practices (i.e. historical evidence, individuals, etc.) and is fixed in terms of ‘what the evidence obliges us to believe’. The historian does not start tabula rasa but works on what is already known. Oakeshott does not share the same understanding of doing history that constitutes the general post-modern method. Rather, he takes on board the contingent character of history while attempting to maintain its distinctiveness. This is not done from the standpoint of history but from a philosophical point of view. At the centre of this understanding is the argument that history is distinguished from practice. The historical past is ‘dead’, whereas the practical past lives, breathing life into current political and moral discourse. A part of his explanation that is under-theorised is his idea of a practical-historical past which seems to warrant more attention than Oakeshott gives it. I have suggested that from Oakeshott’s point of view the methodologies of Skinner and Foucault may be taken to be concentrating upon the practical past because they tie the past to certain normative points of view. However, given that Oakeshott’s modal philosophy is said to explain, rather than judge or prescribe, it seems to me that we cannot use Oakeshott’s criteria to be critical of Skinner and Foucault for, say, the reduction of history to practice, and philosophy to ideology, given that their historical-practical enterprises are legitimate in Oakeshott’s explanation. If we were to declare their work irrelevant (because it was not ‘real’ history) than Oakeshott’s theory of modality would be in danger of becoming a dogma. It is important to remember that Oakeshott does allow for a notion of a practical past: it is simply not the same as the ‘historical past’. He makes no normative or moral judgement about this. More significant is the fact that he does not fully analyse how the postulates of history and practice may ‘mix’. This is a problem we have encountered before in relation to his theory of modality: namely, he is unclear about the degree of fluidity between the modes. What is clear is that he does allow for some kind of ‘mixing’ between history and practice, so there are further grounds for suggesting that Oakeshott’s theory of modality is one that may theorise distance but acknowledges a degree of intersection among the ‘voices’ in their ‘use’. Put another way, it may be said that Oakeshott is consistent here in terms of his principle of the distinction between theory and practice. Theoretically the modes are said not to touch, but in practice such boundaries are blurred.
7
On human conduct
Introduction In the mid-1970s, more than forty years after his first book-length text, Oakeshott restated his philosophical system in On Human Conduct. In this book (made up of three interrelated essays) he exhibits a remarkable degree of consistency with his early work.1 We find many of the same claims that were reasoned through in EM and many of the same concerns. For example, there are eloquent passages about religion, as well as a challenge to the rationalist, now understood as a ‘theoretician’. The most notable difference is the attempt to come to grips with an understanding of human conduct that explicitly incorporates politics. However, what he says about politics is intertwined with his concern to illustrate the character of human conduct within a moral context. In this chapter and the one that follows I shall argue that from EM to OHC we can trace a moral concern in Oakeshott’s writings. Furthermore, it will be maintained that this is presented from the point of view of a philosopher and not a ‘political theorist’. In this chapter I concentrate upon a close reading of the first essay of OHC. In the next chapter I bring out the ‘political’ dimension of the second and third essays. The first essay of OHC is a theoretical proposal that puts an understanding of moral conduct at the heart of Oakeshott’s analysis of human action. Moral conduct is said to be learnt in various ‘practices’. It has two interconnected dimensions, both of which are derived from the notion of self-realisation. On the one hand there is self-disclosure: acting morally according to rules, laws and other set practices. It involves action and intentions on the part of the agent designed to have certain outcomes. These outcomes are ‘judged’ as ‘verdicts’ by the success or otherwise of what they were intended to achieve. On the other hand, moral conduct also has a ‘motive’ with
124 Politics and morality no determinate end. It is where individual agents are involved in selfenactment; this is the place of religion. Once this moral position is set out it provides the theoretical background for the understanding of civil and enterprise associations which we shall examine in the next chapter.
The theoretical principles of On Human Conduct I have argued that Oakeshott privileged practical experience by giving the reasons this world of thought is a mode. He also wrote much more about it. A mere two hundred pages were published that were devoted to the reflection upon history, much less for ‘poetry’ and science. It was politics and morality that dominated Oakeshott’s published work during his lifetime and here, in OHC, we find this preoccupation receives its most thorough study. I have also maintained that Oakeshott’s use of ‘conversation’, ‘voices’, ‘languages’ and so on were designed to explain, in essay form, the open-ended, contingent character of human life. In OHC we find a philosophical vocabulary that continues to represent the non-foundational character of his thought. Before undertaking a study of human conduct Oakeshott sets out what he takes ‘understanding’ and ‘theorising’ to be. He states that this explanation owes much to Plato (OHC p. 27). He even goes so far as to rewrite the allegory of the cave.2 In this description we find similarities to EM despite the new conceptual vocabulary. Oakeshott maintains that to be human and to be conscious is to encounter something that is, at least partly, understood (OHC p. 1). Understanding is, then, an unsought requirement of life. In these first few sentences Oakeshott circumvents any speculation regarding the relationship between experience and reality. Perhaps this is because he has already undertaken this task in EM where he argues that reality is presupposed by experience. He continues: when understanding is taken further as an ‘exertion’, as something engaged upon, it becomes ‘theorising’. This is undertaken not to achieve a definite end, but to sweep away some of the mystery of our endeavours. There are four basic features to this: attending to a ‘going-on’; a reflective consciousness attending to it, which he terms the theorist; a certain inquiry designed to understand the ‘going-on’, understood as theorising; and the open-ended conclusions that result, a theorem. From this point Oakeshott again restates a central tenet of EM, namely his Monism. A ‘going-on’ is something that is distinguished from ‘all that may be going-on’. Although this is recognised as a
On human conduct 125 ‘given’ it is itself an achievement in understanding and not independent of reflective consciousness. Oakeshott states: ‘It is a something in-particular which, in reflection, disengages itself to us from the unconditional (and therefore unrecognisable) confusion of all that may be going on’ (OHC p. 1). The Idealist derived understanding of the world as a world of experience remains. Consciousness of ‘goings-on’ is presented as a form of thought, and experience is the ‘unconditional’ and ‘unrecognisable’ totality of ‘all that may be going-on’. Elsewhere he calls this ‘the gross undifferentiated sum’ of what is ‘going on’ (OHC p. 12). By using this language it seems Oakeshott was attempting to achieve his aim to speak of the ‘world of meanings’ without directly referring to them as abstract. In this respect his discussion of ‘practices’ and ‘rules’ is the same. However, the radical revision which he made to Idealism and which is stated in EM is not far below the surface. The reflectiveness that inquires into a ‘going-on’ is said to be itself recognition of a ‘going-on’ that stands out from the confusion (OHC p. 2). Thus, it is still the self that brings together related experiences and organises them. Experiences come to be understood as ‘verdicts’ and ‘facts’. This is the contingent starting place of critical inquiry. Facts and verdicts are always liable to change their status; this is one of a ‘conditional sufficiency’. In understanding, then, there is for Oakeshott no real beginning nor a definite end. What we know is already there. Intelligibles, Oakeshott tells us, emerge out of ‘intimations’ of intelligibility when ‘noticings’ become thoughts. And they are known in virtue of distinguishing and remembering, likeness and unlikeness in relation to what is ‘going-on’ (OHC p. 3). As in EM, meaning and identity are bestowed according to previous experience and the similarity and dissimilarity that things hold to what else is experienced. But, Oakeshott continues, the self constructs worlds of understanding by composing ideal characters (OHC p. 4). Recognition itself postulates some of this activity, and the whole procedure is one of selection, combination, arrangement and so on until ‘recollection’ (the self-conscious recall of ‘recognisables’) supersedes mere remembering. The suppression of recollection over remembering occurs when the procedure of recognition relies no longer on simply resemblances and differences, but when the self is able to form conceptual identities. ‘Goings-on’ are then understood in terms of compositions of ideal characters or concepts in terms of which they are identified. Since these ideal characters have emerged in the enterprise of specifying ‘goings-on’, delineating an ideal identity and identifying a
126 Politics and morality ‘going-on’ are interdependent parts of the single activity to understand. The understanding and the instrument of understanding emerge together. To recognise something is to distinguish an unknown ‘this’ from an unknown ‘that’. And to identify it is to specify ‘this’ in terms of an ideal character. This is, for example, the way we understand that we are ‘attending to’ a book, a dance or King Lear (OHC p. 5). It is notable that Oakeshott uses the terms ‘intimations’, ‘arrangements’ and ‘attending to’ here to explain his theory of identity as it is understood in various human ‘practices’. This reveals the philosophical character of these terms that are used in his political essays. Now they are shown to be part of his revised theory of identity that builds upon the notion of the exploration of implications given in EM. Had such a philosophical explanation accompanied his political essays (for example a theoretical preface) then perhaps much of the confusion about such terms may have been avoided. Moreover, the inappropriate ‘political’ or ideological labelling of Oakeshott’s work might not have been so widespread. To return to our exegesis, Oakeshott maintains that identification is fallible, a mistake is a confusion. But identification is a procedure by which doubts may be resolved or not. Thoughts such as ‘not a boy but a dwarf’ are commonplace. Identifications are never fixed; additions to understandings of ‘ideal’ characters may cause us to revise or refine what we know. The identification of ideal characters is a ‘verdict’ but also an invitation to continue investigating their relationships with other ideal characters. Oakeshott maintains that theorising at this level has reached a platform which he calls ‘conditional understanding’ (OHC p. 6). It is conditional because the uncritical assumption is that every ‘going-on’ is what it is in respect of being understood in terms of an ideal composition of characters. In other words, the conceptual identities that have been formed by a self (itself a distinction of all that is ‘going-on’) are ‘conditional sufficiencies’ that must be left unanalysed if the concepts are to remain. Oakeshott describes this conditional understanding as a diagnosis (OHC p. 7): that is, a verdict recognised as an invitation to illustrate what is being understood in the performance of an action. For example, the identities disclosed in saying ‘This is a bank robbery’ are a diagnosis when understood to prescribe utterances such as ‘Sound the alarm’ (OHC pp. 7–8). Or, conversely, an utterance which provokes laughter is an utterance diagnosed as a joke and the understanding entailed is specified as ‘seeing the joke’. Oakeshott states that these invitations (to act) require the suspension of an unconditional critical engagement to understand. Using
On human conduct 127 terms that we know well, he maintains that it is easy to understand why it is that the engagement is ‘arrested’ at the level of an ‘appearance’ of an ‘assumption’ of identification (OHC p. 8). The real question, he feels, is why the theorist would ever want to leave these ‘goings-on’ that are ‘abstracted’ from all that is ‘going-on’. In stating that it is self-evident why a theorist would not move beyond the world of ‘practices’, Oakeshott once again extends to this mode a courtesy that he gives to no other human activity. We come now to unconditional understanding, which Oakeshott has previously deemed commensurate with philosophy. The theorist who undertakes this enterprise attempts to make identities more intelligible by seeking to understand their postulates. So, at the first platform of understanding, a ‘thunderstorm’ is understood in terms of certain ideal characters whose features include noise, flashes of light, etc. (OHC p. 9). But a theorist may attempt to understand it in terms of certain theorems of electro-magnetism. Here the thunderstorm is being understood not as a composition of characteristics but as a system said to be its postulates. However, while these theorems may seem to provide an account of postulates, in fact they are identities themselves. If he became an expert in electro-magnetic phenomena the theorist would be dealing with the problematic theorems of this discipline but not its postulates (OHC p. 10). It is at this level of understanding that Oakeshott implies that the political theorist, as a self-consciously conditional theorist, is situated (OHC pp. 25–6). As noted in the introduction to Chapter 5, Franco3 insinuates that this legitimates liberal political theory in Oakeshott’s understanding, but this is not how it appears to me. This is because after making this comment Oakeshott goes on to say that there is a danger that the theorist will consider his ‘map-making’ of benefit to those he has left behind and become a ‘theoretician’. What he means by this is the same as what he explains in his earlier essays as a rationalist. It is the philosopher who truly attempts to account for the postulates of human conduct. Theorising here is characterised as an unconditional adventure (OHC p. 11). But it is unconditional in a specific sense. Philosophy does not emit concrete answers but reports upon the conditionality of conditions. It is philosophy’s understanding of conditionality that makes it ‘unconditional’. Moreover, although philosophy is characterised as ‘unconditional’ thought, it is only upon the basis of the recognition of its own conditionality that this is so. At times Oakeshott states that completely unconditional understanding is not possible (OHC pp. 29, 34). This is a qualification of
128 Politics and morality earlier statements (particularly in EM), but the distinctive character of philosophy still holds. Oakeshott maintains the distinction between theory and practice. He states that it is a ‘naive notion’ to take the abstracted ideal characters of the theorist and expect them to elicit a ‘successful’ prediction of the occurrences of ‘goings-on’ (OHC p. 19). Having outlined what he means by understanding and theorising, Oakeshott goes on to set out the formal requirements that need to be met to engage in the inquiry of human conduct. This has two aspects: identities must be categorically and idiomatically distinct. Identities must be categorically unambiguous. ‘Category’ is taken by Oakeshott to mean that which predicates the ‘order’ of the inquiry in which an identified ‘going-on’ may be understood (OHC p. 12). As a predicate, the category constitutes the terrain upon which the identities of a particular ‘going-on’ are laid out. Oakeshott states that there are two categories of identities that need to be looked at, each predicating a different ‘order’ of inquiry. This is a crucial point in his analysis as it provides the basis for his understanding of moral conduct given later on. The first is where ‘goings-on’ recognise themselves as exhibitions of intelligence: for example, the work of a biologist or learning Latin. Here a ‘going-on’ is identified as a human action where agents respond to certain circumstances to achieve an imagined or wished-for outcome. The acts are undertaken by subscription to a ‘practice’ that needs to be understood in order for agents to participate. These identities predicate an inquiry into their postulates based upon their character as expressions of reflective intelligence. The second category is concerned with ‘goings-on’ that are not reflections of intelligence, such as rock formations. These identities predicate an inquiry into their conditions that ‘determine’ what is going on and that are not required to have been learnt. In this category we may speak, for example, of ‘causal’ conditions and general laws. What is important in this distinction is not the object of study but the ‘discourse’ in terms of which it is given meaning. Oakeshott gives us an example of what he means at this point (OHC p. 14). He states that an ancient temple may be studied for the religious beliefs that were practised there. This inquiry would be concerned with human beliefs, and therefore would come under the first category. But the temple might also be studied to understand the corrosion of its structures. This would not be looking into a reflective consciousness and the inquiry would be of a categorically different kind. In the first case Oakeshott calls this inquiry a ‘procedure’, in the second a ‘process’. The reason for
On human conduct 129 this is that he wishes to distinguish between the general laws of the ‘sciences’ and the particular ‘rules’ of human conduct (OHC p. 15). To become the subject of inquiry, identities must also be formally distinct according to a particular idiom. This is because a categorically unambiguous identity may still have contingent ambiguities (OHC p. 16). For example, three lines on a piece of paper may be read as a human intelligence, but this does not tell us what kind of intelligence it is; it may be identified as a symbol, a work of art or a religious sign. Each of these possible identities prescribes not only the ‘order’ of inquiry but also an idiom. The ideal characters that the lines might be are idiomatically distinct from one another. We would understand them differently if they were a historic occurrence, a work of art or a religious symbol. A theorist would, at the level of conditional understanding where postulates are explored as theorems, have at his disposal a number of idioms of enquiry. Each idiom is an unambiguous system of theorems. So within the ‘order’ of inquiry concerned with ‘goings-on’ of reflected intelligence ethics, jurisprudence and aesthetics are distinguishable idioms. Physics, chemistry and psychology are, among others, named as idioms within the non-reflective category (OHC p. 17). Each of the idioms are autonomous in being constituted in terms of theorems exclusively their own. By distinguishing these two formal requirements necessary to investigate ‘goings-on’, Oakeshott refines his idea of modality. The first step he makes is familiar enough. As in all his work, he understands human actions (reflective intelligence) to be marked out by their particularity. This is in contrast to the general categories that may be used to theorise non-reflective phenomena. The second step is a refinement of what we know. The ambiguous idea of worlds of experience is now replaced by a clearer notion of various human ‘practices’, each with their own system of meaning or theorems. This revised view of modality makes Oakeshott’s theory more identifiably a notion of discourses or ‘language-games’.
Human conduct Now that the theoretical backdrop has been set, Oakeshott is able to move to the task in hand, to investigate the identity of ‘human conduct’. At the outset he reminds the reader that what he is doing is a philosophical exercise. Human conduct is an ideal character, which the postulates of human performance compose. People may perform actions but ‘conduct’ cannot be performed (OHC p. 31).
130 Politics and morality The elementary character of human conduct is human beings acting in contingent situations for wished-for outcomes, choosing to do ‘this’ rather than ‘that’. The language is that of ‘pragmata’, which is concerned with beliefs, wants, decisions, practices, motives and such like (OHC p. 32). Given this, the formal category for understanding human conduct is that of a reflective intelligence; as an agent by ‘doing’, certain actions illustrate self-understanding. There are (as we would expect) a number of postulates of human conduct which Oakeshott goes on to analyse: these are that human conduct presupposes a ‘free agent’, deliberation, persuasion and explanation. Human beings, Oakeshott states, are both the subject and object in conduct (OHC p. 36). This is postulated by ‘doing’, which calls for a reflective acting agent. The agent is ‘free’ in so far as he chooses between performances upon the basis of a ‘practice’. Once again we see that an agent’s ‘freedom’ is not assessed according to his/her exterior limits, nor because our choices are to a greater or lesser extent limited. Just as I discussed in relation to Oakeshott’s early religious essays, the agent is ‘free’ by virtue of his or her ability to choose by belonging to a world where this is a precondition. This is not a sociological theory, even less a statement for the belief in a ‘free will’. But in philosophical terms it distinguishes human procedures from non-reflective processes. The agent’s freedom is something that is learnt by his own self-enactment. It is not inherited or passed on externally. It is his experience and his alone. The learning procedure comes about as the agent makes judgements upon his world. He learns by his own mistakes. Oakeshott denies the possibility that there is any form of knowledge that may be learnt in the same way by more than one person. If two or more agents have similar understandings of their situations this is because they have independently learned to think alike and not because they share common organic tensions, have similar genetic characters, or have suffered or enjoyed like external circumstances. (OHC p. 38) Each agent looks to their own particular situation in order to satisfy wants, or change existing circumstances. Now although this is described as ‘his’ situation it is so even if what is sought concerns others (OHC p. 37). Whether an agent’s actions are completely altruistic or selfish, what he is doing is something that he has learnt as a self-enacted reflective consciousness. This does not mean that he acts
On human conduct 131 ‘subjectively’, as we know, for in terms of Oakeshott’s Idealism there is no distinction between subject and object. What an agent comprehends is an ‘understanding’ that is ‘learnt’. It is something that has been given meaning by belonging to a world of experience, a ‘voice’ in the conversation or a ‘practice’. As he puts it, things have meaning not because they are my thoughts, but because these are my thoughts (OHC p. 51). The agent is an author of an action that could have been otherwise. Choosing is a postulate of conduct, and Oakeshott terms this ‘deliberation’. This does not mean that every act is explicitly deliberated upon. But as a postulate of conduct deliberation is a condition in terms of which an engagement may be understood (OHC pp. 42–3). Deliberating is reflection concerned with doing. What is deliberated are alternative performances, actions or utterances. These alternative actions are the agent’s own inventions. Deliberating is not merely choosing between given choices, but imagining the choices themselves. Although there will be limits that the agent ought to take into account, the number of alternatives are almost unlimited. What is important to consider is that the meaning of an agent’s actions is designed to elicit a wished-for response from other agents who are similarly engaged. He must judge the best course of action to achieve his wants through others. To deliberate, then, is to make a bargain with an imperfectly imagined future (OHC p. 44). The agent does not live in a vacuum. Even though the actions that he takes will always (necessarily) be ‘his’, this does not mean he acts without the realisation that others are affected and concerned. Like deliberation, the next postulate of conduct is understood as a way of dealing with the contingent character of human situations. This is persuasion and persuasive speech (OHC p. 46). Persuasion is the characteristic idiom of speech, inter homines. When we do something we use emotive utterances and actions. Transactions between agents are done by persuasion. Speaking persuasively is itself an action, an agent choosing to say ‘this’ rather than ‘that’. As such, transactions are always recommendations to choose and perform an action on the basis of the merits of what is to be achieved by choosing it. What is important here is that the language of human conduct is the conversation of reflective intelligences that respect each other’s agency. Thus, we come to a better understanding of the idea of the world as a ‘conversation’. Rather belatedly, Oakeshott spells out here how a philosophical point underpins what he has said in essay form. We should also bear this in mind when we come to Rorty’s reading of Oakeshott.
132 Politics and morality Where there is no choice there is no persuasion and, therefore, no human conduct. Hypnotic suggestion denies agency and cannot be described as a procedure of human conduct (OHC p. 47). Furthermore, utterances which divert attention from what is being recommended and direct it elsewhere, even though they recognise agency, are not persuasive: for example, where responding to a situation is based upon a reward or penalty. Furthermore, where a ‘demonstration’ is required under threat to produce a response this is not persuasion. Persuasive utterances require argumentation, discourse and discussion, where what is being said is directed to the situation according to the merits of the recommended response. When this does not take place there is no real human conduct. Oakeshott does not point to a particular political regime where persuasive conversation is hindered.4 However, his understanding of moral conduct does relate to what has been argued here, that a denial of the postulates of human conduct is a denial of the possibility for moral experience. As well as persuasion another postulated kind of speech of conduct is ‘explanatory’ utterances. If the response to an action is one of incomprehension the agent may be asked to ‘explain’ what they have done. This invitation may be declined, or the agent may have nothing to say, but if it is accepted the response will be an utterance designed to give intelligibility to an act. This is not a leap into a theoretical understanding but a settlement of the doubts that made difficult a response (OHC p. 50). For Oakeshott, human conduct is an ideal character that is possible to delineate from all that is ‘going-on’. It is an identity that is categorised as the performances of self-reflective agents. When they act they do so to change or alter existing circumstances for imagined or ideal situations. They do this knowing that their actions rely upon the similar activities of others. What they do is individually understood and learnt, but it is given meaning only as part of a ‘practice’. It is no surprise to learn that what is meant by a ‘practice’ of human conduct is similar to the notion of the modes and ‘voices’ given above. When agents come together to make transactions they are not simply ad hoc arrangements but are based upon durable conditional contexts (OHC p. 54). In conduct agents converse with each other, and the postulates of these encounters is a relationship in which this conversation may take place. This relationship is of a particular kind, sharing nothing in common with non-reflective categories (including types such as a ‘class’ or ‘social system’) but a procedure with learnt responses and understandings. It prescribes the conditions for the
On human conduct 133 substantive choices and performances of agents. This is a ‘practice’, a procedure which may or may not be observed but which is useful in identifying considerations, manners, standards, obligations, duties and the like (OHC pp. 55–6). Oakeshott states that words such as ‘scientifically’, ‘legally’ and ‘poetically’ do not specify performances, but postulate them and specify procedural conditions to be taken into account when choosing and acting. Practices may differ in their complexity; they may be a mere protocol or a ‘way of life’. They may be institutionalised or not. Most performances may be undertaken by means of a number of practices. all verbal utterances, for example, are subscriptions to the language in which they are spoken and they participate in one or other (but in not more than one) of the practices which constitute distinguishable mores of utterance: poetice, geometrice, historice, oratorice, philosophice, etc. (OHC p. 56) Given this quote, it seems that philosophy is now theoretically situated on the same level with the other systems of meaning, as it was when the world was understood as a conversation. The only differences are that, as I have stated, philosophy recognises its own conditionality, and therefore may investigate the other ‘practices’. Oakeshott distinguishes this notion from a sociological theory. Practices are not a process of ‘socialisation’, or anything to do with ‘Society’ or ‘Man’ (OHC p. 86). Rather, human understanding is composed of the moral and prudential achievements of countless individuals expressed in terms of the rules and conditions of the multifarious practices of life. This is not for Oakeshott a ‘collective’ achievement (OHC p. 87). But the ‘social’ character of conduct is that of associations of agents based upon understood conditions or rules of that association. Human conduct is ‘social’ only in so far as this is understood as taking place in practices that are durable relationships between individual agents seeking their own purposes. Each of these associations is a ‘societas’, joined not in respect of a collective goal but because of their acknowledgement of the conditions of a particular practice and its relationships. In Oakeshott’s philosophy there is no such thing as society as such, even less a community, which may be properly spoken about.5 The customs, principles and other rules which constitute a practice are not mere habit. They have no meaning apart from the way they
134 Politics and morality are used in conduct. A practice is a learnt language spoken by agents. It does not demand that they think certain thoughts. But is an invitation to understand, choose and respond. It is a language of their own making, which they continuously invent. What is learnt through practices are the languages of self-disclosure and self-enactment; these are the arts of agency, the common tongue of moral conduct.
