The Reasonable Liberal

It is well-known that liberalism accommodates differences of opinion and world view. Unlike other political arrangements, liberalism does not require uniformity of thought, or that individuals and factions see eye-to-eye. What liberalism does require, says Krista Lawlor, is that civilians retain an interest in being reasonable. Reasonableness may not be enough to ‘‘cure sectarianism or secure our liberal democracy,’’ she explains, but liberal democracy stands little chance without it. In Being Reasonable: The Case for a Misunderstood Virtue, Lawlor defines reasonableness as a pro-social disposition which enables open-minded people to critically engage with what matters most to others and to tailor their moral and political behavior to reflect a serious, good-faith engagement with standpoints other than their own (Being Reasonable, p. 170).

Lawlor accords a special place to the act of caring in her basic conception of reasonableness. She describes ‘‘being open-minded about what matters’’ to others as a ‘‘hallmark of reasonableness.’’ To be a reasonable liberal, according to her reasoning, is to be other-regarding for the sake of rectification. It ‘‘involves being ready to change your own concerns,’’ as well as ‘‘being open to changes in your own point of view’’ (Being Reasonable, p. 47). Reasonable liberals care about what matters to others because they fundamentally care about getting things right. Additionally, they recognize that one is less likely to get things right if one operates under an unwarranted sense of infallibility. To be disinclined to give a hearing to an opinion because one is absolutely certain of one’s rightness, especially if the other view is censored, is to move in the world with an assumption of infallibility, and as such to fail to take all necessary precautions against error (On Liberty, pp. 229–230).

A pragmatic interest in truth, paired with an awareness of human fallibility, motivates the reasonable liberal to seek to get to the bottom of any serious disagreement. Reasonable people, says Lawlor, ‘‘will be concerned when others disagree. They will want to understand the nature of the disagreement’’ (Being Reasonable, p. 78). The liberal desire to understand what makes others tick, what shapes their views, intentions, beliefs, and divergent views, drives curious liberals inside the minds of their fellow citizens. This perspective-taking is a signature feature of liberal politics. ‘‘A man of enlarged thought,’’ said Immanuel Kant, reflects upon things ‘‘from a universal point of view (which he can only determine by placing himself at the standpoint of others)’’ (Critique of Judgment, p. 175). Adam Smith clarified that it is ‘‘by imagination’’ alone ‘‘that we can form any conception’’ of what another person thinks and feels. It is by this shared power of imagination that ‘‘we place ourselves in his situation’’ and ‘‘enter as it were into his own body’’ and begin to feel in weaker form what he experiences (Theory of Moral Sentiments, p. 14).

It is only after we have adopted his perspective and made it our own, that his sufferings ‘‘begin at last to affect us,’’ and ‘‘we then tremble and shudder at the thought of what he feels,’’ (Theory of Moral Sentiments, p. 14). Even a stubborn man like Thomas Jefferson could not suppress the torment of holding slaves in captivity. He placed his slave quarters beyond his immediate sight and in his most critical moments confessed that ‘‘I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just: that his justice cannot sleep forever.’’ Such is the power of remorse, says Smith, that the sufferer cannot but feel ‘‘the dread and terror of punishment from the consciousness of the justly-provoked resentment of all rational creatures’’ (Theory of Moral Sentiments, p. 103).

It is the ‘‘man within,’’ says Smith, that teaches us ‘‘the propriety of generosity’’ (of taking others’ happiness into consideration) and ‘‘resigning the greatest interests of our own, for the yet greater interests of others’’ (Theory of Moral Sentiments, p. 159). Behind the utilitarian request that no individual’s happiness be made to count more than another’s is a belief that each individual matters and that we are to respond to this fact by acting reasonably within a democratic context. We should not, for example, wish to sacrifice the interests of others to advance our own selfish ambition. Rather, we should recognize that other interests are at stake and must be accommodated lest the fragile peace collapses. This kind of reasoning is behind much of the social contract theory. 

Viewed from this vantage point, the reasonable liberal is open to compromise and accommodation in politics, not because he is irrational, but because he is reasonable. He understands that the stability of any cooperative enterprise requires not only some give and take, but also a willingness to accept that the concerns and interests of others matter just as much as our own, though they may not, either at first sight or upon proper consideration, prove as intelligible, moral, and reasonable as our own aspirations. Perhaps it is best to say that the reasonable liberal cooperates fairly. He engages as Lawlor puts it ‘‘in socially-minded decision-making, recognizes the needs and interests of others, and is willing to modify their own goals in considering those needs’’ (Being Reasonable, p. 30).