Moral conduct Before moving on to the specifics of what Oakeshott has to say about moral conduct, it is worth restating what I take to be his general moral concern. As I argued in the discussion regarding religion and morality, above all else for Oakeshott morality has an ‘adverbial’ character. Moral rules are abridgements [which] concentrate into specific precepts considerations of adverbial desirability which lie dispersed in a moral language and thus transform invitations into prescriptions, allegiances to fellow practitioners into precise obligations. (OHC p. 66) The idea that morality consists of adverbial desires which are later established as moral rules (how this is achieved is at the heart of Oakeshott’s discussion of moral conduct in OHC) is a notion that he owes to Bradley. As I stated in Chapter 2, Bradley was keen to suggest that moral acts needed no extrinsic purpose but were the ongoing, imperfect, open-ended attempts human beings made at self-realisation. Under the terms of his revised Idealist philosophy Oakeshott reinterprets Bradley’s position by situating morality not merely under the broad terms of ‘human life’ but in the specific modal arena of ‘practice’. As I have attempted to illustrate in the preceding chapters, Oakeshott gives practical life a privileged position in his system of thought, and this is done partly on the back of the importance given to morality as a part of human existence. The situating of morality within the mode of practical life means that there are a number of pre-suppositional characteristics morality must have to be able to exist as such. Practical experience is the world of individual human action. It is where individuals exercise their ‘will’ to pursue or avoid discrete objects guided by selfish or unselfish motives. In practical life human beings act to try to alter particular specific, contingent circumstances, to turn ‘what is’ to
On human conduct 135 ‘what ought to be’. Therefore, at the core of Oakeshott’s account of practical life is the concentration upon the actions of the self. This points to morality being concerned with self-realisation, or, as it is in OHC, self-disclosure and self-enactment. Despite a refinement of the terms of reference from EM to OHC, the disappearance of the modes, as such, and the introduction of various human ‘practices’, the basic tenets of Oakeshott’s philosophical position remain unchanged. For Oakeshott, then, moral conduct is a form of knowledge that is learnt as a consequence of practice. It is a form of knowledge that is incapable of being written down, is hard to articulate and, in the end, provides no sure guide to right conduct. The reasons Oakeshott explains morality in this way are not sociological or anthropological, nor based upon any form of the observance of human life. Rather, the reasons for understanding morality in this way are philosophical. Oakeshott’s theory of morality is rooted in his theoretical analysis of the character of practical life. As I have already stated, it is impossible to understand Oakeshott’s moral concern without first grasping what he has to say about practical life in EM and human ‘practices’ in OHC. For him the actions of morality could never be perfected or completed because the character of the world to which such actions belong is necessarily self-contradictory. The attempt to change ‘what is’ for ‘what ought to be’ is futile because the presuppositions of practice plot against it. As I pointed out in Chapter 4, without this tension practice could not exist. Therefore, a frustrated individual ‘will’ is a hallmark of practical experience and moral actions. There is an additional reason for Oakeshott’s ‘adverbial’ understanding of morality. This is to be found in his theory of knowledge that he is so well known for expounding in RIP: that is, human activities involve two distinct but interrelated types of knowledge. On the one hand there is technical knowledge which can be formulated into rules. This kind of knowledge appears to be certain and fixed and it is the sort of knowledge to be found written down in various kinds of textbooks. On the other hand there is practical knowledge which cannot be formulated into rules. It is a form of knowledge that is acquired in practice, and because of this it appears to be imprecise and secondary. Although these two types of knowledge are always found together, the implication of Oakeshott’s moral thought is that morality is the high point of practical knowledge. Throughout his essays on religion and in the text on moral conduct in OHC, moral actions are described as a sensibility, as ‘honesty with oneself’ or selfenactment, the point being that although there may be certain specific extraneous (technical) circumstances that need to be accounted
136 Politics and morality for, an individual’s moral actions are also made up of a complex set of related ‘feelings’ which arise out of their practical experience. These ‘feelings’ hold substantive meaning for individuals despite the fact that they cannot be fully articulated. To understand moral conduct as it is described in OHC, it is necessary to remember Oakeshott’s philosophical system as a whole, his accounts of practical experience and his theory of knowledge. In this way it makes sense that for Oakeshott moral conduct guided by a book or a fixed set of rules was devoid of vitality. When morality is identified only with the observance of formalised rules it ceases to be moral. If moral action is reduced to a technical exercise it forfeits its most distinctive characteristic. Moral conduct, Oakeshott tells us, is the practice of all practices (OHC p. 60). Unlike many of the transactions of conduct, moral practice is not instrumental. It differs in general from human conduct in that moral actions do not necessitate looked-for outcomes. It is concerned with the act, not the event. Such an idea of moral conduct is not to be confused with the notion of a ‘common good’, ‘human excellence’ or ‘the good life’, all of which make no sense for Oakeshott as moral pursuits. Morality is a practice without any extrinsic purpose (OHC p. 62). That said, moral practice is bound up with conduct in general and there is no time when it cannot make an appearance. As children we grow into adult consciousness in a moral world, as ‘helpless subjects’ to it (OHC p. 63). Here Oakeshott restates the point made in VLL that ‘education’ is never merely a formal or technical exercise. To be educated into moral practices is to understand the ‘aptitudes’ of agency as well as the ‘conditions’ of a particular practice. The conditions which compose a moral practice are described as a vernacular language. They may be spoken well or badly, but they are utterances present in all human conversation. This language is an instrument of ‘self-disclosure’ used by agents in diagnosing their situations and their responses. It is also a language of ‘self-enactment’, which allows those who are able to understand themselves and others to express their individuality and explore their relationships. Oakeshott continues that to do this is more varied and interesting than to follow so-called ‘moral values’. It seems clear by this description that Oakeshott does not intend to list a predetermined set of moral codes. What he is interested in are the criteria which allow moral conduct to exist. Moral conduct is something that is continuously being learnt as transactions take place between agents. Its terms are never fixed or finished, but those skilled in its use are able to incorporate new
On human conduct 137 linguistic inventions into its generally settled character (OHC p. 64). Individuals from different associations may all speak the language in a distinct manner. Each has a basic vocabulary which constitutes the rules of conduct and which provides the starting point for self-disclosure. In other words, what a moral practice intimates in general, a moral rule makes more explicit by stating what is ‘right’ to do. For example, loyalty becomes legality (OHC p. 67). Furthermore, where moral practice becomes articulated in terms of a ‘duty’, it is not merely a rule but an ‘office’: that is, a strictly specified position which an agent owes to others, for example a parent to a child. But to be duty bound does not exempt an agent from the general considerations of moral practice. The moral agent is still all at sea. Yet where ‘dueness’ comes under a moral rule or office it is more determined, although there may well be ‘exceptions’ which throw the agent back upon moral practice. Rules, duties, moral principles and dogmas may be understood as ‘nodal points’ (OHC p. 68), densities where practice turns into something steadier and the adventure momentarily ceases. They are abstractions which derive their authority from the practice itself, and they give only an abbreviated account of the complex flow of moral association. Even though they appear to be fixed points, and Oakeshott acknowledges that this may be useful for moral education, in the end they are not ‘commands to be obeyed’ but ‘relatively precise considerations’ to be adhered to. They are ‘used’ in conduct, not ‘applied’ to conduct. Their consideration in moral conduct is part of deliberation, not demonstration. A system of rules is a persuasive discourse. It is the attempt to justify a performance. Unlike moral practices, moral rules need to seek justification to be vindicated. This is not easily done given the finally indeterminate and unspecifiable character of rules. An action under a rule is usually allowed justification ‘in respect of’ or ‘by a plea to’ an aspect of its character. A justifying argument is allowed some latitude and is always open to further criticism. In this way Oakeshott illustrates how the technical side of rules and the experiential side of a ‘practice’ are always bound up. According to Oakeshott, then, moral principles although not without some use, should not be thought to be the prescriptions of moral conduct but understood in the overall context of a moral practice. They are to be respected but not worshipped. All that has so far been described by Oakeshott is in relation to moral conduct understood as ‘self-disclosure’. This is where under the terms of moral rules, duties, and offices, agents attempt to pursue certain outcomes which have to be justified. In this way what they do is to ‘disclose’
138 Politics and morality their selves in their actions. But, as noted above, there is another side to conduct, that of ‘self-enactment’.6 This is where an agent’s actions are looked at in terms of their ‘motives’. A person may perform their duties perfectly but this may be done out of fear, pride, or any other motive or mix of motives (OHC p. 71). Oakeshott states that Aristotle and Kant took the virtue of actions to be dependent upon the motives by which they were performed. But he proposes that both self-disclosure and self-enactment are important to explaining moral conduct. Although they may be inquired into separately, one is impossible without the other. All actions are ‘motivated’. A motive is not an antecedent drive or a tendency to choose a particular action but an agent’s ‘sentiment’ in choosing and performing actions. This is distinguished from the ‘intention’ which is the action itself, understood in terms of the wished-for outcome. Elsewhere Oakeshott states that what the agent ‘intends’ to do is what he ‘means’, not before he decides but in deciding it (OHC p. 39). Here is a further elucidation of the point made in the last chapter where Oakeshott was seen to argue against the reading of an author’s ‘intentions’ as the starting place for political thought. Any attempt to recover the author’s ‘intention’ in political theory can never get to the ‘motive’. This is not recoverable. This means that the ‘history of ideas’ tells only half of the story. Choosing an action is always meaning to procure a satisfaction in a motive of some sort (OHC p. 72). But the sentiment is not necessarily displayed in the act: for example, a man may kill for compassion or hatred. Nor in self-enactment is there a desired end to be achieved in a contingent situation. The agent’s sentiment is what he chooses to think about his actions, and what he is looking to is not the satisfaction of an outcome but his own self-respect. In other words, we are back to the notion of maintaining the integrity of the self that we encountered in Oakeshott’s earlier writings on ‘self-realisation’. Maintaining self-respect is not a characteristic of ‘correct’ or ‘worthy’ self-enactment but it is a postulate of moral conduct. It is something which is always potentially there. The quality of selfenactment will depend upon the relation between the sentiment(s) involved and their subscription to a moral practice. In other words, a moral practice is in part self-disclosure and in part self-enactment, and learning moral conduct is to understand moral rules and moral sentiment. Where actions are self-enactments, ‘doing’ is delivered, at least in part, from the ‘deadliness of doing’ which may be enjoyed, Oakeshott states, in the gracefulness of a religious faith.
On human conduct 139 The gift of a religious faith is that of a reconciliation to the unavoidable dissonances of a human condition, a reconciliation which is neither a denial, nor a substitute for remedial effort . . . but a mode of acceptance, a ‘graceful’ response. (OHC p. 81) Religion is itself a practice, a part of self-enactment, and in saying this Oakeshott ‘grounds’ religion in the manner that I have been arguing. A religious faith is constituted by sentiments and beliefs which an individual may draw upon to understand their particular situation. This may take the form of nothing more than a ‘nurtured hope’ or an acknowledgement of sin (OHC pp. 82–3). But the central concern of religious faith is not with a solace for life’s miseries or the inevitability of doing ‘wrong’ but with a less contingent dissonance of the human condition, namely nothingness, death (OHC p. 84). The acts of self-disclosure may aim at immortality, but they are doomed to be merely episodic occurrences. Every act is a transient performance between mortal agents, every achievement evanescent. This aspect of human conduct is qualified when actions are recognised as self-enactments. In such acts there is an ‘echo of durability’7 where the valour, loyalty and fortitude of someone outlive the particular victory or defeat. But such an echo might also be that of the agent’s malevolence. Death is the final act of self-disclosure and self-enactment; it may be graceful or merely an inconsequential disappearance. What is left behind, Oakeshott tells us, may be an individual well thought of or well rid of. Death, then, is an important part of life for Oakeshott. He states that it is a disturbing enough predicament to call forth a response. The images that are called upon are those neither of misfortune nor of sin but of life’s mutability (OHC p. 85). Religious faith is the ‘motive of all motives’ whereby a sentiment is evoked which acknowledges that human conduct is mortal, but that acts of self-enactment may provide an intimation of immortality. Religion takes away some of the ‘sharpness’ of the deadliness of doing by holding up our actions to the light of mortality, and in so doing it provides us with an indication of eternity. Moral conduct, then, is something continuously learnt and relearnt as part of the activity of various human practices. It has no fixed points, no established principles, although the language is basically stable. Oakeshott in presenting this notion is promoting neither a moral relativity nor a moral code. Rather, he is attempting to explain philosophically the way in which moral conduct operates.
140 Politics and morality Moral conduct is always a relationship between moral rules and moral sentiment. Where the latter is most prominent it is a religious faith. As with his earliest writings on religion, here too religion has nothing to do with particular institutions and it does not require a deity. Religion is a moral activity, part of practical life. It is where moral actions are undertaken reconciled to, and in the full awareness of, the chaos, struggle, hopes and dreams, losses and miseries, and general dissonances of human life. Where moral sentiment perseveres in the face of mortality an individual’s actions become ‘graceful’; knowing that all that may be left behind, at best, are the ‘traces’8 of their deeds, the moral person finds not despair but dignity.
Conclusion In OHC we find Oakeshott’s continued effort to formulate a nonfoundational theoretical vocabulary that remains tied to his conceptual revision of Idealism that he undertook in EM. In this respect experience is described as ‘all that is going-on’ and the various forms of human life are the ‘goings-on’. His further articulations of ‘practices’, ‘rules’ and so forth, as well as the employment of some of the language of his political essays (‘conversation’, ‘intimation’, ‘attending to’, etc.) also contribute to this reformulation. I noted how in the use of these latter concepts he belatedly explains their philosophical character. The non-foundational philosophy which Oakeshott outlines is paralleled by a now familiar open-ended theory of identity. In common with Bradley’s ‘inferences’, the ‘implications’ of EM, and the ‘intimations’ of the political essays, Oakeshott here understands identities as something constructed by judging selves in unique and contingent circumstances. In constructing identities, selves make ‘verdicts’, ‘facts’ and ‘theorems’, all of which are liable to change, although their basic character is stable. This is undertaken at the level of conditional understanding where the postulates which underlie identities are not analysed. I noted at this point how Oakeshott’s remarks about the self-evident attractions of this level of understanding point to his privileging of ‘practice’. In this essay Oakeshott also tells us that there is a second level of understanding where selves master the theorems of particular discourses. Although legitimate, this level may be inhabited by the ‘theoretician’ who mistakes his technical knowledge for all knowledge. In so doing he commits the error of closing down the indeterminate knowledge which constitutes ‘practices’ and, ultimately, allows for moral conduct. The final level of understanding is
On human conduct 141 associated with philosophy and it is said to be unconditional. It is unconditional because not only does the philosopher report on the conditions of the other ‘practices’, but it also acknowledges its own conditionality. Such a view is a refinement of what was said in EM but appeared to be implied in Oakeshott’s understanding of the world as a ‘conversation’. Oakeshott maintains that the inquiry into human conduct requires the formal categorising of identities. These must be distinguished as reflective intelligences, or non-reflective identities. To the first belong human actions which are particular procedures. To the second belong the generalised phenomena of science. Identities must further be distinguished by their idiom. These are systems of theorems such as ethics, jurisprudence and aesthetics. In this way Oakeshott revises his idea of modality. The all-embracing world of practical experience is replaced by various human practices that are bound to human and moral conduct. This brings his view more explicitly into the territory of ‘discourse’ and ‘language-games’. However, I noted that in presenting such a view Oakeshott still does not say how fluid is the movement of selves between ‘practices’. This theoretical absence, which I argued was evident in his political essays and in EM, is still, in this last book-length text, unexplained. The presuppositions of human conduct are based around Oakeshott’s theory of ‘will’ which is implicitly given in his notion of ‘free’ agents. What he meant by this was actually stated in his earliest religious essay of 1927, ‘Religion and the Moral Life’. Individuals are ‘free’ in respect of their deliberative choices being a presupposition of a particular human practice. This means that their actions are not subjective, but tied to a world of experience. As well as deliberation, agents are said to use persuasion. Where this is prevented by deceit or force the character of human conduct is destroyed. It follows that morality is also lost. Oakeshott’s description of the various human practices is intertwined with a moral concern. Practices are the conditional contexts of all human actions. They are the postulates upon which associations of individuals take place, the preconditions which allow subjects to make choices. These are not simply given but are learnt. Some may be more complex than others and, Oakeshott states, performances may be undertaken under the terms of any practice. However, he does not spell out how this may be so. Moral conduct is described as the ‘practice of all practices’, just as religion was described in EM as practice at its fullest state. It appears that in OHC the gap between acting morally and acting religiously may
142 Politics and morality have been closed. Religion is merely that part of moral conduct that is concerned with our mortality. It is not a higher reflective state than moral reflection but a distinctive and limited part of moral conduct. In general, moral conduct is non-instrumental action. Moral acts are not based upon principles or laws but a sensibility, an ‘aptitude’, that is learnt. Morality is attached to the presuppositions of human conduct, but it can be theoretically distinguished. It may be theorised in terms of self-disclosure and self-enactment. The first abridges moral practice by setting rules, offices and duties. These may be institutionalised or not. But whatever the case they are never finally determinate. They rely, ultimately, on a general moral sensibility. As for the second, self-enactment is the ‘motive’ upon which an individual acts. This cannot be separated from self-disclosure in actual performances. This idea goes back to that of self-realisation and the notion of sincerity. From this general theory of human and moral conduct we can now move on to the analysis of the other two essays in OHC in order to see how what Oakeshott says here sits in relation to his understanding of the civil condition.
8
The civil condition and the modern European state
Introduction Based on the theoretical understanding of human and moral conduct outlined above, Oakeshott next puts forward his explanation of the civil condition.1 In the last essay of OHC this is understood in historical terms as the character of the modern European state.2 Here I shall look at both of these essays. I continue to point to the philosophical character of Oakeshott’s writings on politics, focusing upon the relationship between politics and morality. I also develop my argument that there is an unaccounted-for fluidity of the modes or discourses of human practice. As the terminology in these essays is quite complex, a brief summary might be useful to follow the arguments set out below. For Oakeshott, the civil condition or ‘civitas’ is constituted by two interrelated moral associations. The first he calls enterprise associations. These are transactional, instrumental associations. Where individuals or ‘cives’ (the selves of civitas) are engaged in a common pursuit (but not a ‘collective’ one) they can be said to be associating in this manner. Here moral conduct is related to self-disclosure. The second aspect of the civil condition Oakeshott calls civil associations. These are composed of intelligent human relationships that are constituted by learnt and open-ended ‘practices’. Here moral conduct is related to self-enactment. These two forms of association illustrate the general types of relations found in the civil condition. Here individuals disclose themselves through their actions and enact a language concerned with ‘justice’. Cives are ‘just’ to each other because they are related around the rules of the civil condition. These rules are the norms of conduct, the basis upon which their activities, as cives, are able to take place. Oakeshott terms the open-ended system of rules that makes up the civil association ‘lex’. The system of law or lex specifies
144 Politics and morality the relationships of civility not in a determinate manner but as conditions to be taken account of and subscribed to in choosing performances. It is not a guide to ‘just’ conduct but the conditions for it. This illustrates that individuals are associated in respect of a ‘practice’ or language of civil intercourse, which they recognise as appropriate to belong to and continually explore and rearrange. Lex has three main characteristics. It is a procedure of adjudication, legislation and ruling. Each of these characteristics is authoritative, binding cives to civil obligations and responsibilities. But it is also the terms of their civil freedom. This public concern of cives is known as ‘respublica’. Oakeshott theorises a gap between the particular private world of individuals and the general public subscriptions of lex. The distinction between private and public relations is a central tenet of Oakeshott’s understanding of the civil condition. It is only through politics that the public and private worlds touch upon each other. Politics is understood as the engagement of considering the desirability of the current terms of lex. In participating in respublica, individuals weigh up their private and public concerns. This is ‘doing’ politics. Because Oakeshott denotes the civil condition as a relation of two moral associations, I argue that politics is intimately and generally tied to his notion of moral conduct. Politics has a ‘positive’ place in his thought because it involves negotiating the various moral concerns, both public and private, of the individual members of respublica. In the final essay the themes of the first two are transposed into a historical form. As I have noted, political thought for Oakeshott could be ‘spoken’ in the languages of both philosophy and history. OHC stands as an example of this method. Given that the third essay is largely a restatement I deal only briefly with its content. My attention is focused upon the notion of the state as an ambiguous relationship between its character as a societas and as a universitas. Societas is the idea of the civil association put in historical terms. Universitas is the notion of enterprise associations dealt with in the same manner. I give little account of the historical detail that surrounds these ideas, as I am more concerned with the concepts themselves. It may also be recognised that I do not give the third essay a greater amount of attention than it deserves in respect of Oakeshott’s philosophical system as a whole. This sets my reading apart from those who wish to emphasise Oakeshott’s liberalism. This is something I shall come back to in the final chapter. I also return here once again to my criticisms of Oakeshott’s work that there is a
The civil condition and the modern European state 145 theoretically unaccounted-for ‘fluidity’ between the modes or ‘practices’ (as they now are). This I shall illustrate by highlighting how Oakeshott draws upon his philosophical understanding of civil association to explain his historical understanding of societas.
‘On the Civil Condition’ As I mentioned in the last chapter, OHC differs from EM in respect of its attempt to get to grips with the political character of human conduct. All that has been said so far may be taken as the theoretical underpinning of this second essay of the book that deals with the civil condition. It must be emphasised that this is an ideal character, not an existing or once existing association. Oakeshott tells us that he uses the terms ‘civil’ and ‘civility’ to indicate this, although what will be discussed is closely connected to two ‘diluted’ ideas, namely politics and law (OHC p. 108). Similarly he uses ‘civitas’ instead of ‘state’, ‘cives’ for ‘citizens’, ‘lex’ for ‘law’, and ‘respublica’ for ‘public concern’. Drawing upon Aristotle’s The Politics, Oakeshott states that the civil condition has four distinctive features. It is a relationship of human beings; it is a relationship of equals; it is a ‘constituted’ relationship; it is self-sufficient. These features are most commonly associated with transactional associations (OHC p. 118). Here agents seek wished-for outcomes which take place upon the basis of rules of conduct. These associations Oakeshott calls ‘enterprise associations’: they are relationships in terms of the pursuit of some ‘common’ purpose. This may be an entrepreneurial partnership, a political party, a corporation or a loose fraternity. It may be long-lasting or shortlived. Whatever the particular instrumental purpose the enterprise association serves, and whatever its precise character, the postulates upon which it is based are a moral relationship based on rules by which each agent is related. As I discussed in the last chapter, these rules (of duty and office) are never fully determined, transparent or easy to pursue. Actions are always at sea and require justification. Oakeshott maintains that enterprise associations are not simply relationships in terms of a common goal but are joined in terms of the ‘management’ of its pursuits (OHC p. 115). The enterprise operates according to ‘policies’, not evident commands. Agents may well be joined under the recognition of the authority of a rule-like book, or a constitution, or various rituals. There may be offices denoting duties and regulations, but these rules are always conditional. They
146 Politics and morality cannot identify the character of the association, only its general purpose. As generalised rules they cannot be related to particular purposes. So although enterprise associations may entail the recognition of the authority of rules, its character cannot be said to be the observance of those rules. Having stated this, Oakeshott remarks that although civil relationships are most commonly described in this manner, if this was all they were they could hardly be termed ‘civil’ at all. There is another categorically different type of civil condition, not one which is rule governed but where the relationship is in terms of the subscription to a ‘practice’. This he calls civil association. Here the satisfaction of wants and ‘managerial’ conditions are subservient to the participation in a common language. This distinction indicates that Oakeshott takes self-disclosure to correspond to enterprise associations, and self-enactment to civil associations, although, of course, the two are never completely separate. In the examination of the third essay below we shall see that Oakeshott makes an allusion to this philosophical notion in his historical essay, the latter being a mode of thought for which moral concerns are, supposedly, irrelevant. Civil association is a relationship not only of human beings but also of equals. This is in virtue of the fact that cives (the selves of the civil condition) are all concerned with the same skill. Moreover, it is also a self-contained association because the relationship is a practice with no wished-for outcome. This means that although its resources may be used they can never be used up (OHC p. 121). Cives are related either in terms of a procedure composed of rules or in terms of a set of conditions to be subscribed to. As a practice the civil condition is an enactment of human beings. What is enacted is a language of civil understanding: the language of civility.3 This is not a list of possible utterances but the instrument of the conversation by which agents recognise and disclose themselves as cives and where the relationships between cives is continuously explored. Acquiring this mode of thought does not entail the surrender of any other mode of discourse (OHC p. 23). But, at times, the language of civility will eclipse all others. This is when human relationships are understood to turn to the consideration of ‘justice’. What Oakeshott means by this is bound up with his understanding of the type of rule-governed activity civitas is. Civitas is entirely composed of related rules. Oakeshott maintains that the recognition of rules is one of our most familiar experiences (OHC p. 124). To describe what he means by this he first distinguishes a rule from advice, a request, a plea, a warning, a command,
The civil condition and the modern European state 147 orders and so forth (OHC pp. 124–5). All such may derive from rules but none are enunciations of rules. A rule is, specifically, an authoritative assertion, not a theorem (which would imply a conclusion reached). A rule, to be a rule, has to be that which must be assented to in any given performance. [Its] . . . sphere of concern is identified (expressly or implicitly) in terms of kinds of activity, sorts of circumstance, or sorts of persons in respect of such activity or circumstance: playing chess, or being a chairman of a public meeting or trustee for somebody else’s property. (OHC p. 125) Rules assert norms of conduct. But this is quite different from saying that they determine (to a greater or lesser extent) what will be said or done. Here Oakeshott is not relating the equivalent to a notion of ideological supremacy or ‘hegemony’.4 His concern is to ascertain the postulates of human conduct. If an agent refuses to be obligated by a rule it is not because he challenges the ‘dominant ideology’ but because it is not a rule for him: he simply does not fall within its jurisdiction. Rules exist in advance of situations agents may be involved in; there is no activity which is not rule-bound. But although prescriptive in a general sense (in that they constitute the basis upon which practices take place) they are not guides to particular contingent circumstances. If we cast our minds back to EM we can discern a similarity here. In that text Oakeshott maintains that ‘truth’ and ‘reality’ are what we can understand as part of a world of ideas that constitute a mode of thought. What is ‘true’ is what we are ‘obliged to think’. In OHC the same theoretical principle is used in terms of rules. These too are what we are ‘obliged to think’. In order to participate in an activity we have to assent to its particular language, the norms of conduct which constitute it. This understanding will be drawn out further in the next chapter, where I point out the similarities this notion shares with Wittgenstein’s ‘forms of life’. Civil association is a relationship between individual human beings based upon rule-bound practices. The theoretical condition which constitutes the rules of civitas, that which brings together various individuals, is the practice of being ‘just’ to one another. This is the only sense in which Oakeshott understands the term ‘justice’. It may be noted that the way Oakeshott arrives at this point is a million theoretical miles away from Rawls’ understanding of that term, and
148 Politics and morality in general he is far removed from any liberal, rights-based theory of justice.5 These rules, Oakeshott initially states, may be called ‘laws’. But, he continues, in order to distinguish this ideal character from the rules of various states, they may be more appropriately termed lex. Lex are the rules, which prescribe the common responsibilities (and the counterpart ‘rights’ to have these responsibilities fulfilled) of agents and in terms of which they put by their characters as enterprisers and put by all that differentiates them from one another and recognise themselves as formal equals – cives. (OHC p. 128) Lex is a system (not just a collection) of rules. The character of the laws of which it is composed relate to the multifarious choices and transactions of differentiated individuals. As such they provide a moral allegiance between strangers (OHC p. 129). These laws are the sole terms in which cives are related. Civitas depends upon the system of lex to exist. The considerations that it prescribes belong to the conditions that constitute relationships common to all cives. In this sense lex is a self-contained system that sets its own jurisdiction, which is continually defined, redefined and refined in order to accommodate the ‘goings-on’ of civitas. Association in terms of a system of lex is conditional upon the authoritative prescriptions of lex being known to cives, and upon the obligations they describe being generally observed. Furthermore, what has to be known is what will count as an adequate subscription to lex in contingent circumstances. The means of settling such uncertainties is postulated in the system of lex as a procedure of ‘adjudication’, a judicial procedure. Oakeshott goes on to describe the office and officers of court (OHC pp. 131–3). But what is more important is the recognition that it is not the institutional practices alone which are significant, but that the whole procedure constitutes the backbone of civitas by being the custodian of lex. Like any human association, its practice is one of making choices (adjudicating) in an environment of uncertainty. Oakeshott is no mere apologist for the judicial system. He recognised that it may be flawed, that it was open to abuse, and could promote injustice (OHC p. 137). But his commentary is not about assessing the well-functioning or otherwise of the legal bureaucracy; rather, he is concerned to illustrate the general moral consideration that this
The civil condition and the modern European state 149 system exists by virtue of its subscription to an antecedent recognition of the terms of lex. Lex, then, is a system of rules and one of its conditions is that of adjudication. There are two other features of lex which Oakeshott considers, legislation and ‘ruling’. The former is an authoritative procedure whereby new lex is enacted or existing lex is altered. Oakeshott maintains that if in the civil condition legislation is reached for too often and too readily, at best this can be a ‘clumsy’ tinkering with the system of adjudication, at worst the beginning of the end for the very basis of the civil condition (OHC p. 138). The mistake should not be made of taking what is being said here as a ‘political’ statement in favour of a kind of ‘conservatism’. Rather, this is a philosophical understanding put forward on the basis of a theory of human action and knowledge. Just as ‘tradition’ and ‘intimation’ were seen to have certain implications only by virtue of being tied to Oakeshott’s philosophical explanation of practical experience, ‘legislation’ is what it is by virtue of being part of the ideal character of lex and the understanding of ‘practices’ that theoretically underpins it. Legislation is a general norm of conduct that is ‘injected’ into the system of lex. Although this is an authoritative (and, therefore, legitimate) condition of lex it has something of the mark of a theorem about it. As such Oakeshott points out why it is drawn upon conservatively. As all generalised theories, it can say nothing about specific contingent situations. This view goes to the very heart of Oakeshott’s understanding of political activity as an engagement that is bound to the rules of a practice and as such has its place and its limitations. Oakeshott highlights a perennial dilemma of human action, the gap between general prescriptions and specific contingent circumstances. The civil condition is also a relationship that assures, or at least seeks to meet, the expectation that the conditions of civility will be subscribed to. This is the engagement of ‘ruling’. Oakeshott makes a specific criticism of Burke (perhaps in an attempt to undo some of the brashness of his earlier essays) by stating that ruling is not about prescribing conditions to be acknowledged by unspecified persons, including those ‘yet unborn’ (OHC p. 142). Rather, ruling is an injunctive discourse which attempts to elicit responses from assignable persons in particular contingent situations. Ruling is not an unconditional engagement but its authority derives from lex. It is concerned with both adjudicating disputes and administering prescription, but neither is done by stepping out of the moral character of civil association and into that of an enterprise association (OHC pp.143–4). Here Oakeshott wishes to expel from
150 Politics and morality the theoretical definition of civil association the idea that civitas is only ever an instrumental activity. In this respect he is, once again, close to Arendt,6 who decried the subsuming of civil life to the satisfaction of wished-for outcomes, to the ‘rise of the social’. Oakeshott shares something with her viewpoint in characterising politics as an integral part of a moral association, not just a means of achieving wished-for outcomes. That said, during his discussion relating to ruling Oakeshott makes a distinction between the ‘private’ and the ‘public’ which bears little similarity to Arendt’s understanding of the public and private spheres. Moreover, these ideas are somewhat of a surprise as they seem to be out of line with his general way of thinking. However, Oakeshott goes on to make it clear that what he is defining are different types of relationships, not ‘spheres’. The relationship of ruler to subject, and between cives, is ‘public’ in so far as it is constituted by lex.7 Where rulers seek their own wished-for outcomes they bring a ‘private’ interest (one under the terms of the ‘managerial’ criteria of enterprise associations) into their public office. Although Oakeshott states that ‘an echo’ of a ruler’s private interests may be heard in their public office, if this ‘voice’ were dominant then civil association would be lost, as such (OHC p. 145–6). What is important here is that Oakeshott’s analysis of the civil condition is understood, above all, as a moral relationship, where the rules of conduct join ruler to subjects, and cives to one another. The system of moral relations that constitute the civil condition Oakeshott calls respublica – the public concern. This is not supposed to provide a description of the common purposes of a particular state. But it is the general term for the moral relations that are constituted by the rule-like practices of civil association. To recognise a rule is to recognise that it has a certain authority and to recognise that a subscription to it is an obligation. It is these two characteristics of practices that make up respublica. Civil authority comes through an acceptance of the binding conditions of respublica. Against any natural law theory, or any proposal that maintains the state is a ‘rational’ or ‘higher’ law, Oakeshott argues that the authority of respublica does not lie in its prescriptions. Rather, it is in so far as respublica constitutes and maintains lex and the ‘justice’ inherent in that system that it may be endowed with the quality of a civil authority. Respublica has no absolute authority, only the conditional authority which is inherent in the relations that constitute it (OHC pp. 152–4). Civil obligation is the counterpart to this. To recognise the conditions of respublica as authoritative is to recognise them as
The civil condition and the modern European state 151 an obligation. Obligation is not a matter of acknowledging the ‘power’ of the state or its prescriptions as ‘just’. Rather, to understand that the authority of respublica derives from its maintenance of rule-governed practices is an acknowledgement of the obligation owed (OHC pp. 154–7). We come now to ‘politics’, which is the final postulate of civil association that Oakeshott considers. Much of what is said here has been stated, in a different manner, in Oakeshott’s ‘political’ essays. However, now we can see the philosophical import of these works and how they fit into his general system of understanding human conduct. It has so far been argued that the rules of respublica have nothing to do with whether they are considered ‘just’ by cives but have their authority by way of being recognised as constituted by the system of lex. Now Oakeshott states that the consideration of these rules may be undertaken on the basis of whether they are desirable or not. The engagement of deliberating on the condition of respublica in terms of their desirability he calls ‘politics’ (OHC p. 161). Oakeshott maintains that in stating this he wishes to ignore fashionable meanings of the term and return ‘politics’ to its original and common usage.8 Properly speaking, then, ‘politics’ is a term that may only be used in regard to the respublica, to civil association, because it is concerned with what constitutes that condition (OHC p. 162). Politics has nothing to do with the authority of respublica but the desirability of its conditions and how these conditions might be altered or resistance to their alteration met. As such, politics is an utterance or action whose wished-for outcome is the response of others in a similar manner. Rather than taking this as its public character, Oakeshott quite logically maintains that in this respect politics is a private engagement where associations of agents bargain with each other to satisfy wants. This is that aspect of politics that correspondence to the practices of an enterprise association. But politics is more than this: it does have a public character. It is public in respect of its utterances and actions being subject to the conditions prescribed in respublica (OHC p. 163). Elsewhere, Oakeshott is able to use this understanding of the public relations inherent in politics to counter the argument that politics needs a particular public ‘place’ to operate (OHC p. 166). In this context what he says about the ‘public’ and ‘private’ relations makes more sense, and it places Oakeshott into the post-Arendtian debate regarding the public sphere, which has in the past been dominated by Habermas and his followers.9 Politics is part of civil association and may appear at any point, at any time. It arises
152 Politics and morality where any want that is to be satisfied is understood to be under the terms of respublica (the relations of the civil condition and the system of lex): that is, where these ‘wants’ are a plea that all cives should have a civil obligation that they do not already have, or one taken away that they do have. Political action or utterance is a wished-for outcome as a ‘rule’ (not as a ‘policy’ of an enterprise association) which prescribes conditions to be subscribed to by all alike in unspecified future performances. The engagement in politics entails both an acquiescent and a critical relationship with respublica: acquiescent because without assent to respublica and its terms there can be no politics, which would not simply be a refusal of its conditions but a denial of the civil obligation which recognises the authority of respublica as a system of indeterminate moral rules; critical because of the questioning of the desirability of certain conditions of respublica. Again, this is not a concern with the desirability of the civil condition itself, as there are no criteria upon which politics, as such, can focus a deliberation of that kind. The character of politics is that it holds up for inspection in terms of approval or disapproval some aspect, great or small, of respublica and considers more desirable alternatives to it (OHC p. 165). A political proposal relates to the conditions of respublica and nothing else. It excludes proposals designed to promote a common purpose. A political utterance or action may emerge from an effort to obtain a substantive satisfaction, but it must lose this ‘interested’ character if it is to become a political proposal. Whether interests are individual, collective or corporate; or for the ‘common good’ of humankind or some moral or benevolent purpose; they cannot have any part in politics (OHC pp. 168–72). Politics is concerned with the custody, maintenance and desirability of the system of noninstrumental, non-substantive considerations of respublica. Based upon this understanding, Oakeshott attempts to illustrate that politics has no principal guides. It is not a ‘once and for all’ engagement (OHC p. 166) but (unlike ruling, legislating and adjudicating) has no authority, only persuasive discourse (described as a postulate of human conduct above) to rely upon. Political deliberation is presented as a contingent and circumstantial procedure (rather than a demonstrative exercise). Politics is specifically associated with the desirability or otherwise of the conditions of civil association. This is deliberated upon on the basis of the existing conditions of civil relations (between ruler/ruled and between cives) and the approval or disapproval (whether they fit changing circumstances) of particular aspects of the terms of lex.
The civil condition and the modern European state 153 Oakeshott’s argument about the relationship between politics and morals is one of the less clear aspects of this essay. Politics and morals are said to be distinct aspects of the civil condition. On the one hand, politics is recognised as civil prescriptions based on their desirability in respublica. On the other hand, moral conduct is understood as self-disclosures/enactments of the practice of civility. Politics is understood in terms of the ‘performances’ that take place in respublica, morality as part of the conditions of respublica which cives necessarily subscribe to. The question arises, then: if politics is the individual utterances and actions of agents that look to change the circumstances of a practice of civil association, and that association is a moral association of individual agents, how come the two do not meet? Oakeshott’s answer appears to be that civil considerations are moral to a degree, but that there is also much that is moral that lies outside of civil rule (e.g. religion). So it seems that there is some connection between politics and morals. He states, This does not mean that civil desirabilities are unconnected with more intimate moral relationships; it means only that what is civilly desirable cannot be inferred or otherwise derived from general moral desirabilities, that it is not necessarily a sign of something amiss if they are not found to be pulling in the same direction or even to conflict with such desirabilities, and that political deliberation and utterance (concerned with civil desirabilities) is concerned with moral considerabilities of its own. (OHC p. 175) Oakeshott acknowledges a connection between politics and morals where this is not taken in an instrumental fashion. Generalised moral principles cannot affect the contingent circumstances of deliberating upon civil prescriptions. However, as part of the practice of the civil condition politics has to consider immediate or ‘intimate’ moral views that may come to bear on a particular aspect of respublica that is under deliberation. Politics, then, becomes intertwined with the general maintenance of the moral association of civil association. As a postulate of that association politics does have some connection with its moral character. It is part of the system of custody and maintenance that sustains the civil condition. Political deliberation involves moral considerations. But the final utterances of politics take all circumstances, interested (private, enterprise relations) and moral (public,
154 Politics and morality considerations of respublica) into account. It seems, then, that Oakeshott’s philosophy neither implies he is of an ‘anti-political’ persuasion nor that he is an ‘ideological’ thinker. Rather, he deemed politics to play an important part in the sustaining of civil and moral life and, ultimately, human conduct, as a whole.
‘The Character of the Modern European State’ In the final essay of OHC all that has so far been discussed is represented in the language of history. This being the case, this essay need not detain us for too long. My concern here is not with the sometimes quite detailed historical material that Oakeshott introduces, but with the continuation of the theorisation of the civil condition in the form of the state understood as a societas and a universitas. It must be emphasised, however, that it is no longer the philosophical ideal characters that have been examined above that concern Oakeshott. Writing under the theoretical terms of history he is now interested in the ambiguity or tensions that constitute the general, actual, historic association of the modern state.10 Oakeshott wishes to emphasise that the character of the modern European state is an ambiguous human association. It is constituted by the tension between what he has previously identified as enterprise associations and civil associations. By ‘character’ Oakeshott means, specifically, the mode of association of the state. He argues that from the sixteenth century the European state has always been of this character. This is not a completed or fixed identity but an ‘association in the making’ (OHC pp. 196–7). From this concern arises a corresponding inquiry into the office and engagements of government and the identity that these impose on its subjects. Oakeshott maintains that what will not be relevant to this discussion are the ‘constitutions’ of governments and the ‘power’ of the state. It seems that he makes a categorical distinction between inquiring into a mode of association and the authority and constitution of the state. To distinguish this essay as historical, Oakeshott replaces the philosophical ideal characters of civil and enterprise associations with two terms taken from Roman private law, namely societas and universitas (OHC pp. 109–205). Oakeshott tells us that a societas was understood as an association where each of its members remained distinct, joined only in virtue of acknowledging a set of noninstrumental rules of conduct. The form of law of such a state, which we have come to know as civitas, is here termed a ‘nomocracy’. In
The civil condition and the modern European state 155 contrast, a universitas is an association where its members give up their individual identities to pursue a common purpose. Its form of law was designed to help manage the instrumental purposes of the state, and this is called a ‘teleocracy’. Oakeshott argues that the intimation of a tension between societas and universitas began in the late medieval age (OHC pp. 206–9). The medieval king was understood to be not simply all-powerful but the ultimate distributor of justice, and after taking authority away from the church the king also became responsible for the general spiritual as well as physical wellbeing of his subjects. In the modern state this dual character has been maintained. The state is both an association in terms of law (lex in philosophical terms) and a ‘sovereign’ association with the ability to continually reconstitute itself by means of law (OHC pp. 224–9). However, Oakeshott goes on to say that although these are two features of the modern state they do not indicate to what extent a state can be determined as a societas or a universitas. A state may be an association in terms of law, but this does not tell us whether this is instrumental or noninstrumental. Likewise, a government may be ‘sovereign’, but this is not enough to indicate whether its office and engagements are concerned with maintaining a system of non-instrumental rules, or the management of a common purpose. Oakeshott now moves to the consideration of these questions. He begins with the understanding of the European state as a societas (OHC p. 233). Oakeshott notes that the miscellaneous composition of states in terms of cultural and ethnic mix mitigated the possibility of states ever forming a homogenous ‘nation’, even less a ‘community’. More importantly, though, it is the emergence of a new disposition to explore and cultivate individuality that Oakeshott takes as the main feature of the state coming to be understood as a societas (OHC pp. 234–45).11 Of course, Oakeshott takes individuality to be inherent to human agency. It is not until towards the end of the Middle Ages that, he argues, this ‘freedom’ became regarded as something more than just a condition to be accepted. It then became the ‘emblem of human dignity’. Oakeshott spends some time maintaining that this has nothing to do with egoism, self-interest, subjectivity or even a ‘bourgeois possessive individualism’.12 Given what we know of his philosophical arguments regarding the self, there is no need to re-cover this ground. Suffice to say that Oakeshott takes the eruption of the cultivation of individuality and its maintenance to be the outcome of an education learnt as part of the subscription to a moral practice. One that is so
156 Politics and morality enduring as to be ‘the strongest strand in the moral convictions of the inhabitants of modern Europe’ (OHC p. 242). Societas became the mode of association that was suitable for individuals because it gave them the freedom to make choices for themselves. Using an Augustinian phrase he suggests that the state in this form could be understood as a ‘civitas peregrino’, an association, not of pilgrims travelling to a common destination, but of adventurers each responding as best he can to the ordeal of consciousness in a world composed of others of his kind, each the inheritor of the imaginative achievements (moral and intellectual) of those who have gone before. (OHC p. 243) Writers who have understood the state in this manner have ranged from those who just assumed it to be so (i.e. Machiavelli, Locke and Burke) to writers who explicitly recognised it as such (i.e. Montesquieu) and those who attempted to account for societas in terms of its postulates (i.e. Hegel,13 Hobbes, Spinoza). After discussing the views of the various authors who have attempted to theorise societas, Oakeshott turns his attention to the other mode of association, universitas. He begins by pointing to the setting up of a central administrations system. The establishment of a bureaucracy gave the state the means to take on a managerial role. The idea of ‘management’ developed as states emerged from landed estates, and as the urgencies of war demanded more and more efficient production, distribution and so forth (OHC pp. 266–74). Also important was the emergence of what Oakeshott calls the ‘individual manqué’. This was a person petrified of the new disposition to cultivate individuality. In the same way that Oakeshott used the ‘rationalist’ as a general way of portraying the significant characteristics of a certain theory of knowledge, he uses the ‘manqué’ here to illustrate the ‘mass man’. He is described as an individual who had needs rather than wants, who sought a ruler to make choices for him, and who was manipulated by leaders to have a ‘revulsion from distinctiveness’ (OHC pp. 275–8). Oakeshott moves on from this general picture to categorise four ways in which the state has been taken in the manner of a universitas. First, the state has been understood as a cultural and religious universitas (OHC pp. 279–86). This was the least compromising of the state’s adventurers in teleocracy. It involved the integration and sometimes suppression of beliefs that were not those the state
The civil condition and the modern European state 157 deemed useful. In the sixteenth century, Catholic countries like France and Spain undertook such projects under the guidance of papal authority. In the twentieth century National Socialist Germany and ‘contemporary Russia’ are deemed to have continued this trend. Second, the state has been understood as a corporate enterprise for the exploitation of the earth’s resources. This is when the state is identified only in terms of being (rather than merely having) an economy (OHC pp. 286–95). According to Oakeshott this view received its most vivid expression in Bacon’s New Atlantis. This was followed by its reiteration in the work of Owen, Marx and Lenin. What concerns the subscribers to this view is the state understood as a productive and distributive system. In Chapter 5, I illustrated how Oakeshott criticises the economic ‘productivist’ point of view for having a crude moral outlook.14 That is, morality was conceived as simply more and more of everything. Here this view is restated. This is an important point that I refer to below. Third, a synthesis of the first two strands of universitas has appeared in the idea of ‘enlightened government’ which is said to have emerged in the eighteenth century (OHC pp. 297–9). Enlightened government is a secularised version of religious universitas which brings to the idea of the state as a corporate enterprise a ‘quasi-moral’ character. The main object of enlightened government was the ‘poor’, who were seen as a waste of rational resources. To counteract this, the state undertook to ‘educate’ them. But this was not, of course, an education into the practices of human activity, but a technical ‘apprenticeship’ which would make them more useful to society. Finally, universitas has been taken as the state conceived as a therapeutic corporation (OHC pp. 308–10). In an almost Nietzschean tone, Oakeshott argues that the state has been taken as an association of invalids, of victims suffering from a common disease, and the office of government has been about finding a cure for these ills. Although Oakeshott states that this view has a Christian legacy, he is concerned to associate it with a trend in the last 150 years to find diseases to be cured. These have included poverty, insecurity, frustration and alienation, all of which have been presided over by a ‘therapeutic elite’ such as psychologists, sociologists and social workers. All the current versions of the state as universitas Oakeshott sees as combining in one form or another these older doctrines. The welfare state, communism, collectivism, National Socialism, all have their significance by virtue of the emergence of a particular kind of association in Europe from the Middle Ages.
158 Politics and morality Having outlined the two modes of association Oakeshott reiterates that they are not to be considered as separate. Nor does one dominate the other. Rather, the European state is an ambivalent experience, whose mode of association is always, and without exception, in a condition of tension between societas and universitas. However, it must be said that Oakeshott does appear to be favouring societas over universitas. For example, I noted that in his explanation of the ‘corporate’ universitas Oakeshott associated this form of state with a theory of economics that in ‘The Political Economy of Freedom’ he found morally abhorrent. I would suggest that the reason he finds universitas less inviting than societas is because the latter is more coherent as a moral association. However, such a conclusion could only be reached by fully identifying societas with its philosophical counterpart, civil association. Towards the end of this essay Oakeshott remarks that he deliberately refrained from illustrating the self-contradictions of universitas in order not to prejudice his historical investigation into the state. However, he does note that the ‘freedom’ of an individual to choose associations may be excluded by the constitution of universitas. On this basis he deems it to be ‘a rickety moral construction’ (OHC p. 317). It seems that here there is an allusion to the moral concern which was part of his philosophical explanation of the civil condition. Although this connection is hinted at, we remain up in the air as to how far the modes or practices (in this case philosophy, practice and history) may intersect.