Those are essentially the kind of character traits which make liberal democracy work. It is what ‘‘makes it possible for people with diverse religious, moral, and metaphysical convictions, to live together in a just and democratic society’’ (Being Reasonable, p. 6). It is also what enables democratic cycles to run their course. Foundational to any democratic system is the principle of reciprocity. Each political party has a reasonable opportunity to direct the political agenda for a predetermined timeframe and to criticize the incumbent once out of office. Tom Ginsburg and Aziz Z. Huq have highlighted the fact that in developing nations the expectation of democratic rotation provides ‘‘assurance to electoral losers that their defeat will not lead to permanent exclusion from power’’ (How to Save a Constitutional Democracy, p. 14). The stability of the law, and the associated belief that each party will have a shot at power, incentivizes officeholders to reciprocate with a microphone rather than a machine gun. In advanced democracies, political reciprocity is a subtle norm which draws its power from the often unarticulated belief that our political rivals have an equal right to govern. 

Robert Talisse, author of a trilogy on democratic theory and practice, has noted that democracy ‘‘means never having to shut up.’’ Losing an election does not erase our voice, nor dilute our equal right to criticize those in power (Civic Solitude, p. 44). In a properly functioning democracy, he explains, ‘‘aggrieved citizens must be able to address their objections to the democratic public; their contestations must potentially have uptake. And we, as their equal partners in democracy, must be prepared to give their criticisms a hearing’’ (ibid., p. 51). A receptive hearing is what democratic citizens are owed as a matter of justice and civic equality. 

To treat others as civic equals requires much more than merely recognizing that in a liberal democratic society, the people we disagree with, and perhaps, to our shame, even detest on account of their views, have a legal right to vote and indeed participate in the political process entire. To give others their proper due will require that we seek to understand our fellow citizens and include their best reflections in our political calculations. The person who incorporates the interests and perspectives of others in framing his or her political pursuits displays what the ancient writers used to call public-mindedness, a ‘‘disposition to perform the duties of citizenship in a way that manifests a concern for the common good, rather than strictly for narrowly conceived interests’’ (Sustaining Democracy, p. 31). 

The public-minded person seeks to understand what is best for society as a whole, not just his political tribe, or those with whom he shares some sort of affinity. He does not take uniformity of thought as a social good to be pursued at all costs, nor does he see difference as an insurmountable obstacle to political progress. On the contrary, liberal action in a democratic society requires that we pursue what is best for the collective given the fact that ‘‘our fellow citizens embrace values and priorities that might not align with our own’’ (Civic Solitude, p. 49). In other words, democracy has an epistemic element to it which imposes moral duties on us. Good democratic practice requires that we give those who differ from us, both in comportment and ideas, the time of day. 

At the most basic level, this means carefully listening to their perspectives, expending the time and energy to understand their positions (including any smart criticism of our own views), providing thoughtful feedback, and most importantly, reframing our own beliefs to reflect our sustained engagement with their positions. The moral work of democracy means ‘‘that our views must be informed by theirs’’ and must be formulated in such a way as to ‘‘reflect a sincere encounter with the views of our fellow citizens’’ (Civic Solitude, p. 49). It is part of the basic courtesy of political life that we work to show others that we respect them as persons. This means treating our fellow citizens as rational beings capable of developing intelligent views, but also of incisively critiquing our positions. Liberals, of all people, should remain receptive to such criticism, and should be on the lookout for the most thoughtful responses to a problem or issue, regardless of its ideological provenance.  

Reasonable liberals understand that the truth value of the propositions which people hold is not always an impediment to maintaining good relations and treating others as civic equals. They understand that politics is not the sum total of who we are, nor is politics the most important aspect of life. Reasonable liberals deny that democracy’s reach must be boundless, and affirm that its influence in our lives must have sensible limits. Reasonable liberals understand that it is possible to overdo democracy to the point where we become incapable of relating to other people other than through a politically saturated lens. Reasonable liberals seek to ‘‘put politics in its place’’ by actively pursuing activities of the kind where ‘‘politics is simply irrelevant, out of place’’ (Overdoing Democracy, p. 163).