Conclusion In this chapter I have attempted to illustrate the relationship of politics and morals in Oakeshott’s understanding of the civil condition. On the basis of the theoretical understanding of human conduct set out in the first essay, I here outlined Oakeshott’s understanding of enterprise and civil associations. In this respect politics was taken to be not an instrumental activity but an integral part of moral associations. Oakeshott takes the civil condition to be constituted by two interrelated moral associations. First, enterprise associations, understood as transactional associations, where individuals came together under moral rules in order to pursue a common goal. I noted that this form of association was related to moral conduct as self-disclosure. Second, civil associations, where individuals came together on the basis of their subscription to an open-ended ‘practice’; here moral conduct was largely in terms of self-enactment. These two ‘ideal
The civil condition and the modern European state 159 characters’ illustrated the terms of the relations between cives. In civitas, cives disclosed themselves as such through their actions, and enacted a language concerned with ‘justice’. Cives were ‘just’ to one another in so far as they were related around the rules of the moral practice. These rules were the norms of conduct, the basis upon which their activities as cives were able to take place. Oakeshott calls the flexible system of rules that made up civil association lex. Three characteristics of lex were distinguished. It was said to be a procedure of adjudication, legislation and ruling. Each of these features was understood as authoritative and bound cives to civil obligations and responsibilities. I noted that Oakeshott theorised an ever-present circumstance of individuals. While ruling tried to narrow the divide between the general subscriptions of legislation and contingency, it could never be fully closed. A distinction between public and private was also upheld. Oakeshott argued that the private interests of individuals, while touching upon the public world of lex, was separate to it. I noted that this theorisation of the public and private was in terms of understanding them as ‘relations’ rather than ‘spheres’. It was through politics that the private and public worlds met. Politics for Oakeshott was the activity of considering the desirability of the current terms of lex. By deliberating upon civil association in this manner, individuals in ‘doing’ politics looked at their private interests but only in the wider context of the public concern. Furthermore, I argued that the relationship between politics and morality was ‘intimate’ in that political deliberation involved the weighing up of moral concerns. The relationship was also ‘general’ in respect of politics being intertwined with the maintenance of civil association. In short, my argument is that Oakeshott gives politics a positive role and it is positive because of its relationship to moral conduct. I moved on to examine Oakeshott’s historical essay that dealt with the same themes as the first two essays but from a different perspective. Here Oakeshott was concerned with the ambiguous mode of association known as the modern European state. The state was ambiguous because of the permanent tension between the two modes of association that were said to constitute it, namely, societas and universitas. Societas was understood to relate to civil association. It was distinguished by being constituted by individuals each making choices for themselves on the basis of a moral practice. In contrast, the general features of universitas were said to be its bureaucratic, managerial character. This expressed itself in four main types of
160 Politics and morality state: the cultural and religious state, the corporate state, enlightened government, and the therapeutic state. Besides reiterating Oakeshott’s general theoretical understanding of the civil condition, the examination of this essay once more highlighted the under-theorised ‘fluidity’ of the modes. Oakeshott implies in this study that societas is a more morally coherent association than universitas. But in so doing he draws upon his philosophical arguments that incorporate this moral understanding. The movement between the modes, ‘voices’ or ‘practices’ is presumed but remains theoretically unaccounted for. That Oakeshott fails to deal with this problem here, in his last thorough elucidation of his philosophical system, means that right the way through his writings there is a significant theoretical gap left around his notion of modality.
Part III
Oakeshott and contemporary thought
9
Wittgenstein and discourse analysis
Introduction In the first part of this book I argued that Oakeshott’s restatement of Idealist principles was a counter to the rise of empiricism in its then new form of logical positivism. Furthermore, I indicated how it was that positivism went down the road of linguistics. Although he was critical of their position, it may be said that Oakeshott was articulating a comparable point of view. In defending British Idealism Oakeshott turned it on its head. By taking ‘experience’ as the ‘Absolute’ and (unlike Bradley) fully ‘grounding’ his Monist philosophy so that nothing stood outside of experience, he turned attention to the modes of thought, the ‘traditions’ or ‘practices’ of human conduct. There is to be found in his work no transcendental principles, no ultimate reality, no experience beyond our comprehension, no historical finishing point, no metaphysical starting place save that of what is already known. Oakeshott’s idea of philosophy carries with it the hallmarks of a non-foundational theory. Philosophy does not ‘judge’ or pass verdicts upon human enterprises. It does not have any special knowledge or any prescriptive effect. It is a manner of thinking which attempts to explain human, conduct but in so doing it creates its own categories and differentiates itself from what it attempts to analyse. In his understanding of history Oakeshott again reveals how, for him, what is taken as concrete is, in fact, constructed, and science is similarly exposed as a ‘grand narrative’.1 There is explicit in his philosophy an acceptance of the contingent and indeterminate character of human life, and recognition of the spontaneity of human existence that no discipline can fully capture. For Oakeshott, then, life is an adventure into the unknown and politics is by implication as uncertain and risky as any other human activity.2 I have described how in Oakeshott’s work politics is
164 Oakeshott and contemporary thought ‘attending to the arrangements of a society’, or, latterly, the attempt to diagnose the desirable features of civil association. Much of this has the flavour of the ‘linguistic’ revolution that has reverberated through political theory with startling effect. In this and the next chapter I propose to illustrate what bearing Oakeshott’s work has on all that has been going on, in this respect. In particular I wish to emphasise that he maintains a moral concern as an important part of his non-foundational philosophy, something many ‘post-modern’ theories have difficulty sustaining. In this chapter, then, I shall compare Oakeshott and Wittgenstein to draw out their similarities in terms of ‘non-foundationalism’. Although they were both at the University of Cambridge together for nearly twenty years, it appears that they never met.3 How familiar they were with each other’s work is also unknown. A number of authors have made remarks regarding the similarity of Oakeshott’s work and the ‘later’ Wittgenstein, but none have made a detailed and well-informed comparison.4 Wittgenstein appears to come close to Idealism in general, in that he is concerned with philosophy as a means of explaining what we already know, not some unknowable reality. For him, like Oakeshott, experience is something ultimately not given but made. By highlighting their connecting points I hope to illustrate how a gap opens up which sets Oakeshott’s work into contemporary debates. By way of illustrating this I move on to see how Oakeshott’s work may be used to criticise the ‘neo-rationalist’ discourse theory of Laclau who, I argue, has used Wittgenstein’s ideas in an inappropriate manner.
Philosophical Investigations In Chapter 1 I gave a brief account of Wittgenstein’s work in the Tractatus. Wittgenstein came, of course, to reject this positivist view. He repudiated logical atomism and the picture theory of meaning. However, his assertive style and the goal of abolishing the traditional questions of philosophy remained.5 I shall here outline the basic arguments of the Philosophical Investigations (PI),6 a text that has been taken as a seminal work in the portfolio of ‘postmodern’ literature. My aim here is to focus upon the areas of thought which I shall go on to show have an association with Oakeshott’s philosophy. In place of the ‘hardness of logic’, Wittgenstein argued for a grammatical investigation into language that aimed to get to grips with its seamless variety of uses. This ‘grammar’ was not a systematic theory
Wittgenstein and discourse analysis 165 of language but a way of understanding specific linguistic activities. The method used was connected to the views advocated. Grammatical investigation involved a diverse range of activities: the invention of ‘language-games’, justification of the use of words, interpreting facial expressions, making pictures, looking at conventions and so on. In the Tractatus reality had a defined structure that gave language sense; in PI reality is not mirrored in language but is a grammatical construction. Rather than being a reflection of a fixed and determinate reality, language is intertwined with our ‘forms of life’. These are the underlying consensus of linguistic and non-linguistic conduct, our assumptions, practices, aims and diverse activities that are presupposed in the language we use. Ordinary language is logically sound if it relates to appropriate ‘forms of life’. Language is part of human activity and in so far as we agree upon its use what counts as true and false is simply what we say (PI 241). This brings us to Wittgenstein’s famous remark: to comprehend the meaning of a word is to understand its use (PI 43). The meanings of our expressions are elucidated by use in ordinary language (‘language-games’) through the complex analysis of grammar. From the grammar of a particular use, an expression acquires a meaning that makes it appropriate in other uses, constituting the ‘before and after’ (PI 35). However, meaning and use collide when an expression acquires a meaning from the grammar of a particular use that conflicts with the meaning of the expression used in the context of a different grammar (PI 427). The use of words needs a justification or criterion. There cannot be a private language. ‘Red’ is recognised as such not because it is self-evident but because we have learnt English (PI 381). Wittgenstein makes a similar point about sensations in his discussion of pain (PI 245–57). All our terms of expression can only be understood to have meaning in the context of specific ‘language-games’. But Wittgenstein is not only referring to the use of words: ‘I shall also call the whole, consisting of language and the actions into which it is woven, the language-game’ (PI 7). To learn concepts is to learn their use in specific systems of rules and conventions which establish a relation of difference, enabling us to grasp meanings. Language has no essential logic but is a collection of practices, each with its own internal logic. Wittgenstein states that a ‘game’ is not closed. There is no fixed boundary that constitutes what is a ‘game’. Boundaries are drawn, not given. Their frontiers do not need to be sharp.
166 Oakeshott and contemporary thought An enquiry into the concepts that constitute games reveals not that there is something that these concepts hold in common but that they are a series of relationships and similarities. These he calls ‘family resemblances’. We understand these resemblances in particular games because we understand relevant ‘rules’ of use. The rules of language are constituted by our everyday use of language. We follow rules in the general practice of our language-games. This is established by custom and training. It is a social practice, something regular and repeated. It is not enough simply to know the rules; being master of a technique means knowing what rules are for, what the game is (PI 54). For example, a person goes by a signpost in so far as there exists a use for it, a custom (PI 198). A signpost’s guiding function rests upon the fact that there is an established practice which ensures its use is generally understood. This is how we comprehend the rule in language. Obeying rules is the basis for human activities; it is not something that we choose to do, as rules underpin all our actions: ‘When I obey a rule, I do not choose. I obey the rule blindly’ (PI 219). The consequences of Wittgenstein’s grammatical investigation for philosophy is said to be ‘therapeutic’ (PI 255). The role of philosophy is to undertake grammatical investigations to counter linguistic mistakes. It clarifies existing language: it does not produce ‘true’ understanding. Philosophy describes what we already know and leaves everything as it is (PI 124). Wittgenstein ‘normalises’ philosophical language by arguing that what is meaningful in language exists only in everyday use, in our ‘language-games’. Such is Wittgenstein’s non-foundational philosophy. Human life is depicted as one of convention based on conditional ‘languagegames’. The only truth, the only reality, is in terms of the ‘grammars’ that they constitute. I shall now turn to examine how all this relates to what we know of Oakeshott’s own philosophical investigations.
Oakeshott and Wittgenstein Although their systems of philosophy are of an entirely different kind, Oakeshott and Wittgenstein share much in common. I must emphasise that these are contact points that, I believe, sets them in the same philosophical terrain, but they are absolutely not ‘identical ideas’. The way that each has constructed certain concepts is in a distinct manner. In general, both writers put forward non-essentialist philosophies that reject any Archimedean point outside experience from which to either judge or correct it. The rationalist emphasis on
Wittgenstein and discourse analysis 167 depth (i.e. most obviously ‘the means of production’ in Marx) is replaced by the primacy of ‘appearances’. In Oakeshott’s case this was a move from the Hegelian and Bradlian notion of the ‘Absolute’. In Wittgenstein’s case this was a move from his own earlier logical atomism. In more specific terms we can see parallels between Wittgenstein’s fundamental concepts and what we know about Oakeshott’s work. This is in regard to the notions of ‘forms of life’, ‘rules’, ‘language-games’, the idea of philosophy and, most importantly, in the distinction between theory and practice. Wittgenstein’s ‘forms of life’ illustrates that when we act we do so within the terms of a learnt understanding of a particular ‘discourse’ or ‘language-game’. These ‘forms of life’ are never fixed but fluid, constituted by the various acts and utterances of those participating in them. Whatever their particular contingent shape they are what is given in experience. Elsewhere Wittgenstein states, ‘The questions that we raise and our doubts depend on the fact that some of our propositions are exempt from doubt, are as it were hinges on which those turn.’7 All this sounds very familiar, of course, as it presents the same general philosophical understanding of knowledge that I have been attributing to Oakeshott. Our actions are undertaken on the basis of ‘what we are obliged to think’, on the back of a ‘tradition’. As I maintained in Chapter 5, the character of ‘tradition’ puts Oakeshott’s understanding of human activity upon non-foundational territory. ‘Traditions’ are the preconditions that underpin various human performances. They do not constitute transparent principles to be followed but, like ‘forms of life’, are the dynamic, hazy boundaries of systems of related concepts understood to apply to a particular ‘voice’ in the ‘conversation’ of mankind. In OHC we came to understand that the knowledge learnt in ‘traditions’ is by means of ‘rules’. Both Oakeshott and Wittgenstein take ‘blind’ rule-following to be a common experience which enables us to understand ‘red’ as ‘red’, a ‘signpost’ as a ‘signpost’, and so on. A rule is a norm of conduct that is asserted in a performance. It is a matter not of choice but of convention. Wittgenstein’s ‘language-games’ also have their counterpart in Oakeshott’s philosophy. ‘Language-games’ are clusters of related concepts. These concepts share a grammar because they inhabit the same arena of language use. This Wittgenstein sometimes refers to as language-regions (PI 90). The ‘voices’, ‘modes’ or ‘practices’ have the same theoretical quality as ‘language-games’. They are self-contained meaning systems or discourses. Each of them has a particular language of its own. It is notable that throughout his writings
168 Oakeshott and contemporary thought Oakeshott has recourse to language as a metaphor. But the theory of modality that such descriptions attempt to explain is comprised of actions as well as utterances and, as noted above, this is also the case for ‘language-games’. Wittgenstein attempted to abolish the traditional concerns of philosophy, whereas Oakeshott is saturated in the history of philosophy and its traditional questions. So it may initially seem strange to state it but Oakeshott and Wittgenstein share much in common in terms of their idea of philosophy. They are joined by the view that philosophy is a ‘parasitic’ enterprise; it has no specialised knowledge or language but relates to what is already known. At the same time it has no bearing upon what it seeks to explain, either the ‘grammar’ of particular ‘language-games’ or the modes of thought. Just as theory and practice remain separated for Oakeshott, so too, I would argue, is this distinction drawn in Wittgenstein’s writings. In the Tractatus philosophy is understood solely as ‘elucidation’. In PI philosophy maintains this character: it is not prescriptive but ‘therapeutic’ and what it treats are its own internal ills. The distinction between theory and practice in Wittgenstein’s work is perhaps best illustrated by his determination to show that there is nothing philosophy can tell the ordinary man, about ethics, religion or any other practical matter. The absence of any political commentary in his work suggests the same. This important point has not prevented political theorists from attempting to apply what he says about language to practical as well as theoretical political concerns. In Wittgenstein and Justice, Pitkin attempts the latter.8 She draws a number of comparisons between the philosophical ideas of Wittgenstein and Oakeshott, but rejects the notion that a Wittgensteinian politics might correspond to Oakeshott’s in the same way. This is despite acknowledging that Oakeshott’s emphasis on particular practical contexts, as the basis for political prescriptions (rather than ideologies), is consistent with what might be interpreted from Wittgenstein’s work. Pitkin argues that Oakeshott takes language membership as a model of politics. She seems to have taken his use of ‘conversation’ and ‘voices’ too literally. But as I have shown, these concepts are deeply philosophical. For him politics is the ‘pursuit of intimations’, or the questioning of what is desirable in civil association. And these ideas are based on a particular theory of human and moral conduct. In short, Pitkin bypasses the analysis of the philosophical ideas which give rise to what Oakeshott says about politics. In so doing she fails to engage with what is central to Oakeshott’s position.
Wittgenstein and discourse analysis 169 Pitkin presents a weak analysis. In its place I would suggest that an attempt to draw out ‘political’ implications from Wittgenstein’s work ought to note the comparisons with Oakeshott’s thought, so as to appropriately analyse what a Wittgensteinian politics might look like. Most fundamental to this would be the maintenance of the distinction between theory and practice. All that being said, it ought to be borne in mind that, like Wittgenstein’s’ theory, Oakeshott’s work is open to a number of serious criticisms, not least of which is the absence of a theoretical explanation for the ‘fluidity’ of the modes. I raise this in order to highlight the difficulty, if not the redundancy, of extracting aspects of an author’s philosophical work to apply them to purely ‘political’ or ‘social’ projects. Such an undertaking not only reduces the overall content of what an author has to say, but ignores the flawed character of their philosophy and leaves the ‘social’ or ‘political’ theory weakened by taking on board the philosopher’s assumptions.
Oakeshott and discourse analysis Such a project as this may be ascribed to Ernesto Laclau (and the school of thought that has developed around his work9), who has interpreted Wittgenstein’s work in a particular ideological manner. He begins by acknowledging that in Wittgenstein’s work there is an implicit challenge to rationalism. Laclau’s post-Marxist writings are an attempt to repudiate the rationalism of the tradition in which he was schooled.10 In New Reflections on the Revolution of Our Time he states that socialism is no longer a blueprint for society but should form part of its radical and plural democratisation.11 A new understanding of the limits of reason had changed the ideals of radical transformation that had hitherto been guided by the rationalism of the Enlightenment. The rationalist position involved the claim that there was an ultimate determinate meaning of ‘the social’ (conceived around the notion of God, reason, human nature, etc.). Corresponding to this was the idea of the universal subject. But in the revolution of our time a ‘crisis of reason’ had occurred. Wittgenstein’s philosophy was central to this (along with Derrida, Foucault, Barthes, and so on). It illustrated that there was no ultimate foundation to society. The concept of ‘language-games’ provided an awareness of the contingent character of the social that is revealed in all its radical ‘historicity of being’. The social as an intelligible object is, therefore, seen to be an impossibility. Laclau argues that language is a system of difference (something taken from Saussure12 although not foreign to Wittgenstein’s
170 Oakeshott and contemporary thought philosophy), where identities of elements are purely relational. He applies this to the social structure, in his terms a signifying structure and, therefore, open to such an analysis. If all identity is differentiated it means that the social order cannot achieve complete closure, a final suture. Rather, the social is constituted by the infinite play of differences. These may come together as ‘discourses’. What Laclau means by ‘discourse’ corresponds to Wittgenstein’s ‘language-games’ that incorporate linguistic and extra-linguistic meaning systems. It is in discourse that social identities and objects become meaningful. They exist only as a system of relations with other objects and identities that are socially constructed. Just as for Wittgenstein an expression’s meaning is given only in its use, every identity or discursive object for Laclau is constituted in the context of a particular articulation. Although this view might superficially correspond to Oakeshott’s notions I think there are important differences. Oakeshott understands identity to be related in a system of similarity and difference, and according to what is already known. Furthermore, his understanding of identity is tied to the non-foundational notion of experience as the ‘concrete universal’. Putting aside the specific theoretical differences in their understanding of identity, the fundamental distinction here is that Laclau presumes that a system of related identities is enough to constitute a ‘society’, whereas Oakeshott’s philosophy explains how agents remain individual and ‘free’. In other words, Laclau postulates ‘society’ without really explaining its theoretical status. This is a shame, as his work may have provided some indication of how to deal with Oakeshott’s philosophical individualism. ‘The social’ has an important position in Laclau’s work: it is the basis for his claim for the continuing relevance of the concept of hegemony. But if we take ‘language-games’ or modes of thought as understood in Oakeshott’s terms there is no grounds for presuming society and endowing it with actions of its own, as Laclau appears to do. On a political level all this has important implications. Although ‘the social’ is understood as an infinite play of differences by Laclau, there are attempts to limit this through hegemonic articulations. Areas of the social become sedimented. This is because it is possible to achieve a relative fixity throughout the institution of ‘nodal points’. Both Laclau and Oakeshott use this geographer’s term, and the way that they use it is illuminating. For Oakeshott nodal points are abbreviations, densities which stop the adventure of practices at a particular point. (OHC p. 68). This is the starting place for ideolo-
Wittgenstein and discourse analysis 171 gies and principles, ideals and rules, where certain concepts become exaggerated and mistaken for the whole of the language themselves. However, these ideologies (whether they are political, moral or whatever) cannot provide the basis of political or moral choices. They are general considerations that do not provide for particular circumstances. For Laclau nodal points are empty signifiers around which there is a convergence of different meanings, for example ‘democracy’. Laclau maintains that social cohesiveness is possible around such empty signifiers. But there is no ‘hardness of the rule’; there can be no fixed meaning to such concepts. Society is always a hegemonic articulation, it can never have a solid foundation. From this nonessentialist standpoint Laclau attempts to make it possible to maintain the idea of ideology. This becomes the refusal to recognise the unstable, articulated character of social formations. Ideology is a discursive form articulated by a ‘society’ attempting closure of some sort. This articulation involves the constitution of political identities or frontiers, the drawing of boundaries. It is at this point that Laclau’s notion of antagonism comes in. Antagonism is about drawing the limits of identities. Antagonism is always constitutive; in Staten’s terms it is the ‘constitutive outside’ inherent to discourse.13 Antagonism ‘shows’ (in the early Wittgenstein’s sense) a political order is not a totality. It is an ‘experience’ of the limits of the social which indicates its impossibility. The idea of ‘radical democracy’ emerges from the notion of the partial fixity of society. Radical democracy would recognise the full play of difference and the constructed character of society. It would allow for a plurality of ‘public spaces’ where the articulation of subject identities could take place. Again in Oakeshott’s terms, the idea of a particular ‘public’ space or spaces for politics to take place relies upon a misunderstanding of the relation of human and moral conduct to politics. All actions of citizens, when individuals are engaged as such, are public because the actions and utterances that they make are presupposed by the rules of civil association. Politics does not take place here or there but is a particular ‘relation’ between individuals when they come together as cives. This, Oakeshott states, is what Aristotle meant by the term agora, and he implies it has been misunderstood ever since (OHC p. 166). Furthermore, what this discussion brings out is that although Laclau attempts to define an understanding of politics which is unfixed and contingent, conditional and open to interpretation, he does so only at the level of ‘articulations’ or meanings of actions
172 Oakeshott and contemporary thought and utterances. In a sense this is similar to the very rationalist theories that he purports to argue against. His political analysis stops at the level of ‘ideology’ and ‘hegemony’, whereas Oakeshott’s nonfoundational philosophical politics takes into account the ‘practices’ or ‘traditions’, the systems of rules that he, like Wittgenstein, recognised as providing the conditions for all such actions and utterances. In Hegemony and Socialist Strategy Laclau, along with Chantel Mouffe, argues that the ‘Left’ should look to the new social movements.14 An articulation should be attempted to bring the different struggles together in a ‘bloc’ based, initially at least, on their ‘family resemblances’. The possibility put forward by the co-authors is that a hegemonic articulation might be instituted by challenging the New Right’s ideas of democracy and liberty that were conceived purely in terms of economic freedoms. Radical democracy, in contrast, would incorporate wider subject identities and various political projects. The democratic task was to create a plurality of hegemonic formations within manifold hegemonic contexts. Radical democracy would also keep equality on the agenda. Laclau admits the indeterminate character of articulations means that any political act or utterance has no necessary outcome. Even though his desire is to keep equality as a central part of political discourse, there is no simple way to ensure that ‘equality’ itself is not taken in many different ways. Indeed, his only way of justifying its promotion is to acknowledge the tradition he comes from and that, like all political statements, his are also something parochial. As we saw with the discussion of Foucault in Chapter 6, Laclau also falls down on a point of political or moral subjectivism. In the end there is nothing in his thought that can be taken for a significant theory of action, even less a guide to how we should act ‘politically’. Moreover, according to Oakeshott’s understanding of ‘politics’, Laclau presents only one side of the story. Political analysis in his work merely relates to the wished-for outcomes which corresponds to enterprise associations. By denying that politics is more than this, that it is intertwined with morality, Laclau not only presents a weak theory but also reduces the importance of politics itself. In this sense he presents an anti-political viewpoint. Furthermore, Laclau uses Wittgenstein to cross the boundary between theory and practice. As I have pointed out, this is something that is itself antithetical to Wittgenstein’s thought. Laclau’s political analysis may be disposed to point out the conditional ground of all political norms, but in attempting to infringe upon political practice by prescribing ‘equality’ through the ‘new social movements’ (however indetermi-
Wittgenstein and discourse analysis 173 nate such nodal points may be), he loses sight of the character of both theory and practice. Laclau and Oakeshott are set on the same theoretical terrain by virtue of their relation to Wittgenstein’s philosophy. These parallels open up a dialogue between the two. Laclau appears similar to Oakeshott in that he has no universal project: he sets out a theoretical framework for a politics fully aware of contingency, the changeability of the rule in different articulations, the partial fixity of meanings, and so on. However, a closer comparison reveals an ocean between them. Above all, discourse analysis leaves the door open for a kind of rationalism that to Oakeshott subverts political and moral life. That this is its potential may be seen by the way that Laclau takes Wittgenstein’s ‘forms of life’, not as a philosophical explanation similar to Oakeshott’s ‘traditions’ or ‘rules’, but as ideological or hegemonic articulation. In reducing political analysis to the discovery of ‘articulations’, Laclau not only sets his theory on a supremely subjectivist path, but also applies a form of knowledge which Oakeshott would associate with rationalism. Moreover, by using his theoretical explorations to prescribe political practice (i.e. ‘radical democracy’), however open-ended, the hand to rationalism is extended.
Conclusion In this chapter I have attempted to show the contemporary relevance of Oakeshott’s work through a comparison with Wittgenstein. I have illustrated this by pointing to the type of theoretical terrain that the two share. My argument has been that this comparison further reveals the non-foundational character of Oakeshott’s philosophy and also that it illustrates how his work might be useful in relation to current theoretical debates. To summarise, Wittgenstein takes reality to be a grammatical construction. What we do with language is not just arbitrary but conducted upon the basis of ‘forms of life’. These are the conditions upon which utterances and actions are endowed with meaning. They are not something questioned but the postulates upon which we identify and give meaning to what we do. The use to which we put language gives rise to ‘language-games’, self-contained meaning systems or discourses. Where a meaning is taken out of its particular context and set in another ‘language-game’ it ‘collides’, it cannot make sense. This is because underlying language are the ‘rules’ of use. These rules are what we follow ‘blindly’, the conditions of the
174 Oakeshott and contemporary thought ‘forms of life’ that give meaning to the actions and utterances of our ‘language-games’. All that takes place in ‘language-games’ is given meaning by rule-following and given identity by way of ‘family resemblances’. This concept is used by Wittgenstein to illustrate the open-ended character of human practices. No identity is fixed; everything is liable to change. From Oakeshott’s earliest philosophical writings I have detected a similar frame of mind. Reality is identified with experience, with all that is ‘going-on’. Experience is what we make of it, a construct of individual selves. Human life takes place on the back of ‘traditions’ or ‘practices’. These are the conditions, the postulates, upon which utterances and actions take place. All human activity is based on rule-following. If we choose not to follow rules it is not because rules, per se, are of no use, but because we find a particular rule inappropriate for a particular situation. They are the given, ‘what we are obliged to think’. Actions and utterances become related, through a system of difference and similarity and by what is already known, into modes of thought. These ‘voices’ are conditional languages, each with its own terms of references, a system of meaning. Where one (say, science) is used under the conditions of another (say, history), there occurs an irrelevance. In general the philosophies of Wittgenstein and Oakeshott share a non-foundational character. Both take experience to be something constructed, not given. In attempting to explain the ‘grammar’ or ‘postulates’ of the human condition, philosophy remains aloof. It has no bearing on that which it seeks to explain. There is a fundamental distinction drawn between theory and practice. Despite this it has not prohibited thinkers from attempting to devise a Wittgensteinian politics. I have illustrated how Pitkin’s attempt to distinguish him from what she (mistakenly) takes to be Oakeshott’s position is flawed. However, Laclau has drawn on a number of Wittgenstein’s central propositions in order to conceptualise his discourse theory. It has been my argument that by understanding the similarities between Oakeshott’s and Wittgenstein’s work it is possible to critique Laclau’s position. Laclau’s initial mistake, I think, is to take Wittgenstein’s ‘forms of life’ as no more than sedimented social practices, rather than understanding that these are the postulates upon which practices or performances take place, Laclau takes them as mere ‘articulations’, ideological or hegemonic attempts at creating stability around nodal points. However, I have argued that ‘forms of life’ have more in common with Oakeshott’s understanding of the ‘traditions’ or ‘rules’ that underpin human activities. They are what are neces-
Wittgenstein and discourse analysis 175 sary for a particular act or utterance to have meaning. Laclau’s position focuses upon a purely technical knowledge of human understanding but Wittgenstein and Oakeshott are attempting to get to grips with the inarticulate norms of conduct that constitute particular performances. So it is that I have argued that discourse analysis here represents a new kind of rationalism. In spite of the challenge to rationalism in this non-foundational theory, in spite of the acceptance of the contingency of even its own articulations, Laclau’s work continues that aspect of the tradition of the Enlightenment that he is supposed to be challenging. Furthermore, in opening up the potential for a uniting of theory and practice he leaves intact what is most central to the whole rationalist enterprise. Moreover, he does so against Wittgenstein’s own criteria for philosophy, so that what he ‘abstracts’ from Wittgenstein’s work is inappropriately applied.
10 Liberalism, pragmatism and deconstruction
Introduction In the last chapter I tried to highlight how Oakeshott’s work, when situated next to that of Wittgenstein, might add something to contemporary political theory. I would like, in this final chapter, to continue this theme by setting Oakeshott within the context of a number of current debates. This chapter shares something with the first. It is not meant to be a rigorous comparison with other thinkers but a portfolio of illustrations designed to enquire into whether Oakeshott’s work has a continuing relevance. As such the presentation of the contrasting authors’ work will be of a limited nature, sufficient for general comparative purposes. To begin with I shall directly engage with the idea of taking Oakeshott as a liberal. Here I am not concerned with comparing Oakeshott’s work to that of leading liberal and communitarian authors. This has been done elsewhere.1 Although I recognise that such comparisons may be undertaken, I question the usefulness of taking this too far. In this respect I look at John Gray’s description of Oakeshott as a liberal, before moving on to a critique of Franco’s central thesis. The hazy distinction between what is ‘essentialist’ and ‘nonessentialist’ has been questioned by a number of thinkers.2 Among others, Richard Rorty has argued that post-modern theorists can be understood in the same terms as other ‘edifying’ modernist philosophers of the past.3 Rorty has become known for drawing upon Oakeshott’s understanding of the world as a ‘conversation’. He has been one of the few prominent voices to recognise Oakeshott’s contemporary significance. In bringing his name to our attention, in a context which differs from ‘liberal’ or ‘conservative’ interpretations, he has done much to revive interest in his work. I shall look at how he uses the notion of ‘conversation’ and some related ideas from
Liberalism, pragmatism and deconstruction 177 OHC. I argue that his use of the term has more to do with his own pragmatic theory than a close following of Oakeshott’s intent. However, because of the problem of the ‘fluidity’ of the modes that I have been highlighting, I argue that Rorty’s use of Oakeshott’s concepts can be said to stand up to scrutiny. Finally, I approach the task of looking at the effect that deconstruction might be said to have on Oakeshott’s idea of philosophy. Derrida’s move has been to argue that philosophy is not, in fact, an unconditional mode of thought but has postulates (‘ethico-theoretical’ biases) of its own. This view challenges Oakeshott’s understanding of philosophy as unconditional thought, having no ‘assumptions’ of its own. I shall argue that Derrida’s idea of deconstruction does not significantly undermine Oakeshott’s position. Overall in this chapter I aim to further highlight the character and significance of Oakeshott’s non-foundational philosophical system by setting his thought alongside various contemporary thinkers. At the same time the problems of Oakeshott’s philosophy must not be forgotten. In no way do I intend to suggest that Oakeshott’s work is, in its entirety, superior in all respects to the work of Derrida, Rorty and so on. I only argue that his work is significant because of the attempt to tie a moral concern to his politics and philosophical system.
Oakeshott and liberalism Since Greenleaf’s first study of Oakeshott’s writings those sympathetic to his ideas have tried to bring out the liberal (as opposed to ‘conservative’) tendencies in his work. My argument has been explicit in its rejection of this view. I am concerned that an orthodoxy does not emerge which takes Oakeshott’s writings only in this manner. His ideas may be compared to that of deontological liberals such as Rawls, Nozick, Dworkin and Hayek as well as the communitarianism of Sandel, Taylor, MacIntyre et al. But what he has to say should not be ‘abstracted’ from some of his conclusions about civil association as is so done by those seeking a correspondence of the liberal kind. By way of illustrating how Oakeshott’s work is limited by the ‘liberal’ perspective I shall relate the debates through an analysis of an essay by Gray, who has taken Oakeshott in this manner.4 Gray states that his intention is to find out just what kind of liberal Oakeshott is. He maintains that Oakeshott rejects any fixed doctrine of liberalism, characterised not only by Locke, Kant and J. S. Mill but more recently by Rawls and Nozick. This brand of liberalism would be no more than a derivation of rationalism in
178 Oakeshott and contemporary thought Oakeshott’s eyes. Gray argues that we can learn ‘lessons’ by attending to Oakeshott’s view that limited government cannot be determined by first principles but only established conditionally by circumstantial reasoning and the precedents and judgements of various practices of political life. The first ‘lesson’ involves rejecting all attempts to list basic liberties (as Rawls and Dworkin do) from a conception of justice. This view, Gray argues, is based upon a mistaken conception of philosophy which (as Oakeshott would agree) has no practical application. The second ‘lesson’ is to take Oakeshott’s conception of political life as a ‘conversation’ in order to ensure politics is not subsumed by other discourses, such as a legalistic one dominated by the language of rights. Third, Gray sees Oakeshott’s positive statement of liberalism in his understanding of civil association. He argues that in common with classical liberalism the state is recognised as legitimate in so far as it protects and maintains a system of lex. It is this account of the authority of the office of rule that marks Oakeshott as a liberal more than his individualism. In general, Gray is only able to state that Oakeshott is a liberal by ignoring other ways that his thought may be characterised – for example, as a conservative. But the real point is that such labels are limiting. Gray makes the mistake of being too anxious to situate Oakeshott ‘ideologically’ and in so doing makes an error about his understanding of politics. Gray takes Oakeshott’s understanding of politics to be conceptualised as a ‘conversation’. From this point he argues that its unique voice should be maintained. He states that politics is recognised by Oakeshott as moderate and accommodating, in which what is sought is peace, not truth. This may well be a liberal image of politics but it is not Oakeshott’s. As we have seen, Oakeshott’s ‘conversation’ is the concept of experience (as a nonfoundational ‘concrete universal’) that appears in EM and reappears in OHC as ‘all that is going-on’. There are an infinite number of ‘voices’ (or modes) in the conversation. While Oakeshott describes what appears to be the most coherent of these (philosophy, history, science, ‘poetry’, practice), politics does not have its own separate voice, as such. In theoretical terms politics may be understood under the terms of history and philosophy, in practical terms under the postulates of human and moral conduct. Furthermore, while political activity is understood as the pursuit of intimations this is taken as an explanation of human action. It is what actually happens, what is achieved in practice. But its features are those of argument and contestation, of dogmas and rules. In OHC Oakeshott points out that ‘politics’ has a private self-interested dimension, as well as being
Liberalism, pragmatism and deconstruction 179 part of the public concern. In putting forward this description he is at pains to disassociate ‘politics’ from any but a particular philosophical understanding. It is understood as a postulate of civitas, a condition of civil association, not a ‘peaceful’ image of political activity. It is true that Oakeshott gives politics a distinctive character, that it has a particular place in his theory of human conduct, but this is an account that is wedded to his philosophy as a whole, and this is not a marriage of convenience for liberalism. Gray’s general mistake is to abstract from Oakeshott’s philosophy certain conclusions he reaches about politics. For this reason he mistakenly associates lex with a classical liberal view of civil association and with a particular form of government. He also inappropriately criticises it on this basis. But as I have argued in Chapter 8, when we look at his philosophy as a whole, civil association is understood as a moral association, and lex a means to maintain this association in order that individuals may pursue moral conduct on the basis of self-disclosure and self-enactment. No particular type of state, government or party of government is being recommended. Taking liberalism as the key to understand Oakeshott’s work only reduces the detail of his work. One of the most prominent commentators on Oakeshott’s work over the last fifteen years who also does this is Paul Franco. Franco argues that Oakeshott’s writings transcend the limits of the liberalcommunitarian debate.5 Moreover, Oakeshott’s civil association provides an answer to communitarian criticisms of deontological liberalism. For example, communitarians have criticised the deontological liberal notion of the subject. Sandel and Taylor have maintained that it rests on an atomistic conception of the self as prior to and independent of society. These writers have argued that liberals fail to grasp the constitutive role of the community in selfunderstanding. Franco states that there is much to justify such views but that these criticisms cannot apply to Oakeshott’s ‘restatement’ of liberalism. This is because of his Hegelian attitude towards the self and his ‘liberal theory’ of freedom. For Franco, Oakeshott’s theory of civil association is a liberal theory which incorporates a hermeneutic conception of the self. Franco maintains this view by arguing that Oakeshott has a Hegelian attitude towards the ‘self’ and ‘society’. But he has no such thing. Oakeshott’s philosophy is certainly influenced by the Idealist traditions from which many of Hegel’s framing ideas are formed. Yet in drawing upon these Oakeshott theorises them in his own way. One such way is to insist that, in fact, ‘there is no such thing as
180 Oakeshott and contemporary thought society’. Franco, eager to situate Oakeshott ‘politically’, alters the terms of his philosophical ideas, and in so doing he loses sight of the philosophical character of Oakeshott’s work. As I argued in Chapter 7, Franco clearly wants to make the ‘self-consciously conditional theorist’ of OHC legitimate. Not only does he attempt to do this by ignoring what Oakeshott says about the ‘risk’ of rationalism involved in such enterprises, but he also tries to assimilate Oakeshott’s own work to this platform of thought. But this is not possible to do. In relation to the ‘self’, what Oakeshott has to say can only be grasped in philosophical terms. Selves come together in enterprise and civil associations. While the former may have written rules, and the latter established ‘practices’, there is no collective knowledge; no conceptual identity is given to a ‘society’ whatsoever. This does not mean that Oakeshott has an ‘atomistic’ theory of the individual. He avoids this in his philosophical explanation, as we have seen. More importantly it must be recognised that this understanding of the ‘self’ has no implications for the terms of reference which try to understand the relationship between ‘individual’ and ‘society’ in ‘political theory’. There are many areas of Oakeshott’s thought which just do not ‘fit’ a merely liberal reading of his work. As I noted in Chapter 5, even the attempt to take Oakeshott as a liberal in terms of his economic ideas reduces the content of his thought by ignoring the moral concerns that are intertwined with this discussion. Moreover, how could one, for example, characterise Oakeshott’s understanding of ‘religion’ as ‘liberal’? Yet its place in his philosophy is clearly grasped when one considers it in terms of his system of thought as a whole and, most importantly, in relation to his moral concern. This is not to say that liberal elements can be associated with some of his ideas about politics. Oakeshott was, after all, attempting to explain politics, constructing his philosophical concepts from what we already know. Given that our political system has, in the modern era, been a ‘liberal’ one it is hardly surprising that what he explains in relation to politics is done in the language of liberalism. But this in itself does not make him a liberal. Not only does such a view lose sight of the character of Oakeshott’s philosophy as a whole, but it also implies that this is what is most important in his work. This is, as I hope I have argued throughout, not the case.
Oakeshott and the mirror of nature It is not only by depicting him as a ‘liberal’ that commentators have tried to situate Oakeshott in a contemporary terrain. Richard Rorty
Liberalism, pragmatism and deconstruction 181 has introduced Oakeshott’s ideas into his pragmatic philosophy.6 There seems to have always been a superficial resemblance between British Idealism and pragmatism. Both schools of thought take experience to be largely ‘on the surface’, and their conclusions often end up agreeing with fairly commonplace points of view. As a pragmatist, Rorty suggests that philosophy has got nothing to do with answering the perennial questions of human existence: why are we here? what is the ‘good life’? what is ‘just’? On the whole, philosophy has been understood as a mirror of nature, where we are brought ‘face to face’ with objective facts. Philosophy is said to deal with what is ‘real’, with immediate ‘objects of belief’. Once such representations have been discerned the next step has been the attempt to improve the activity of the representations it believes it has established. Then comes the idea that the way to have accurate representations is to find, within the Mirror, a special privileged class of representations so compelling that their accuracy cannot be doubted. These privileged foundations will be the foundations of knowledge, and the discipline which directs us towards them – the theory of knowledge – will be the foundation of culture.7 Against the idea that philosophy seeks out foundations of knowledge, Rorty maintains that the ‘linguistic turn’ of the twentieth century has exposed philosophy for what it always was, a ‘conversation’. Instead of devoting themselves to the ‘transcendental’ questions of the past, ‘edifying’ post-modern philosophers are unconcerned with the false premises or bad arguments in the works of their predecessors. Instead they look for possible forms of intellectual life in which the vocabulary of philosophical reflection, inherited from the seventeenth century, would seem as pointless as the ways of thinking in the thirteenth century did to the Enlightenment. This movement, Rorty seems to suggest, has been sparked off most notably in the work of Wittgenstein. He takes his idea of philosophy as ‘therapeutic’, as an attempt to discourage the ‘obsession’ with unsolvable questions. Rather than talking about ideas, philosophers should talk about meanings. Philosophy is not concerned with a distinct method or subject but it is simply ‘talk about’ Plato, Hegel, Kant and so on. Elsewhere Rorty states that philosophy is a kind of writing.8 Philosophy does not come to philosophical answers but ends up in more writing. Texts only comment upon other texts, not the ‘objective’ world. Rorty declares himself a nominalist who sees language simply as a tool. Nominalists see language as just people using marks
182 Oakeshott and contemporary thought and noises in a variety of different ways to get what they want, whether what they want is food or to understand the universe. In another essay Rorty outlines what this means in political terms.9 Rather than construct an ‘anti-foundationalist theoretical hope’ (which he detects in some poststructuralist accounts) he maintains that we should direct our gaze to ‘genuine social hope’. He gives the example of Havel and suggests that events in (what was then) Czechoslovakia might irradiate the imagination of future students aware of the humane tone (human fallibility) apparent in our history. For Rorty, then, philosophy is a ‘conversation’. He uses this term, which he explicitly takes from Oakeshott, in order to distinguish his non-foundational understanding of philosophy from that of the ‘confrontational’ foundationalist view. He likens this view to hermeneutics where, he says, people are engaged in civility rather than looking for a common ground, a societas rather than a universitas.10 It is notable that in using these terms, which are of course found in OHC, Rorty takes a philosophical ‘ideal character’, that of civility, and simply equates it with Oakeshott’s historical terms for the two types of European state, societas and universitas. Although Rorty does not give any indication that he is aware he is confusing his categories, his blurring of Oakeshott’s historical and philosophical ideas is possible given the theoretical lapse in Oakeshott’s work. As well as characterising philosophy as a ‘conversation’ Rorty also uses the term in order to identify the relations between philosophy and the other modes of life. Given Oakeshott’s understanding it might seem that he would draw a distinction between theory and practice. However, this is not entirely the case. He begins by claiming that philosophy cannot tell us anything about other forms of life. At one particular historical time a philosopher may develop an interest in morals, politics or whatever. Such interests may lead her to ‘saying something’ about it, but this is different from expressing a view about a subject. The only real ‘moral’ concern of philosophers is to keep talking. Rorty does not state that philosophers cannot talk about practical things. Rather, he blurs the lines of distinction between disciplines. Philosophers may well engage in other matters but this is not to find ‘foundations of knowledge’. If a philosopher draws upon particular historical knowledge of similar debates or upon ‘stale philosophical clichés’ which are (and will probably remain) in use, she may engage in any kind of conversation she wishes. But she must not be under the illusion that this constitutes a specialised knowledge and that what she says is more significant than any other view. It is just different.
Liberalism, pragmatism and deconstruction 183 In drawing upon Oakeshott’s ‘conversation’ to explain the relation between philosophy and other disciplines, Rorty attempts to cloud the boundaries between them. Indeed, Rorty’s general use of ‘conversation’ and his idea of philosophy is quite different from Oakeshott’s intent. Under Rorty’s pragmatism philosophy loses its distinctive character in the ‘conversation’ of humankind. This was, of course, something that Oakeshott wanted to preserve. Although all the various ‘voices’ may engage in ‘conversation’ they did so in recognition that they represented different systems of meanings (‘languagegames’) that did not have anything substantial to pass on to one another. While Rorty wishes to strip philosophy of anything peculiar to say in its own right, Oakeshott, acknowledging philosophy has no specialised knowledge of its own, nevertheless endows it with a specific, unique role. Rorty’s use of conversation is designed to make theoretical reflection banal. Philosophy is simply writing or talking. In contrast, Oakeshott takes the whole tradition of philosophy seriously. He takes up the traditional concerns of philosophy, despite separating theory and practice and despite his own non-foundational framework. What Rorty attempts to do with the concept of ‘conversation’ is to express his own idea of philosophy rather than getting to grips with Oakeshott’s theoretical understanding. It is likely that he deliberately makes banal Oakeshott’s notion, as he takes no notice of its place within his Idealist derived theoretical system. Similarly, Rorty reduces politics to the character of ‘social hope’ or people simply getting what they want. In Oakeshott’s terms this represents an enterprise association, and therefore tells only half of the story. In Rorty’s work we find Oakeshott rubbing shoulders with Wittgenstein, Heidegger, Derrida and a number of poststructuralists. Credit must be given to him for recognising that Oakeshott is able to keep such company. Yet even though he recognised Oakeshott’s contemporary significance Rorty uses his idea of ‘conversation’, ultimately, to legitimise his own work. However, as I have already noted above, his use of this concept to break down the boundaries between philosophy and other disciplines is not totally without substance. This is because Oakeshott’s own lack of analysis in this respect leaves the way open for such an interpretation.
Oakeshott and deconstruction The single most profound challenge to Western philosophy of recent times has come in the shape of deconstruction. I say ‘challenge’ but
184 Oakeshott and contemporary thought Derrida, the architect of deconstruction, has expressed that he has no desire to destroy philosophy. However, his position as a philosopher has been intensely, not to say emotionally, debated. There is no quick and easy way to explain deconstruction. The best account I know of its method has been put forward by Gasché.11 It is around this interpretation that I shall frame my own description below. Deconstruction is the infidel within Western philosophy which seeks to account for the ‘logo-centric’ tradition which has dominated it; in so doing, deconstruction attempts to reveal the non-essentiality of its concepts. According to Gasché, in undertaking this task deconstruction can be understood as a positive methodological device. Its method is not something merely ‘applied’ from a point of exteriority, but rather it proceeds from a point of exteriority to philosophy in order to re-inscribe that which is excessive within the discourse of the ‘metaphysics of presence’. The incision of deconstruction is in this sense ambiguous. It is determined by its context but it is also outside it. For Derrida this means that deconstruction is never the effect of a subjective act of desire or will. Derrida is concerned with a naiveté unthought through by philosophers which is a consequence of the logical consistency sought for within its discourse. This naiveté may be singled out by beginning with what is marginal and what is deemed ‘Other’ in the formal structure, rhetorical organisation, mode of exposition and production, and so on, of the philosophical text. Derrida argues that the metaphysics of presence is only successful because of certain ‘ethicotheoretical’ decisions taken to ensure its argument’s coherence. All philosophical concepts and values have been conceived as noncontradictory, lacking difference and separation, and they are always arranged hierarchically (whether recognised or not). Concepts appear in bipolar oppositions which are not simply juxtaposed but ordered in arrangements of subordination. What makes metaphysics possible is the evasion of insights that result from the failure to question the discrepancies and inconsistencies of philosophical concepts. The inquiry into the process of philosophical conceptualisation brings to light a new field of ‘contradictions’ and ‘aporias’ necessary for philosophy’s successful completion.12 These refer to the general dissimilarity between elements in philosophical discourse. Derrida argues that there is an essential non-homogeneity between concepts and philosophical texts. Philosophical concepts exist on a disregard of their own bipolar oppositions to which they deny a value similar to their own. Concepts are produced within discursive networks of difference; they are what they are in relation to other concepts, and
Liberalism, pragmatism and deconstruction 185 inscribe this ‘Otherness’ within themselves. Each concept is part of a conceptual binary opposition where each term is believed to be exterior to the other. Yet the opposite makes each concept what it is. A concept is constituted by an interval, by a difference from another concept. No concept can be thought rigorously without including the ‘trace’ of its difference from its ‘Other’ within itself. This is the first phase of deconstruction, where concepts are revealed as manifold and not tied to one use. The second phase of deconstruction is the re-inscription of concepts which restores the traits of concepts to their generality. In this way, Gasché maintains, deconstruction does not attempt to destroy philosophy but accounts for the impossibility of its final closure. The picturing of the ‘infrastructure’ is at the heart of Gasché’s understanding of the second phase of deconstruction. This is the formal rules within texts that regulate the play of the contradictions in question. It is the infrastructures that displace the logic of philosophy and inscribe it within a general heterology. In this way Derrida attempts to expose ‘the structurality of structure’. Whereas structures have been taken as closed, comprising a form of ‘essence’, Derrida attempts to open and decentre structures. In relation to the bipolar oppositions, the infrastructure constitutes the ‘open matrix’ in which the oppositions and contradictions are engendered. Gasché insists that the infrastructures have a pre-ontological and pre-logical status. They belong to a space ‘logically’ anterior to metaphysics. They have no meaning in themselves, no essence or identity. Infrastructures manifest themselves only in difference but never ‘as-such’. They tie together a variety of heterogeneous concepts and show how they account for congruity in a given context while also maintaining their irreducible difference. Infrastructures are, therefore, not grounds in the traditional philosophical sense but non-foundational structures. They must be understood equivocally as simultaneously grounds and not grounds, conditions of possibility and impossibility. In short, then, deconstruction is an attempt to account, by way of infrastructures, for a variety of different ‘contradictions’ within philosophical texts. In all his work this is the method that Derrida employs. He has used it to illustrate that there are no essential concepts, that they are constituted as such by what is left out, for example in the notion of ‘origins’.13 The question to ask now is: does Derrida’s deconstruction undermine what Oakeshott has to say? Let me first state that Derrida’s method of analysing the postulates of philosophical texts is undertaken on the basis of detailed but nevertheless interpretative readings.
186 Oakeshott and contemporary thought Although he stated that what he was doing was not a subjective act of will, the Paul de Mann affair threw this into question. The point here is not the rights and wrongs of Paul de Mann’s apparently antiSemitic wartime journalism, but the fact that Derrida used his supposedly ‘subjective’ method to write in defence of his friend and theoretical companion.14 More generally, as one commentator has suggested, Derrida does not work in a vacuum and his claims to detachment must be taken as lightly as all others of the social sciences: ‘The parasitic status of the language of deconstruction cannot be maintained in the face of ethico-political constraints.’15 Consequently it may be said that his reading of a text is like any other traditional reading; if we do not agree with important points of his interpretation, and can sustain an alternative, we are not obliged to accept it. It follows in this case that what he goes on to say about the bipolar distinctions may also be discarded. Recognition of the interpretative character of Derrida’s deconstruction is not grounds for dismissing it. But it is grounds for scepticism towards his claims. Just as with any other secondary account of philosophy, his views must not be taken as gospel. All that being said, there is a further problem. Once the interpretative nature of Derrida’s work is revealed there is no framework to stop it falling into the same kind of theoretical subjectivism as I showed in Chapter 9 was the case with the work of Laclau. This is because he gives us no criteria for accepting his view. He presents no philosophical system as a framework for his method of deconstruction or any historical, political or moral imperative for us to consider why his view is more ‘true’ than any other interpretative reading. This is not the case for Oakeshott. While an interpretive reading of texts is to be found in Oakeshott’s work, he does not fall into the subjectivism of Derrida’s accounts. This is because Oakeshott’s readings are, as I have been arguing throughout, contextualised and substantiated by virtue of his whole system of thought. His readings are not only affected by his worked-through account of the distinction between theory and practice but, more fundamentally, by his moral concern that sustains a particular understanding of knowledge. All this affects his interpretations of other authors’ work. We may not agree with his interpretation but at least he gives us substantive reasons for taking it seriously. Putting aside this moral malaise and the debates about the subjectivism of his work, how does Derrida’s claim that he reveals the ‘postulates’ of philosophy sit with Oakeshott’s understanding of philosophy as unconditional thought? Let us just remind ourselves of
Liberalism, pragmatism and deconstruction 187 what Oakeshott is saying. In OHC the world is said to be constituted by various ‘goings-on’ which human beings are able to theorise. Theorising is a seamless pursuit which has ‘platforms’ of understanding that do not undermine each other. When we move from one platform to another we become aware of its conditionality. Theorising involves no ‘progression’, exchanging the illusion of the cave for the truth of the light. Nor does it ever reach the ‘bottom’, a final unconditional understanding. Philosophy is unconditional because it understands its own conditionality. Now, this being the case it seems to me that Derrida’s idea that there is something ‘unthought’ or ‘naive’ in philosophy is misplaced. For Oakeshott the philosopher is aware of the conditions that entail doing philosophy. She understands herself to be engaged not in ‘ethico-theoretical’ decisions but in the use of concepts which, while conditional, are still defensible. It is only the ‘theoretician’ who misunderstands the conditionality of theoretical explanation. The idea of philosophy in Oakeshott’s work seems to circumvent Derrida’s view. This does not mean it is not open to ‘deconstruction’, but that such a move could be deemed an irrelevance in Oakeshott’s terms. It seems that the two writers do not ‘converse’ enough in order for their work to touch on particular points. Rather, they circumvent each other, however much they both stand as a challenge to rationalism. In Derrida’s ‘playfulness’ of the text and in the open-ended conditional character of philosophy in Oakeshott, they break with the intellectual pretension that theory may hold the answers to the fundamental questions of life. However, as Rorty has pointed out, Derrida’s ‘textuality’ has the potential undertones of a dogma.16 Instead of God or Reason, language could become the new ‘deep’ non-casual condition. No matter how open a reading of a text may be, language, as the dominant form of understanding the world, may subvert all other understandings. On this point I would agree with Rorty. Oakeshott’s philosophy maintains the significance of philosophy but never loses sight of the ‘conditions of possibility’ to which all theoretical speculation is open.
Conclusion In this chapter I have tried to further illustrate the non-foundational character of Oakeshott’s work by comparing and contrasting his thought to that of prominent contemporary thinkers. I have also argued that Oakeshott’s work has a contemporary relevance but that this has little to do with placing his writings within the liberal-
188 Oakeshott and contemporary thought communitarian debate. Rather, what he adds to contemporary discussions is the attempt to reconcile the view of human life as conventional and conditional, with the maintenance of a significant role for philosophy and its traditional concerns of morality, religion and politics. Such a position has the advantage of avoiding the subjectivism of so many non-foundational theories. This is not to say that Oakeshott is entirely successful. We must not forget the weakness in his work. However, the examples that I have presented here are designed to indicate how Oakeshott’s work may bring something to the latest debates in political thought. To summarise, then, I began by directly confronting those authors who define Oakeshott’s contemporary relevance as his liberalism. I have shown that Gray and Franco misappropriate the conceptual terms of Oakeshott’s work in order to emphasise its political features, distorting its overall philosophical character. In Gray’s case he misappropriates Oakeshott’s understanding of ‘conversation’ and lex and he mistakes his general theory of politics for a ‘peaceful’ design. Franco erroneously takes Oakeshott’s work as a ‘save all’ for classical liberalism. However, he does so only by reducing Oakeshott’s philosophical concepts into those of ‘political theory’. All in all, the liberal perspective is not able to deal with the manifold layers of Oakeshott’s thought. I moved on to a comparison of Oakeshott and Rorty which was ‘do-able’ because of their generally mutual non-foundational ‘ground’. Rorty used Oakeshott’s notion of ‘conversation’ in order to relate his idea of philosophy, and to characterise the relation between philosophy and other human disciplines. I argued that Rorty uses this notion for the purposes of his own pragmatic theory rather than being ‘true’ to Oakeshott’s detailed philosophical meaning. I also noted that Rorty used ‘conversation’ as a means to illustrate the blurring of the line between disciplines. This was possible, I maintained because of Oakeshott’s own failure to theoretically account for the ‘fluidity’ of the modes. Although this is the case it would make little difference to Rorty’s approach whether it was valid in Oakeshott’s terms or not. Ultimately, by making philosophy, as well as politics, banal he both ignores and stands against Oakeshott’s own views. Finally I argued that Derrida’s deconstruction posed no significant challenge to Oakeshott’s philosophical enterprise. I presented a summary of Derrida’s methodology following Gasché’s account. I showed how deconstruction accounted for the ‘contradictions’ of philosophical concepts. This was said to be a formal analysis that was not merely subjective. However, I argued against this view. Using
Liberalism, pragmatism and deconstruction 189 the Paul de Mann case and a general commentary as examples, I maintained that, like all secondary accounts of philosophical texts, Derrida’s work was interpretive. Although I would not go so far as to say deconstruction should, therefore, be dismissed, I did note a further problem with its method: that is, once deconstruction is understood as interpretative there is no philosophical framework, moral or political imperative which sustains its position. Oakeshott’s interpretations of texts are likewise not necessarily ‘correct’, but in so far as his reading of a text is bound to his whole system of thought, his moral concern and his theory of knowledge, there is, at least, some kind of compulsion to engage with what he has to say.
Conclusion
The arguments: a summary I have argued that we should approach the philosophy of Michael Oakeshott by looking to his thought as a whole, taking account of all its various inflections. I have defended the view that a moral concern is central to what he has to say. My position has been that while morality cannot be said to be his determining interest, it may be taken as a key concern which brings coherence and meaning to the many different aspects of his work. In making this case, I have argued against the two most prominent interpretations of his work: first, the claims that we ought to engage with his philosophy in order to discover the character of his liberalism, and second, that taking him as philosopher detached from his political writings is the most fruitful way of drawing out his worth. In contrast I have taken the view that from his earliest work through to OHC, Oakeshott maintains a moral imperative. The broad moral imperative underlying his work is that the parameters and boundaries of various human practices ought to be understood in order to preserve what is important to them but also to ensure that their claims are not exaggerated. This was as true for politics as it was for the arts, education, science and philosophy. Oakeshott stated that any subject might be viewed from a range of competing perspectives, and that as long as that perspective was coherent each of them was no less ‘true’ than the others. He was concerned that no one viewpoint should be allowed to dominate, no dogmas allowed to fester, no doctrine allowed to become privileged. Whenever this happened, that which was fundamental (although not ‘essential’, as such) to being human was lost. It is not easy to articulate what this fundamental moral quality is, although it is constantly recognisable in his work. The best that I can offer (other than to suggest to read his work first hand to get ‘the feel’) is that in Oakeshott’s writings there is a moral quality that
Conclusion 191 suggests we ought to use our freedom of thought to be conscious of the limitations to the ways in which we think, while not allowing this to prevent us from exploring particular ways of thinking. In so doing the acceptance of contradiction, nuance, paradox and the like are essential to this process of active reflection, so as not to overly tidy our messy worlds of activity. Reading Oakeshott, there is a definite sense that human action can never be made ‘rationally representable’ but that, nonetheless, we ought to try to do it even though it will inevitably elude us. As I interpret it, this is not necessarily grounds for despair. Without this mystery, this ‘sweet spontaneous earth’1 would not be as beautiful and infuriating as it is and humankind might be more prone to attacks of hubris than it already is. I have also argued that Oakeshott was an Idealist philosopher from beginning to end. His genius was to revitalise Idealism by constructing it as a non-foundational philosophy. I have given a detailed analysis of how this task was undertaken by examining the inspiration of Bradley. I went on to draw this out further by comparing Oakeshott’s thought to the philosophy of Wittgenstein, the ideas of liberal political theory, discourse analysis and deconstruction. Taking Bradley’s understanding of the ‘Absolute’ as experience on the one hand, and Hegel’s idea that the ‘Absolute’ is the totality of experience on the other, Oakeshott went through the gap and took Idealism on to a non-foundational theoretical terrain. It is because of this twist in the tail of Idealism that Oakeshott’s work may be set alongside other contemporary theories which also try to account for the conditional and contingent character of human life. I have argued that what he adds to contemporary debate stems from the fact that what he says about a particular mode, and how he reads a particular text, is substantiated by his philosophy as a whole. This enables him to avoid the subjectivism of many non-foundational theories. In short, his nonfoundational philosophy sustains the importance of philosophy and its traditional debates, relating to issues around morality, religion, politics and so on. It is only by taking on the challenge to analyse Oakeshott’s philosophy, with all its profound and defective characteristics, that we can fully understand what he has to say about politics. I have maintained that rather than being understood as ‘liberal’ or ‘conservative’ his political essays should be considered within the context of his whole system of thought. Furthermore, as an aspect of, first, practical experience and, second, human conduct, his writings on politics cannot
192 Conclusion be divorced from his moral concern to uphold the importance that individuals reflect upon ‘all that was going-on’. Given this view I argued that his well-known challenge to rationalism was not an attack on any particular practical political persuasion, but a critique of the closure of moral experience that the rationalist theory of knowledge implied. This critique began not with his post-EM political essays but with his earliest writings on religion. This ‘closure’ is the restriction of the ability to fully, freely and self-consciously reflect upon experience. As stated in the Introduction, Oakeshott’s moral sensibility, although arrived at from a different philosophical perspective, is similar to the one that we find in the work of Hannah Arendt. For her, ‘thinking’, as self-reflection, is integral to the human condition and the bottom line of moral experience. The centrality of the role of philosophy and politics in the work of both authors is because each recognised that sustaining creative human action ‘in word and deed’2 was vital in order to maintain moral conduct.
The critique: a summary Many inaccurate criticisms have been levelled at Oakeshott because commentators have failed to address the philosophical character of his work. I have, therefore, tried to make my criticisms appropriate to the substance of his theory. First, I highlighted the way that Oakeshott privileges the mode of practice. History is described as emerging like a child’s game, poetry as an idle aside from practical intercourse, and science appears to be an absorption in purely quantifiable matters. Moreover, Oakeshott often expresses (although perhaps ironically) incredulity at the suggestion that philosophy is indispensable, but does not say why. Each of these ‘voices’ is explained in terms of ‘what they are’, Oakeshott only gives reasons for ‘why it is’ to practical experience. Without ‘practice’, we are told, all human life would cease. Furthermore, without practical experience moral actions and religious experience would not be possible, and it is these, Oakeshott implies, that give meaning to human existence. Second, I argued that Oakeshott presupposes ‘fluidity’ between the modes but this is never fully theorised. Initially this was revealed in his article replying to Raphael, where he stated that an individual could write as ‘a philosopher’ and ‘a preacher’. This implied that an individual could move between different discourses within the same act, while keeping the modes’ distinct identities intact. Next, in the examination of historical experience we saw that Oakeshott failed to set out the character of a theory of the practical past. Here the
Conclusion 193 presuppositions of history and practice appeared to come together, but Oakeshott provided no way of illustrating how they might ‘mix’ while maintaining their individual integrity as modes. Finally I noted that, in his historical essay on the European state in OHC, Oakeshott intimates that ‘societas’ is a more morally coherent association than ‘universitas’. In so doing he draws upon his philosophical arguments which incorporate this moral understanding. Again we can discern a movement between discourses (here history and philosophy) that remains theoretically unaccounted for. The evidence for this critique arises from his essays following EM. But if we relate this criticism back to his earlier work we can also discern here a fundamental lapse in his theory of modality. In EM Oakeshott only ever theorises the distance between the modes, and between philosophy and the modes. The same is true of OHC. Nowhere in his writings is this absence accounted for and this puts into question his theory of modality.3 Third, I have also highlighted a dilemma regarding Oakeshott’s ‘self’ obsession. This relates to the burden that Oakeshott places on the self. It is always the responsibility of the self to construct meanings and identities in the ‘worlds’ of thought. I acknowledged that this was theoretically accounted for. Embedded and explained every step of the way by Oakeshott is an individualism that is not ‘political’ but philosophical, handed down from Bradley’s metaphysics and theorised in EM around his Monist notion of the relationship between subject and object. However, by individualising all human action, Oakeshott theorises away the possibility of collective forms of knowledge, collective identities and a collective morality. As we know from Greek and medieval thought, communal forms of identity are possible to theorise. Oakeshott’s work has nothing to offer us in this respect. Last, and not unrelated to the criticism above, I have remarked upon Oakeshott’s style. I emphasised the way that this was ‘inwardlooking’ (being based on a theory of internal relations), bringing opposing arguments under its terms without directly confronting their propositions. This all-embracing style made it difficult to criticise his position within his own philosophical terms of reference. This presents us with a dilemma. On the one hand, his sophisticated theoretical framework must be acknowledged and any critique must take it into account. On the other hand, by entering into a debate on these terms it is hard to avoid the self-substantiating direction of his thought. This is further enhanced by Oakeshott’s generally lucid literary style and keen wit. It is all too easy to get drawn in by these charms. However, I hope to have shown that one may have a degree of sympathy for Oakeshott’s work while still being critical of its failings.
Notes
Introduction 1 Arendt, H. (1958) The Human Condition, Chicago: Chicago University Press, p. 5. 2 Nadin, T. (2001) The Philosophy of Michael Oakeshott, Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press. 3 Ibid. p. 193. Nadin does acknowledge that Oakeshott has a ‘nonconsequentialist’ theoretical understanding of morality. Why he takes this as differentiated from his general philosophical system I am not sure. 4 Crick, B. (1963) ‘The World of Michael Oakeshott: Or The Lonely Nihilist’, Encounter 20 (June): 65/6, 68, 70–4. For a more sympathetic (although I would argue just as limiting) account of how Oakeshott fits into the British conservative political tradition see Devigne, R. (1996) Recasting Conservatism: Oakeshott, Strauss and the Response to PostModernism, London: Yale University Press. 5 Greenleaf, W. H. (1966) Oakeshott’s Philosophical Politics, London: Longman. 6 Franco, P. (1990) The Political Philosophy of Michael Oakeshott, London: Yale University Press; Franco, P. (2005) Michael Oakeshott: An Introduction, London: Yale University Press. 7 Lessnoff, M. H. (1999) ‘Michael Oakeshott: Rationalism and Civil Association’ in M. H. Lessnoff, Political Philosophers of the Twentieth Century, London: Blackwell. 8 This could be viewed as analogous to Marx’s famous attempt to turn Hegel ‘right side up’ by arguing that Hegelian philosophy inverts reality, making predicates into subjects and real subjects into predicates. Marx, K. (1974) ‘A Contribution to the Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right’, and the ‘Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts’, in Early Writings: Marx, trans. G. Benton and R. Livingstone, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, pp. 127, 145, 149, 383–400. 9 For example, Nadin 2001 writes of Oakeshott as an ‘anti-foundationalist’ although he does not fully explain what he means by this term; Grant, in what is one of the most vibrantly written and imaginative introductions to Oakeshott’s thought, also notes that Oakeshott shares much with contemporary non-foundational, ‘post-modern’ thought, but his book is too short for any great detail; Grant, R. (1990) Thinkers of Our Time: Oakeshott, London: The Claridge Press, pp. 111–13. Franco 1990, pp. 16
Notes 195
13
and 66, also fudges the issue, acknowledging that Oakeshott has nonfoundational aspects to his work but never really analysing what this means; see, for example, his rather cursory comparison with Rorty. Tseng, R. (2003) The Sceptical Idealist: Michael Oakeshott as a Critic of the Enlightenment, Exeter: Imprint Academic: Tseng has probably undertaken the most thorough analysis of this dimension of Oakeshott’s work to date, but it suffers from a lack of integration with his politics and moral theory. Bernstein, R. J. (1985) Beyond Objectivism and Relativism: Science, Hermeneutics, and Praxis, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Bernstein has identified going beyond the subjectivism of many contemporary theories in an effort to get away from the objectivism of the past as the central predicament of our academic times. Thanks to the collection of essays edited by Timothy Fuller, these works are now generally accessible; Oakeshott, M. (1993a) Religion, Politics and the Moral Life, ed. T. Fuller, London: Yale University Press. Oakeshott, M. (1933) Experience and Its Modes, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press For example, Lessnoff 1999, p. 114.
1
Philosophical influences
10
11 12
1 The distinction between Idealism and empiricism is by no means absolute. Berkeley, who claimed that there was no such thing as matter but only collections of ideas existing in the mind, is also an empiricist in so far as he took sense experience as the measure of meaning and reality. Likewise, although Hume argued that there is nothing in the mind that is not already in the senses, he maintained that our perceptions are made up of ideas as well as impressions. Berkeley, G. (1975) A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge, London: Dent, Part I, para. 6, 23, 36. Hume, D. (1978) A Treatise of Human Nature, Oxford: Oxford University Press, Bk I, Section I. 2 The possibility for thinking in this manner was laid down in pre-Socratic philosophy, for example Parmenides’ dualism of ‘light’ and ‘night’; see Kirk, G. S., Raven, J. E. and Schofield, M. (1983) The Pre-Socratic Philosophers, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, Ch. VIII, pp. 255–7. 3 It has been documented that Oakeshott had a strong interest in Spinoza; Oakeshott 1993a, p. viii. 4 In EM, Oakeshott draws upon Spinoza’s ‘modes’ in order to express the relationship between ‘appearance’ and ‘reality’. He does so to indicate how subject and object are inseparable. This is in contrast to the Cartesian view of the primacy of subjectivity as expressed in the ‘cogito’. 5 Hume 1978, Bk 1, Section V. 6 Locke, J. (1979) Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Oxford: Oxford University Press, Bk 1, Chs 1, 4. 7 Oakeshott 1993a, p. viii. 8 Cornford, F. M. (1976) The Republic of Plato, Oxford: Oxford University Press. All references refer to this edition. 9 The notion of the ‘One’ is a point of view that stretches back to Thales of Miletus in the sixth century BC, who Nietzsche credited as the first
196 Notes
10 11 12 13 14 15
16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36
Greek philosopher. He claimed that the nature of the universe was that ‘all things are full of gods’. This seems to imply that all things constitute a unifying vitality. See Nietzsche, F. (1964) Early Greek Philosophy, London: Russell and Russell, p. 86. Of the pre-Socratic thinkers, Parmenides appears to take this notion the furthest; indeed, he has been called the father of idealism, see Kirk et al. (1983), pp. 248–9. Voegelin, E. (2002) Anamnesis, Missouri: University of Missouri Press, Ch. 7. See RPM pp. 138–9, ‘Political Philosophy’, previously unpublished. MacKenna, S. and Page, B. S. (1962) Plotinus: The Enneads, 3rd edn, London: Faber and Faber. Ibid. III, 8. Ibid. III, 11. Dods, M. (1955) The Works of Augustine Aurelius, Bishop of Hippo, new edn, Edinburgh: T. and T. Clarke. While Augustine thought of the soul as having to transcend bodily pleasures, his ‘rational soul’, unlike Plato’s, had its home in Man. Spinoza, de B. (1963) Ethics, London: Dent, Pt 1. Kant, I. (1933) Critique of Pure Reason, corrected edn, London: Macmillan. This very rough account is based on the work of the book cited above. Norman, R. (1976) Hegel’s Phenomenology, London: Sussex University Press, Ch. 1. Hegel, G. W. F. (1931) The Phenomenology of Mind, trans. J. B. Baillie, 2nd edn, London: Oxford University Press. Ibid. p. 145. Norman 1976, p. 107. Ibid. p. 122. Hegel 1931, pp. 99–100. Ibid. Ch. 6. Richter, M. (1964) The Politics of Conscience, Oxford: Oxford University Press, p. 36. Nicholson, P. (1990) The Political Philosophy of the British Idealists, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 2–5. Cox, C. B. and Dyson, A. E. (1972) The Twentieth Century Mind 1900– 1918, London: Oxford University Press, p. 175. Bosanquet, B. (1911) Logic or Morphology of Knowledge, 2nd edn, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Bosanquet, B. (1927) The Principle of Individuality and Value: The Gifford Lectures for 1911, London: Macmillan, p. viii. Bosanquet, B. (1965) The Philosophical Theory of the State, 4th edn, London: Macmillan. Franco 1990, pp. 99–100. Nicholson 1990, p. 54. Bradley, A. C. (1907) Prolegomena to Ethics by the late T. H. Green, 5th edn, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ibid. Section 24, and also Section 184. Russell, B. A. W. (1958) My Philosophical Development, London: Oxford University Press, p. 62. Cox and Dyson (1972), pp. 190–206.
Notes 197 37 Wittgenstein, L. (1974) Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, London: Routledge. Wittgenstein was unlike the logical positivists in that his reason for setting moral, religious and aesthetic debate outside of philosophy was not because such discourses were ‘nonsensical’, but to avoid any sort of reduction of these issues. In Remark 6.52 of the Tractatus he maintains a distinction between theory and practice by arguing that philosophy does not touch ‘the problems of life’. This distinction was maintained throughout his work. This provides the basis for my argument in Chapter 9 that Oakeshott should be placed upon the same general theoretical ground as Wittgenstein. 38 Ibid. Remark 2.161–17. 39 For example, Bosanquet uses the idea of the ‘world’ to characterise the ‘concrete universal’ in The Principle of Individuality and Value, Bosanquet 1927, pp. 31–81. 2
Bradley
1 Bradley, F. H. (1962) Ethical Studies, 2nd edn, London: Oxford University Press, see OHC Essay 1, Section II. 2 Nicholson 1990, Study 1. 3 OHC pp. 257–63. 4 Nicholson 1990, p. 40. One author argues that Bradley represents the, ‘apotheosis of middle-class respectability’: Rashdall, H. (1924) The Theory of Good and Evil: A Treatise on Moral Philosophy, Oxford: Oxford University Press, p. 163. 5 Bradley 1962, Essay V. 6 Bell, D. (1984) ‘The Insufficiency of Ethics’, in A. Masser and G. Stock (eds) The Philosophy of F. H. Bradley, London: Oxford University Press, p. 55. 7 Bradley, F. H. (1922) Principles of Logic, 2nd edn, London: Oxford University Press. 8 Wolheim, R. (1969) F. H. Bradley, London: Penguin Books, pp. 37–8. 9 Oakeshott, M. (1958) ‘Review of M. Polanyi’s “Personal Knowledge”’, Encounter 11: 77–80. 10 Bradley, F. H. (1930) Appearance and Reality: A Metaphysical Essay, Oxford: Clarendon Press, Ch. 3. 11 Bradley’s account of ‘experience and thought’ and ‘identity and truth’, is scattered. Here I refer to Appearance and Reality (AR) (especially the Appendix), Principles of Logic (PL) and Essays on Truth and Reality (ETR) (Bradley 1930, 1922, 1914). 12 Wolheim 1969, p. 128. 13 Ibid. p. 138. 14 Ibid. pp. 150–1. This principle comes from Leibniz, whose theory of monads might also be related to British Idealism in general; see Martin R., Niall, D. and Brown, S. (1988) Leibniz: Discourse on Metaphysics and Related Writings, Manchester: Manchester University Press, VI, pp. iii, 491, 524, 521, 585. 15 Joachim, H. (1948) Logical Studies, Oxford: Clarendon Press, Ch. 3. 16 Grant 1990, pp. 39.
198 Notes 17 AR pp. 124–6, 211–17. 18 Bradley’s first book-length text was Ethical Studies (ES), and it is to this work that following discussion predominantly relates; Bradley 1962. 19 This was a problem that Kant came to in his belated attempt to define for his moral theory an adequate idea of a moral subject. In this respect he made a distinction between the will (‘Wille’) and free choice (‘Willkur’). Here the will was identified with practical rationality and the moral agent had the power to choose between the moral imperatives of the will or other desires. Kant, I. (1960) Religion within the Limits of Reason Alone, trans. T. M. Greene, New York: Harper and Row, pp. 6, 21–6, 16–21. 20 It is largely because of a particular reading of this essay that Bradley has been branded a ‘conservative’. Just like Oakeshott and his political essays, this has come about from commentators not fully grasping the philosophical depth of his work. 21 There is an interesting study yet to be undertaken regarding the links between New Labour and their emphases on social exclusion/inclusion, and the general social theory of the British Idealists. For an analysis of the way British Idealism relates to contemporary issues in political philosophy see Boucher, D. and Vincent, A. (2001) British Idealism and Political Theory, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. 22 Oddly enough, Oakeshott only came to agree with this point many years after EM, where in ‘The Voice of Poetry in the Conversation of Mankind’ he retracts his earlier view that ‘Poetry’ was part of practical experience (and, hence, social). 3
Philosophical system
1 A whole thesis has been given over to associate him as a philosopher of practice. See Sullivan, A. M. (2004) Intimations Pursued: The Voice of Practice in the Conversation of Michael Oakeshott, Exeter: Imprint Academic. 2 Hume 1978, p. 253. 3 Hegel, G. W. F. (1977) The Phenomenology of Spirit, Oxford: Clarendon Press. 4 Auspitz, J. L. (1976) ‘Individuality, Civility and Theory’, Political Theory 4: 265, where EM is characterised as a polemic against rationalism. See Oakeshott’s reply, ‘On Misunderstanding Human Conduct: A Reply to my Critics’, Political Theory 4 (1976): 353–67, in the same edition. 5 Oakeshott may be referring to the kind of anti-rationalist philosophy represented by Bergson. Illustrating that, although not unsympathetic, his anti-rationalism is of an entirely different character. See Bergson, H. (1976) Creative Evolution, London: Greenwood Press. 6 For example, Carnap argued against all forms of universal statements in philosophy and science. In the 1930s he wrote, ‘We can only confirm a sentence more and more. Therefore we speak of the problems of confirmation rather than of the problem of verification’; Carnap, R. (1936–7) ‘Testing and Meaning’, Philosophy of Science 3, pp. 419–71 and 4, pp. 1–40. 7 Collingwood, R. G. (1924) Speculum Mentis: Or the Map of Knowledge,
Notes 199 Oxford: Clarendon Press, where, following Hegel, he arranges the modes in a hierarchy. 8 Franco 1990, p. 47. 9 Although Oakeshott’s philosophy is non-foundational, it is neither antifoundational nor anti-essentialist. That Oakeshott had nothing but admiration for the whole philosophical tradition is clear from the way he continued to draw upon and write about Plato, Bradley, Hegel and so on throughout his work. 4
Practice, morality and religion
1 Oakeshott 1993a; like many readers of Oakeshott, I am indebted to Timothy Fuller for his excellent collection and his thoughtful commentary. 2 Oakeshott, M. (1991) ‘Introduction to Leviathan’, in Rationalism in Politics and Other Essays, ed. T. Fuller, new and expanded edn (first published 1946), London: Liberty Press, pp. 221–94. 3 Oakeshott, M. (1993b) ‘Locke: The Theological Vision,’ in Morality and Politics in Modern Europe, ed. Shirley Robin Letwin, London: Yale University Press, pp. 47–58. This point of view shares much in common with that of Dunn, J. (1969) The Political Thought of John Locke, London: Oxford University Press. And in respect of both Locke and Hobbes his interpretations run counter to the ‘ideological’ perspective of Macpherson, C. B. (1962) The Political Theory of Possessive Individualism, Oxford: Clarendon Press. 4 The understanding presented here separates Oakeshott not only from Kant but also from pragmatists like William James and, more recently, Rorty (see the debate in Chapter 10, ‘Oakeshott and the mirror of nature’). 5 Franco 1990, pp. 56–65. 6 Rayner, J. (1985) ‘The Legend of Oakeshott’s Conservatism’, Canadian Journal of Political Science 18 (June): 313–38. 7 For a perspective on how Oakeshott may be understood as a defender of modernity see Podoksik, E. (2003) In Defence of Modernity: Vision and Philosophy in Michael Oakeshott, Exeter: Imprint Academic. 8 This is a popular criticism but one that holds no firm ground. Amongst others see: Pitkin, H. F. (1976) ‘Inhuman Conduct and Unpolitical Theory,’ Political Theory 4: 301–20; Falck, C. (1963) ‘Romanticism in Politics’, The New Left Review 18 (Jan.–Feb.): 60–72. 9 Oakeshott, M. (1959) The Voice of Poetry in the Conversation of Mankind, London: Bowes and Bowes, p. 63; Oakeshott 1991, p. 488. 10 Oakeshott 1993a, pp. 1–26. 11 Hart, J. (1993) ‘The Civilised Imperative’, in J. Norman (ed.) The Achievement of Michael Oakeshott, London: Duckworth, p. 85. 12 The most comprehensive bibliography of Oakeshott’s work and related texts is available on the Michael Oakeshott Association’s website, http://www.michael-oakeshott-association.org. 13 First published 1927 by Bowes and Bowes, Cambridge, Religion and the Moral Life (The ‘D’ Society Pamphlets, no. 2); Oakeshott 1993a, pp. 39–45.
200 Notes 14 The text quoted is Oman, J. W. (1917) Grace and Personality, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press; see RPM p. 40. 15 In reconciling each view to the other, Oakeshott is following the ‘quasidialectic’ of Bradley in Ethical Studies where, as I showed, he moves from one step to another (from ‘hedonism’ to ‘duties’ and so on) until he reaches the ‘Absolute’. 16 ‘The Importance of the Historical Element in Christianity’ first appeared in Modern Churchman 18 (1928–9): 360–70. 17 The distinction between religion and history was also discussed by Oakeshott in his (1936) ‘Review of Webb, C. C. J, “The Historical Element in Religion”’, Journal of Theological Studies, 37: 96–8. 18 Superficially this view corresponds to that of William James. Indeed, Oakeshott may well have been aware of his views given that Bradley and James had a long correspondence. However, because their theory of knowledge and understanding is radically different neither Bradley and James, nor Oakeshott and James, ultimately meet. See Stern, R. (1993) ‘James and Bradley on Understanding’, Journal of the Royal Institute of Philosophy 68 (April): 193–205. 19 Oakeshott 1993a, pp. 27–38. ‘Religion and the World’ is a previously unpublished work written in 1929. 20 Oakeshott 1993a, p. 3. 21 See Oakeshott 1975, p. viii, where he states that when he looks back upon the footprints that he made, he wished that they had been less rambling. 5
Conversation and intimation
1 This is hardly surprising if we recall the quote in Chapter 3 where Oakeshott states that philosophy should make it clear that all we have is a world of ‘meanings’ (EM p. 61). 2 Franco uses this seemingly more sympathetic view of political theorists to legitimate situating Oakeshott alongside liberal political thinkers. However, he only does so by ignoring what Oakeshott immediately goes on to say about the ‘risk’ involved in this kind of theoretical enterprise. This is the tendency to blur the lines between theory and practice and so tread the waters of rationalism; OHC pp. 25–6; Franco 1990, p. 163. 3 For an account of the way that political theorists can also be political actors see Isaacs, S. and Sparks, C. (2004) Political Theorists in Context, London: Routledge. 4 Oakeshott, M. (1996) The Politics of Faith and the Politics of Scepticism, ed. T. Fuller, London: Yale University Press. 5 Oakeshott 1959; first published as a small book, this essay has since appeared in RIP and all references refer to this edition, edited by Fuller and cited above. 6 At a glance, Oakeshott appears to share something in common with the aestheticism of Roger Fry and Clive Bell. They became prominent in the 1920s for their theoretical elucidation of ‘pure form’. However, as art critics rather than philosophers their views have none of the overall context of Oakeshott’s thought; see Spalding, F. (1986) British Art Since 1900, London: Thames and Hudson, pp. 60–4. See Grant 1990, p. 106, who discusses this matter.
Notes 201 7 Oakeshott, M. (1989) The Voice of Liberal Learning: Michael Oakeshott on Education, ed. T. Fuller, London: Yale University Press, where Oakeshott’s essays on education have been collected, except ‘The Study of “Politics” in a University’ which is in RIP pp. 184–218. 8 Ibid. pp. 136–57. 9 One of the main confusions was that ‘tradition’ was thought to be an historical rather than a philosophical idea, as it was for Burke. On this misconceived basis commentators argued that there were ‘good’ and ‘bad’ traditions. Among the many whom have made this mistake are: Crossman, R. H. S. (1951) ‘The Ultimate Conservative’, New Statesman and Nation 42 (21 July 21): 60–1; Jaffa, H. V. (1963) ‘A Celebration of Tradition’, The National Review 15 (October): 360–2; Pitkin, H. F. (1973) ‘The Roots of Conservatism: Michael Oakeshott and the Denial of Politics’, Dissent 20: 469–525. More recently, commentators who argue Oakeshott fits into a ‘conservative’ political tradition seem to have recognised that he does not follow Burke in this way; see Devigne 1996, pp. 2, 122. 10 Burke, E. (1986) Reflections on the Revolution in France, London: Penguin Books, pp. 194–5. 11 Oakeshott is similar to Burke in some aspects of his style, namely a degree of irony, illustrated in the use of ‘tradition’ in this quote, and in a frequent recourse to ship metaphors; ibid. pp. 162, 173. On this last point, a former student of Oakeshott’s has remarked to me that he once declared to him that the only reason that he became an academic was because he was not able to make a career at sea. 12 Oakeshott, M. (1948–9a) ‘The Political Economy of Freedom’, Cambridge Journal 2: 212–29. For similar discussions see Oakeshott’s (1948–9b) ‘Review of Selsam, H., “Socialism and Ethics”’, Cambridge Journal 2: 692–4; (1950) ‘Review of Wilson, T., “Modern Capitalism an Economic Progress”’, Cambridge Journal 4: 504–6. 13 Franco shows how economics is subordinated to politics, but misses the moral dimension; Franco 1990, pp. 147–8. 14 Quinton, A. (1976) The Politics of Imperfection, London: Faber and Faber, Ch. 3. 15 O’Sullivan, N. (1993) ‘In the Perspective of Western Thought’, in J. Norman (ed.) The Achievement of Michael Oakshott, London: Duckworth, p. 101. As a student of Oakeshott’s, O’Sullivan has derived a definition of ‘limited’ and ‘activist’ politics along the lines of ‘civil association’ and ‘enterprise association’. See O’Sullivan, N., (1983) Fascism, London: Dent, ‘Introduction’. 16 Greenleaf seems to have taken Oakeshott’s notion of tradition as a way of describing the historical and theoretical boundaries that constitute the British political system. Although this is a misreading of Oakeshott’s intent the result is a thorough account of the British liberal tradition; Greenleaf, W. H. (1966) The British Political Tradition, London: Blackwell, Vol. 1. 17 Oakeshott, M. (1929–30) ‘The Authority of the State’, The Modern Churchman 19: 313–7. 18 Ibid. p. 314. 19 ‘On Being Conservative’ was originally a lecture given at the University of Swansea in 1956. It has since been published in RIP pp. 407–37. 20 RIP pp. 184–218.
202 Notes 21 Oakeshott, M. (1939) ‘The Claims of Politics’, Scrutiny 8: 146–51. 22 Wood, for example, joins those who find him anti-political by arguing that Oakeshott ignores revolutions and the importance of other ‘founding’ political moments and movements which have altered the social world; Wood, N. (1959) ‘A Guide to the Classics: The Scepticism of Professor Oakeshott’, The Journal of Politics 21: 645–62. 23 Oakeshott, M. (1938) ‘The Concept of a Philosophical Jurisprudence’, Politica 3: 203–22. 24 Oakeshott, M. (1932–3) ‘The New Bentham’, Scrutiny 1: 114–31. 25 Hobbes, T. (1946) ‘Introduction’, in T. Hobbes, Leviathan, Oxford: Blackwell, 1946, p. 1xvii. 26 Ibid. p. 275. 27 Raphael, D. D. (1964) ‘Professor Oakeshott’s “Rationalism in Politics”’, Political Studies 13: 202–15. 28 Oakeshott, M. (1965) ‘A Reply to Professor Raphael’, Political Studies 13: 89–92. 29 ‘Rationalism in Politics’ first appeared in the Cambridge Journal 1 (1947); references here are to the essay which appears in RIP, pp. 6–42. 30 This essay has come in for more some very inappropriate criticisms. It has been deemed to be a tract against reason: Postan, M. (1948–9) ‘Revulsion from Thought’, The Cambridge Journal 2: 395–408; too broad or abstract: Crick 1963; Jaffa 1963; Archer, J. (1979) ‘Oakeshott on Politics’, Journal of Politics 41: 150–68. Or based upon a fictitious adversary: Kettler, D. (1964) ‘The Cheerful Discourses of Michael Oakeshott’, World Politics 19: 483–89; Koerner, K. (1985) Liberalism and its Critics, New York: St Martin’s Press, pp. 270–308. Despite the recent re-evaluations of Oakeshott’s work some critics continue to get the character and the politics of this essay spectacularly wrong: see Harvey, A. D. (2004) ‘Michael Oakeshott: Rationalism and Self-Serving in Politics’, Contemporary Review, 285 (August). 31 Polanyi, M. (1966) The Tacit Dimension, New York: Doubleday; Ryle, G. (1945–6) ‘Knowing How and Knowing That’, Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 46: 1–16. Oakeshott reviewed Polanyi’s ‘Personal Knowledge’ (Oakeshott 1958) and Ryle’s ‘The Concept of Mind’ (Oakeshott 1950b). He also seems to have maintained a long-running correspondence with Ryle; see Grant 1990, p. 14. 32 It might be noted that this is not the case for many rationalist philosophers. For example, Leibniz made a distinction between symbolic and intuitive understanding, and clear and confused ideas; see Wilson, C. (1995) ‘The Reception of Leibniz in the Eighteenth Century’, in N. Jolley (ed.) Leibniz, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, p. 448. 33 Tseng (2003) is another of the ‘new wave’ of authors sympathetic to the philosophical dimension of Oakeshott’s work and he points out his relevance to modern and post-modern debates. However, like many, Tseng seems unsure how to theorise the moral dimension of Oakeshott’s work. 6
History and politics
1 For example, the historian W. H. Dray has explicitly drawn upon Oakeshott’s understanding to try to find a way of interpreting historical
Notes 203
2
3 4 5
6 7 8 9 10 11 12
13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20
texts. Dray, W. H. (1964) Laws and Explanation in History, London: Oxford University Press, pp. 112–17. Collingwood was a great admirer of Oakeshott’s historical writings, and it seems Oakeshott returned the compliment. However, whereas Oakeshott was similar to him in separating history and science, he disagreed with Collingwood’s subjugation of philosophy to history. Oakeshott, M. (1947) ‘Review of R. G. Collingwood’s “The Idea of History”’, English Historical Review 62: 84–6. Norman 1993, p. 12. For example, Walsh, W. H. (1968) ‘The Practical and the Historical Past’, in P. King and B. C. Parekh (eds) Politics and Experience, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 19–42. Oakeshott, M. (1983) On History and Other Essays, Oxford: Blackwell; Oakeshott, M. (1958) ‘The Activity of Being a Historian’, Historical Studies I: 1–19. All references to this article refer to the one published in RIP pp. 151–83. Bosanquet 1927, pp. 78–9. It ought to be noted that this view is contrary to Burke’s use of the past, which is quintessentially practical. Collingwood 1992, ‘Introduction’. Oakeshott, M. (1950–1) ‘Review of Mr Carr’s First Volume’, Cambridge Journal 4: 344–52. Bradley 1922, vol. 1, p. 288. King and Parekh 1968, pp. 17–18. Dunn, J. (1972) ‘The Identity of the History of Ideas’, in P. Laslett, W. G. Runciman and Q. Skinner (eds) Philosophy, Politics and Society, Oxford: Blackwell, p. 171; Pocock, J. G. A. (1986) ‘The Myth of John Locke and the Obsession with Liberalism’, in J. G. A. Pocock and R. Ashcraft (eds), John Locke, Los Angeles: Dover. Skinner, Q. (1969) ‘Meaning and Understanding in the History of Ideas’, History and Theory 8: 3–53. Collingwood 1992, pp. 231–2. For a brief and entertaining ‘crib’, Butler, C. (2002) Postmodernism: A Very Short Introduction, Oxford: Oxford University Press. White, H. (1992) Metahistory, London: RKP, Ch. 1. Foucault, M. (1969) Archaeology of Knowledge, Brighton: Harvester Press. Oakeshott too may be said to follow Nietzsche in his determination not to subordinate philosophy to science. However, in Oakeshott’s terms Nietzsche was concerned with the practical past, and although he recognised the contingency of practice he reduced all thought to it; Nietzsche, F. (1992) ‘On the Uses and Disadvantages of History for Life’ and ‘Schopenhauer as Educator’, in Untimely Meditations, trans. R. J. Hollingdale, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 57 – 124, 125 – 94. Drefus, H. C. and Rabinow, P. (1986) ‘The Subject and the Power’, in H. C. Drefus and P. Rabinow, Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics, Brighton: Harvester Press, p. 65. Foucault, M. (1980) Power/Knowledge: Interviews and Other Writings, ed. C. Gordon, London: Harvester Press.
204 Notes 7
On human conduct
1 A number of commentators have maintained that, in one way or another, a shift takes place from EM to OHC in terms of Oakeshott’s philosophical system. I have already mentioned Lessnoff (1999) in the introductory chapter. Typical among others is Covell who maintains that he abandons his Hegelianism in OHC, Covell, C. (1986) The Redefinition of Conservatism: Politics and Doctrine, New York: St Martin’s Press, pp. 93–4. 2 This is rewritten in terms of the distinction between theory and practice, the cave-dwellers justifiably seeing the philosopher as a madman; Oakeshott 1975, pp. 27–31. 3 Franco 1990, p. 163. 4 Oakeshott did explicitly condemn German national socialism for being the epitome of rationalism, in ‘Scientific Politics’, The Cambridge Journal 1 (1947–8): 347–58. In my reading this was not because its ‘rationalism’ was merely a philosophical confusion but because it was an immoral form of government. 5 Although I use this phrase that was made famous by Margaret Thatcher, this does not make Oakeshott a ‘Thatcherite’ or an architect of the New Right. Given all that has been said it ought to be clear that his point of view is philosophical, not ideological. His interest is a moral one: it does not concern governance. 6 Arendt also uses the ideas of self-disclosure and self-enactment. Although this is tied to her notion of the ‘vita activa’ there are a great many similarities between these thinkers, not least the challenge to rationalism based upon it being immoral. Arendt 1958, pp. 175–88. 7 Ibid. pp. 17–21; see Arendt on the Greek ‘eternal memory’. 8 Ibid. pp. 18–21, 55–6. This is similar to Arendt’s interpretation of the Greek idea of immortality. 8 1 2 3 4
The civil condition and the modern European state
Oakeshott 1975, ‘On the Civil Condition’, pp. 108–84. Ibid. ‘On the Character of the Modern European State’, pp. 185–326. Auspitz takes issue with Oakeshott on this point; Auspitz 1976, pp. 278–80. Sadly, Perry Anderson, in his review of a new edition of RIP, took Oakeshott’s work in this manner, as part of ‘the quartet of outstanding European theorists of the intransigent Right’, the other ‘members’ being Schmitt, Hayek and Strauss; Anderson, P. (1992) ‘The Intransigent Right at the End of the Century’, London Review of Books 14, 18 (24 September): 7–11. 5 This is how Dworkin classified Rawls although the author himself disagreed; Dworkin, R. (1978) Taking Rights Seriously, London: Duckworth. 6 Arendt 1958, p. 234. 7 In contrast, Shklar argues that the public realm of ‘descisions’ may be facilitated by legal rules but they are an ideological form of avoiding facing up to the problems of permanent minorities; Shklar, J. N. (1964) Legalism, Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press.
Notes 205 8 O’Sullivan argues that Oakeshott wished to re-establish the link between contemporary political theory and the classical idea of civil association. What he gives, therefore, is not a full account of the character of the state but a moral justification for the use of an authority which individuals have not chosen to join; O’Sullivan 1993, p. 103. 9 Oakeshott’s view challenges that put forward by neo-Habermasians like Keane, who argue for plural democratic spheres in civil society; Keane, J. (1988) Democracy and Civil Society, Verso: London, Ch. 1; and for the recent extension of this debate also see Keane, J. (2003) Global Civil Society, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 10 Spitz, D. (1976) ‘A Rationalist Malgré Lui: The Perplexities of Being Michael Oakeshott’, Political Theory 4 (August): 335–52, who argues, wrongly, that this essay indicates Oakeshott is ‘an ideological thinker’. 11 This is also discussed in Oakeshott’s ‘The Masses in Representative Democracy’, in A. Hunold (ed.) (1961) Freedom and Serfdom: An Anthology of Western Thought, Dordrecht: D. Reidel Publishing, also reprinted in RIP, pp. 363–83. 12 An obvious reference to C. B. Macpherson (1962). 13 Oakeshott spends several pages describing Hegel’s point of view in ‘The Philosophy of Right’. This is the longest discussion of any of Hegel’s work that Oakeshott has in print (OHC p. 257–63). Franco has provided an excellent comparative analysis of this discussion. Franco 1990, pp. 206–10. 14 Oakeshott 1948–9a, pp. 212–29. 9
Wi t t g e n s t e i n a n d d i s c o u r s e a n a l y s i s
1 This is, of course, a reference to Lyotard, who argued that science relied upon a grand narrative or meta-narrative, a construction of its own terms of knowledge which legitimated the discipline itself. This is similar not only to Wittgenstein’s ‘language-games’ but also to Oakeshott’s theory of modality. Lyotard, J. F. (1979) The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge, trans. G. Bennnington and B. Massumi, Manchester: Manchester University Press, pp. 20–9. 2 I would argue that Oakeshott’s understanding of ‘politics’, unlike that of Rawls and others involved in the rather insular liberal-communitarian debate during the 1990s, still has much to recommend it in the post-9/11 political atmosphere. 3 Grant 1990, pp. 111–12. 4 Ibid. Grant quotes some ‘well-known dicta’ of Wittgenstein’s which appear similar to some of Oakeshott’s statements, but no detailed analysis is undertaken. Only Pitkin has presented a lengthy comparison, but this is flawed by her ideological analysis of Oakeshott’s work; Pitkin, H. (1994) Wittgenstein and Justice, new edn, California: University of California. 5 Hunnings, G. (1988) The World and Language in Wittgenstein’s Philosophy, London: Macmillan. 6 Wittgenstein, L. (1953) Philosophical Investigations, trans. G. E. M. Anscombe, 3rd edn, Oxford: Blackwell. 7 Wittgenstein, L. (1969) On Certainty, Oxford: Blackwell, 341–3.
206 Notes 8 Pitkin 1994. 9 See Howarth, D. R. and Tofing, J. (2005) Discourse Theory in European Politics, London: Palgrave Macmillan, for a recent review of the methodology of Discourse Analysis. 10 Laclau, E. and Mouffe, C. (1985) Hegemony and Socialist Strategy: Towards a Radical Democratic Politics, London: Verso, Chs 2 and 3. 11 Laclau, E. (1990) New Reflections on the Revolution of Our Time, London: Verso, also see, more recently, Laclau (2005) The Populist Reason, London: Verso. 12 Saussure, F. (1991) Course in General Linguistics, London: RKP, Part I, Chs 1–3.I 13 Staten, H. (1985) Wittgenstein and Derrida, London: Blackwell, Part 1. 14 Laclau and Mouffe 1985, Ch. 4. 10 Liberalism, pragmatism and deconstruction 1 Franco 1990, Ch. 6. 2 See, for example, Fuss, F. (1990) Essentially Speaking, London: Routledge, pp. 1–21. 3 Rorty, R. (1993) Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature Oxford: Blackwell, Ch. 8, pp. 365–72. 4 Gray, J. (1993) Post-Liberalism, London: Oxford University Press, pp. 40 – 6. 5 Franco, 1990, p. 230, also see Franco 2005, p. 71. 6 Rorty 1993, Chs 3, 4, 7 and 8. 7 Ibid. p. 163. 8 Rorty, R. (1982) ‘Philosophy as a Kind of Writing: An Essay on Derrida’ in R. Rorty, The Consequences of Pragmatism, London: Harvester Press, Ch. 6. 9 Rorty, R. (1991) ‘Social Hope and History as Comic Frame’, in S. Lewis (ed.) It Couldn’t Happen Here, London: Harvester Press. 10 Rorty 1993, p. 318. 11 Gasché, R. (1986) The Tain of the Mirror, London: Harvard University Press. 12 Gasché points to a whole range of inequalities and dissimilarities that Derrida draws out, but for the sake of brevity I concentrate upon the ‘concept’. 13 Derrida has used deconstruction to critique the concept of the ‘origin’ by looking at its ‘inscription’ in the writings of Saussure and Rousseau; Derrida, J. (1976) Of Grammatology, London: Johns Hopkins University Press. 14 Derrida, J. (1988) ‘Like the Sound of the Sea Deep Within a Shell: Paul de Mann’s War,’ Critical Inquiry 14 (Spring): 590–652; also Derrida 1976, pp. 127–64. 15 Bernasconi, R. (1986) ‘No More Stories, Good or Bad’, in D. Wood (ed.) (1986) Derrida: A Critical Reader, London: Blackwell, p. 159. 16 Rorty, R. (1992) ‘Is Derrida a Transcendental Philosopher?’, in R. Rorty, Essays on Heidegger and Others, Vol. 2, London: Cambridge University Press.
Notes 207 Conclusion 1 For me, ‘the feel’ of Oakeshott’s thought is summed up by the words of this poem by e. e. cummings, ‘O Sweet Spontaneous Earth’, in e. e. cummings (1960) Selected Poems 1923–1958, London: Faber and Faber. 2 Arendt 1958, p. 176. 3 It also questions his separation of theory and practice. Although this distinction is sustained by his theory of knowledge (which maintains that there is a gap between the general categories of theory and the particular circumstances of practice) it could be a lack of clarity concerning when Oakeshott is talking about the modes in terms of theory (philosophically) or practice (in ‘use’) that makes this aspect of his work so confusing. In addition, the problem might also relate to the fact that the philosophical perspective he is trying to explain is intimately bound to the way he is explaining it. In a sense he is partially tripped up by his own way of ‘doing’ philosophy. It is hard for him to ‘do it’ coherently and ‘write about it’ clearly at the same time.
Bibliography
This is by no means a comprehensive bibliography of Oakeshott’s work or texts on Oakeshott; it only contains works cited in this book. The most comprehensive bibliography of Oakeshott’s work and related texts is available on the Michael Oakeshott Association’s website, http://www.michael-oakeshott-association.org.
Works by Oakeshott (1929–30) ‘The Authority of the State’, The Modern Churchman 19: 313–7. (1932–3) ‘The New Bentham’, Scrutiny 1: 114–31. (1933) Experience and Its Modes, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. (1936) ‘Review of Webb, C. C. J., “The Historical Element in Religion”’, Journal of Theological Studies 37: 96–8. (1938) ‘The Concept of a Philosophical Jurisprudence’, Politica 3: 203–22. (1939) ‘The Claims of Politics’, Scrutiny 8: 146–51. (1947) ‘Review of R. G. Collingwood’s “The Idea of History”’, English Historical Review 62: 84–6. (1947–8) ‘Scientific Politics’, The Cambridge Journal 1: 347–58. (1948–9a) ‘The Political Economy of Freedom’, Cambridge Journal 2: 212–29. (1948–9b) ‘Review of Selsam, H., “Socialism and Ethics”’, Cambridge Journal 2: 692–4. (1950a) ‘Review of Wilson, T., “Modern Capitalism an Economic Progress”’, Cambridge Journal 4: 504–6. (1950b) ‘Review of Ryle’s “The Concept of Mind”’, Spectator 84: 20–2. (1950–1) ‘Review of Mr Carr’s First Volume’, Cambridge Journal 4: 344–52. (1958) ‘Review of M. Polyani’s “Personal Knowledge”’, Encounter 11: 77–80. (1959) The Voice of Poetry in the Conversation of Mankind, London: Bowes and Bowes (1965) ‘A Reply to Professor Raphael’, Political Studies 13: 89–92. (1975)On Human Conduct, Oxford: Clarendon Press. (1976) ‘On Misunderstanding Human Conduct: A Reply to my Critics’, Political Theory 4: 353–67. (1983) On History and Other Essays, Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
Bibliography 209 (1989) The Voice of Liberal Learning: Michael Oakeshott on Education, ed. T. Fuller, London: Yale University Press. (1991) Rationalism in Politics and Other Essays, ed. T. Fuller, new and expanded edn, London: Liberty Press. (1993a) Religion, Politics and the Moral Life, ed. T. Fuller, London: Yale University Press. (1993b) Morality and Politics in Modern Europe, ed. Shirley Robin Letwin, London: Yale University Press. (1996) The Politics of Faith and the Politics of Scepticism, ed. T. Fuller, London: Yale University Press.
Works on Oakeshott Anderson, P. (1992) ‘The Intransigent Right at the End of the Century’, London Review of Books 14, 18 (24 September): 7–11. Archer, J. (1979) ‘Oakeshott on Politics’ Journal of Politics 41: 50–68. Auspitz, J. L. (1976) ‘Individuality, Civility and Theory’, Political Theory 4: 265. Covell, C. (1986) The Redefinition of Conservatism: Politics and Doctrine, New York: St Martin’s Press. Crick, B.(1963) ‘The World of Michael Oakeshott: Or the Lonely Nihilist’, Encounter 20 (June): 65/6, 68, 70–4. Crossman, R. H. S. (1951) ‘The Ultimate Conservative’, New Statesman and Nation 42 (21 July): 60–1. Devigne, R. (1996) Recasting Conservatism: Oakeshott, Strauss and the Response to Post-Modernism, London: Yale University Press. Falck, C. (1963) ‘Romanticism in Politics’, The New Left Review 18 (Jan./ Feb.): 60–72. Franco, P. (1990) The Political Philosophy of Michael Oakeshott, London: Yale University Press. ——(2005) Michael Oakeshott: An Introduction, London: Yale University Press Grant, R. (1990) Thinkers of Our Time: Oakeshott, London: The Claridge Press. Greenleaf, W. H. (1966) Oakeshott’s Philosophical Politics, London: Longman. Hart, J. (1993) ‘The Civilised Imperative’, in J. Norman (ed.) The Achievement of Michael Oakeshott, London: Duckworth. Harvey, A. D. (2004) ‘Michael Oakeshott: Rationalism and Self-Serving in Politics’, Contemporary Review 285 (August). Jaffa, H. V. (1963) ‘A Celebration of Tradition’, The National Review 15 (October): 360–2. Kettler, D. (1964) ‘The Cheerful Discourses of Michael Oakeshott’, World Politics 19: 483–9. King, P. and Parekh, B. C. (eds) (1968) Politics and Experience, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
210 Bibliography Koerner, K. (1985) Liberalism and its Critics, New York: St Martin’s Press. Lessnoff, M. H. (1999) ‘Michael Oakeshott: Rationalism and Civil Association’ in M. H. Lessnoff, Political Philosophers of the Twentieth Century, London: Blackwell. Nadin, T. (2001) The Philosophy of Michael Oakeshott, Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press. Norman, J. (ed.) (1993) The Achievement of Michael Oakeshott, London: Duckworth. O’Sullivan, N. (1993) ‘In the Perspective of Western Thought’, in J. Norman (ed.) The Achievement of Michael Oakeshott, London: Duckworth. Pitkin, H. F. (1973) ‘The Roots of Conservatism: Michael Oakeshott and the Denial of Politics’, Dissent 20: 469–525. ——(1976) ‘Inhuman Conduct and Unpolitical Theory,’ Political Theory 4 (August): 301–20. ——(1994) Wittgenstein and Justice, new edn, California: University of California Press. Podoksik, E. (2003) In Defence of Modernity: Vision and Philosophy in Michael Oakeshott, Exeter: Imprint Academic. Postan, M. (1948–9) ‘Revulsion from Thought’, The Cambridge Journal 2: 395–408. Quinton, A. (1976) The Politics of Imperfection, London: Faber and Faber. Raphael, D. D. (1964) ‘Professor Oakeshott’s “Rationalism in Politics”’, Political Studies 13: 202–15. Rayner, J. (1985) ‘The Legend of Oakeshott’s Conservatism’, Canadian Journal of Political Science 18 (June): 313–38. Spitz, D. (1976) ‘A Rationalist Malgré Lui: The Perplexities of Being Michael Oakeshott’, Political Theory 4 (August): 335–52. Sullivan, A. M. (2004) Intimations Pursued: The Voice of Practice in the Conversation of Michael Oakeshott, Exeter: Imprint Academic. Tseng, R. (2003) The Sceptical Idealist: Michael Oakeshott as a Critic of the Enlightenment, Exeter: Imprint Academic. Wood, N. (1959) ‘A Guide to the Classics: The Scepticism of Professor Oakeshott’, The Journal of Politics 21: 645–62.
Other works Arendt, H. (1958) The Human Condition, Chicago: Chicago University Press. Bell, D. (1984) ‘The Insufficiency of Ethics’, in A. Masser and G. Stock (eds) The Philosophy of F. H. Bradley, London: Oxford University Press. Bergson, H. (1976) Creative Evolution, London: Greenwood Press. Berkeley, G. (1975) A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge, London: Dent. Bernasconi, R. (1986) ‘No More Stories, Good or Bad’, in D. Wood (ed.) Derrida: A Critical Reader, London: Blackwell.
Bibliography 211 Bernstein, R. J. (1985) Beyond Objectivism and Relativism: Science, Hermeneutics, and Praxis, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Bosanquet, B. (1911) Logic or Morphology of Knowledge, 2nd edn, Oxford: Clarendon Press. ——(1927) The Principle of Individuality and Value: The Gifford Lectures for 1911, London: Macmillan. ——(1965) The Philosophical Theory of the State, 4th edn, London: Macmillan. Boucher, D. and Vincent, A. (2001) British Idealism and Political Theory, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Bradley, A. C., (1907) Prolegomena to Ethics by the late T. H. Green, 5th edn, Oxford: Oxford University Press. ——(1914) Essays on Truth and Reality, Oxford: Clarendon Press. ——(1922) Principles of Logic, 2nd edn, London: Oxford University Press. ——(1930) Appearance and Reality: A Metaphysical Essay, Oxford: Clarendon Press. ——(1962) Ethical Studies, 2nd edn, London: Oxford University Press. Burke, E. (1986) Reflections on the Revolution in France, London: Penguin Books. Butler, C. (2002) Postmodernism: A Very Short Introduction, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Carnap, R. (1936–7) ‘Testing and Meaning’, Philosophy of Science 3, 419– 71 and 4, 1–40. Collingwood, R. G. (1924) Speculum Mentis: Or the Map of Knowledge, Oxford: Clarendon Press. ——(1992) The Idea of History, Oxford: Oxford University Press (originally published 1946). Cornford, F. M. (1976) The Republic of Plato, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Cox, C. B. and Dyson, A. E. (1972) The Twentieth Century Mind 1900 – 1918, London: Oxford University Press. Derrida, J. (1976) Of Grammatology, London: Johns Hopkins University Press. ——(1988) ‘Like the Sound of the Sea Deep Within a Shell: Paul de Mann’s War’, Critical Inquiry 14 (Spring): 590–652. Dods, M. (1955) The Works of Augustine Aurelius, Bishop of Hippo, new edn, Edinburgh: T. and T. Clarke. Dray, W. H. (1964) Laws and Explanation in History, London: Oxford University Press. Drefus, H. C. and Rabinow, P. (1986) ‘The Subject and the Power’, in H. C. Dreyfus and P. Rabinow, Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics, Brighton: Harvester Press. Dunn, J. (1969) The Political Thought of John Locke, London: Oxford University Press. ——(1972) ‘The Identity of the History of Ideas’, in P. Laslett (ed.) Philosophy, Politics and Society, Oxford: Blackwell.
212 Bibliography Dworkin, R. (1978) Taking Rights Seriously, London: Duckworth. Foucault, M. (1969) Archaeology of Knowledge, Brighton: Harvester Press. ——(1980) Power/Knowledge: Interviews and Other Writings, ed. C. Gordon, London: Harvester Press. Fuss, F. (1990) Essentially Speaking, London: Routledge. Gasché, R. (1986) The Tain of the Mirror, London: Harvard University Press. Gray, J. (1993) Post-Liberalism, London: Oxford University Press. Greenleaf, W. H. (1966) The British Political Tradition, London: Blackwell. Hegel, G. W. F. (1931) The Phenomenology of Mind, trans. J. B. Baillie, 2nd edn, London: Oxford University Press. ——(1977) The Phenomenology of Spirit, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hobbes, T. (1946) Leviathan, Oxford: Blackwell. Howarth, D. R. and Tofing, J. (2005) Discourse Theory in European Politics, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Hume, D. (1978) A Treatise of Human Nature, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hunnings, G. (1988) The World and Language in Wittgenstein’s Philosophy, London: Macmillan. Hunold, A. (ed.) (1961) Freedom and Serfdom: An Anthology of Western Thought, Dordrecht: D. Reidel Publishing. Isaacs, S. and Sparks, C. (2004) Political Theorists in Context, London: Routledge. Joachim, H. (1948) Logical Studies, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Kant, I. (1933) Critique of Pure Reason, London: Macmillan. ——(1960) Religion within the Limits of Reason Alone, trans. T. M. Greene, New York: Harper and Row. Keane, J. (1988) Democracy and Civil Society, Verso: London. Keane, J. (2003) Global Civil Society, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kirk, G. S., Raven, J. E. and Schofield, M. (1983) The Pre-Socratic Philosophers, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Laclau, E. (1990) New Reflections on the Revolution of Our Time, London: Verso. ——(2005) The Populist Reason, London: Verso. Laclau, E. and Mouffe, C. (1985) Hegemony and Socialist Strategy: Towards a Radical Democratic Politics, London: Verso. Locke, J. (1979) Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lyotard, J. F. (1979) The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge, trans. G. Bennnington and B. Massumi, Manchester: Manchester University Press. MacKenna, S. and Page, B. S. (1962) Plotinus: The Enneads, 3rd edn, London: Faber and Faber. Macpherson, C. B. (1962) The Political Theory of Possessive Individualism, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Martin, R., Niall, D. and Brown, S. (1988) Leibniz: Discourse on Metaphysics and Related Writings, Manchester: Manchester University Press.
Bibliography 213 Marx, K. (1974) ‘A Contribution to the Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right’, and the ‘Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts’, in Early Writings: Marx, trans. G. Benton and R. Livingstone, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books Nicholson, P. (1990) The Political Philosophy of the British Idealists, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nietzsche, F. (1964) Early Greek Philosophy, London: Russell and Russell. ——(1992) Untimely Meditations, trans. R. J. Hollingdale, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Norman, R. (1976) Hegel’s Phenomenology, London: Sussex University Press. O’Sullivan, N. (1983) Fascism, London: Dent. Pocock, J. G. A. (1986) ‘The Myth of John Locke and the Obsession with Liberalism’, inJ. G. A. Pocock and R. Ashcraft (eds), John Locke, Los Angeles: Dover. Polanyi, M. (1966) The Tacit Dimension, New York: Doubleday. Rashdall, H. (1924) The Theory of Good and Evil: A Treatise on Moral Philosophy, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Richter, M. (1964) The Politics of Conscience, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rorty, R. (1982) The Consequences of Pragmatism, London: Harvester Press. ——(1991) ‘Social Hope and History as Comic Frame’, in S. Lewis (ed.) It Couldn’t Happen Here, London: Harvester Press. ——(1992) Essays on Heidegger and Others, Vol. 2, London: Cambridge University Press. ——(1993) Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature, Oxford: Blackwell. Russell, B. A. W. (1958) My Philosophical Development, London: Oxford University Press. Ryle, G. (1945–6) ‘Knowing How and Knowing That’, Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 46: 1–16. Saussure, F. (1991) Course in General Linguistics, London: RKP. Shklar, J. N. (1964) Legalism, Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press. Skinner, Q. (1969) ‘Meaning and Understanding in the History of Ideas’, History and Theory 8: 3–53. Spalding, F. (1986) British Art since 1900, London: Thames and Hudson. Spinoza, de B. (1963) Ethics, London: Dent. Staten, H. (1985) Wittgenstein and Derrida, London: Blackwell. Stern, R. (1993) ‘James and Bradley on Understanding’, Journal of the Royal Institute of Philosophy 68 (April):193–205. Voegelin, E. (2002) Anamnesis, Missouri: University of Missouri Press. Walsh, W. H. (1968) ‘The Practical and the Historical Past’, in P. King and B. C. Parekh (eds) Politics and Experience, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. White, H. (1992) Metahistory, London: RKP. Wilson, C. (1995) ‘The Reception of Leibniz in the Eighteenth Century’, in N. Jolley (ed.) Leibniz, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
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Index
Absolute, the 3, 5, 8, 15, 18, 22–24, 33, 35–36, 38, 40–42, 47–49, 51– 53, 56–59, 61, 63–64, 75, 77, 79– 80, 85, 90, 163, 167, 191, 200n15 Arendt, H. 1, 99, 150–51, 192, 204n6
Gasche, R. 184–85, 188, 206n12 German Idealism 15, 21–25 Gray, J. 176–79, 188 Green, T.H.15, 24–28, 31 Greenleaf, W.H. 2, 177, 201n16
Bosanquet, B 15, 25–26, 31, 78, 110, 197n39 Bradley, F. 3, 5, 7, 14, 20, 23–26, 30–31, 33–50, 51, 54–56, 58, 63, 75, 78–81, 96, 113–14, 134, 140, 163, 191, 193, 197n4, 198n20, 200n15 & n18 British Idealism 14–15, 24–28, 31, 33–34, 49, 61, 99, 163, 181, 197n14, 198n21 Burke, E. 72, 91, 96, 149, 156, 201n9 & n11, 203n7
Hayek, F. 105, 177, 204n4 Hegel, G.W.F. 3, 5, 8, 15, 17, 20– 26, 30–31, 33–36, 38–39, 42, 51, 54, 58, 61, 63, 99, 156, 167, 179, 181, 191, 194n8, 199n7, 204n1, 205n13 Hobbes, T. 69, 97, 102–3, 116, 156, 199n3 Hume, D. 14, 52, 92, 195n1
Capitalism 114, 120 Collingwood, R.G. 25, 61, 109, 112, 116, 203n2 Communism 157 concrete universal, the 3, 8, 15, 25, 31, 34–36, 45, 48, 51, 53, 58, 64, 170, 178, 197n39 Crick, B. 2, 194n4, 202n30
Idealism 3, 5, 7–8, 13–15, 17–18, 21–32, 33–35, 38, 42, 45, 48–49, 51, 53, 55, 58, 60–61, 63–64, 76, 90, 93, 98–99, 107, 110, 125, 131, 134, 140, 163–64, 179, 181, 183, 191, 195n1, 196n9; see also British Idealism, German Idealism Kant, I 15, 21–23, 31, 78, 138, 177, 181, 198n19, 199n4
Democracy 100, 102, 171–73, 205n9 Derrida, J. 9, 169, 177, 183–89 Dworkin, R. 177–78, 204n5
Laclau, E. 164, 169–75, 186, Lessnoff, M.H. 2, 195n13, 204n1 Liberalism 100 Locke, J. 14, 69, 97, 156, 177
Foucault, M. 8, 110, 118–22, 169, 172 Franco, P. 2, 71, 127, 176, 179–80, 188, 194n9, 200n2, 201n13
Mann, P de 186, 189 Marx. K 54, 91, 105, 157, 167, 169, 194n8 Marxism 105, 169
216
Index
Mill, J.S. 14, 101–2, 177 modes, the 3–6, 8–9, 19–21, 33, 47–49, 51–53, 56–61, 63–65, 70, 74, 87, 89, 90, 92–95, 104, 107, 110, 122, 132, 135, 143, 158–60, 163, 167–70, 174, 177– 78, 182, 188, 192–93, 195n4, 199n7, 207n3 Mouffe, C. 172 Nadin, T. 1–2, 194n3 & n9 National Socialism 157, 204n4 neo-Platonic 14, 19, 21, 76 Nietzsche, F. 119, 157, 203n18 Nozick, R. 177 Oakeshott, M., arguments against rationalism 1, 3–4, 7–8, 60, 77, 85, 91, 104–8, 173, 175, 180, 187, 192; as a conservative 2–3, 34, 40, 51, 72, 80–81, 99, 107–8, 176–78, 191, 194n4, 201n9; as a liberal 2, 97–98, 144, 177–80, 188, 190; moral concern 1–3, 8, 15, 47, 52, 70, 75, 98, 123, 134– 35, 141, 144, 146, 158–59, 164, 177, 180, 186, 189–90, 192; on education 1, 2, 4, 16, 91, 94–95, 100, 136–37, 155, 157, 190, 201n7; on political theory 70, 90– 91, 102, 108–9; philosophical system 1–3, 5–7, 9, 13–14, 30, 36, 51–65, 69–70, 77, 89, 93, 101, 104, 111, 123, 136, 144, 160, 177, 186, 204n1; ‘poetry’ & the arts 1– 2, 4–6, 58, 83, 89, 91, 93–94, 124, 178, 190, 192, 200n6; practical experience 6, 8, 34, 41, 44, 46–51, 63, 69–75, 79–81, 84–88, 91, 94, 98, 105–6, 115, 124, 134– 36, 141, 149, 191–92, 198n22; ‘Rationalism in Politics and Other Essays’ 60, 63, 104, 107; religion 1–2, 4–6, 8, 17, 26, 28–30, 33– 35, 47, 50–51, 69–70, 74–91, 105, 123–24, 134–35, 139–42,
153, 180, 188, 191–92, 200n17; ‘Religion, Politics and the Moral Life’ 33, 76–84; scientific experience 1, 4–6, 51, 58–59, 61–64, 69, 74, 83, 89, 92, 93, 100–101, 106, 124, 141, 163, 174, 178, 190, 192, 203n2 & 18, 205n1; theory of knowledge 1, 7, 15, 18, 60, 77, 83, 107, 135–36, 156, 189, 200n18, 207n3; ‘The Voice of Liberal Learning’ 95–97, 136; ‘The Voice of Poetry in the Conversation of Mankind’ 91–95, 198n22; Plato 7, 13–19, 23–24, 30–31, 57, 99, 124, 181 Plotinus 14, 19, 31 Polanyi, M. 36, 106, political theory 3, 99, 115–16, 120, 127, 138, 164, 169, 176, 180, 188, 191 political thought 3–4, 7, 37, 91, 100–103, 116–18, 138, 144, 188 political philosophy 9, 90, 109, Rationalism 13, 31, 169, 173, 175, 187; see also Oakeshott, M., ‘Rationalism in Politics’ Rawls, J. 147, 177–78, 204n5, 205n2 Rorty, R. 9, 131, 176–77, 180–83, 187–88, 199n4 Skinner, Q. 8, 110, 115–18, 120, 122 Socialism 100, 169 Socrates 14–15, 17–18, 30, 49 Spinoza, B. 7, 13–15, 19–21, 23, 30, 156, 195n3 & 4 Weber, M. 106, 114 Wittgenstein, L. 9, 15, 28–30, 32, 36, 54, 95, 99, 104, 47, 164–76, 181, 183, 191, 197n37, 205n1 & 4
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