Reasonable liberals recognize that ‘‘there is a large class of political opinions that are false, but nonetheless within bounds.’’ On the other hand, reasonable liberals can also easily perceive that an idea can be true, and yet still be subject to reasonable criticism. As Talisse points out, many partisans make the error of ‘‘inferring from the fact that our opponents hold false and misguided political views’’ that people with false beliefs are ‘‘incapable of formulating a decent criticism of our position’’ (Sustaining Democracy, p. 130). This is not just fallacious, it closes the mind of the public to truth. Reasonable persons should remain open to criticism because it is not beyond our power as finite individuals to entertain a blind spot, or to fail to think of something, in a way that only another interlocutor can illuminate. People ‘‘can make mistakes, but being concerned to get it right about value and being reliable in tracking it,’’ says Lawlor, ‘‘is the heart of reasonableness’’ (Being Reasonable, p. 9).

As Lawlor repeatedly emphasizes, liberals should seek to put themselves in the position of others, to enter, as it were, the mental world of our neighbors in order to better understand why these civic partners of ours think and behave the way that they do. The aim of this psychological exercise is not to learn how to squash differences—itself an illiberal impulse which misses the fact that such rational disagreement is, as Rawls says, ‘‘the normal result of the exercise of human reason’’—but rather to determine the extent to which outside views can be incorporated in our own conception of a problem-solving society (Political Liberalism, xvi). This inclusive mindset naturally presumes that those with whom we disagree have an equal stake in the well-being of society, and are an indispensable part of what it means to sustain a healthy and effective democracy. So democracy involves a ‘‘kind of perspective-taking’’ or ‘‘sympathetic imagining of other’s perspectives,’’ which calls upon the liberal-minded citizen ‘‘to discern what’s underlying others’ political views, but in a way that renders our fellow citizens reasonable, legible, and broadly competent’’ (Civic Solitude, p. 57). 

It should come as no surprise to us that at present this kind of ‘epistemic virtue’ seems evidently beyond the scope of our abilities as citizens in a hyper-politicized and hyper-polarized society. We have, to be frank, no desire to see civic rivals in the best light. Most of the political messaging on both sides of the political aisle, and especially on ideologically-divided social media apps, call for the constant demonization of perceived political enemies. Rather than enhance public virtue, cultural norms and technological innovations regularly interact to undermine every inkling of human generosity. We are constantly exposed to the worst views and versions of our political opponents, and told to take these misrepresentations as expressive of a universal tendency among members of the demonized group (Sustaining Democracy, p. 93). We are also regularly encouraged to cast aside all manners, gentility, and morals, to ‘own’ or ‘put down’ perceived political villains, with no regard for the moral appropriateness of the means which we employ to achieve these destructive ends, and the ways in which these practices shape our moral character for the worst. 

We are in fact so desperately polarized that we seem increasingly unable to tolerate even the slightest deviation in thought from the social media-contrived group standards and orthodoxies of our political sect. This rigid cast of mind is partly attributable to what Talisse calls “belief polarization,” the entrenchment of certain beliefs as constitutive of what it means to be a member of a group in good standing. Belief polarization creates a steep ideological and psychological distance between ourselves and those who fail to uphold the supposedly characteristic and morally superior belief system of our favored social group (Sustaining Democracy, p. 79). Belief polarization is particularly acute when there is growing ideological segregation in society, and partisans see no need to occupy the same intellectual and social space as their perceived enemies. Belief polarization is an in-group malady which ‘‘besets individuals who talk only or mainly to others who share their fundamental commitments’’ (Overdoing Democracy, p. 97).

Belief polarization transforms us into more extreme versions of ourselves, accentuates our animosity towards others, conforms our minds to the dispositions and attitudes of the most passionate members of our in-group, and accelerates the process of homogenization in society. Homogenized societies create like-minded people who are fixed in their own ways, and thus less capable of being receptive to outside insights and criticism. Belief polarization also accelerates group-think and devastates our willingness to act liberally. As we shift towards extremism in thought and behavior, others begin to ‘‘appear to us more as obstacles to be overcome than as our political equals’’ (Sustaining Democracy, p. 93).

It is important to note that polarization, the social process by which people grow distant from each other and end up on different poles of a political spectrum, is not always bad or the result of some kind of epistemic vice. As Lawlor points out, it is possible for people to end up with diametrically opposed views even though they are assessing the evidence rationally (Being Reasonable, p. 155). As James Madison and John Rawls, among others, were fond of reminding their readers, severe disagreements among human beings are as natural as algae, and are to be expected in the natural world which we inhabit. Liberalism does not suppose otherwise. It is crafted with disharmony in mind, but with an eye to peace. 

The problem as Lawlor, Talisse, and other political philosophers recognize is that the current social context is stimulating a vicious kind of polarization which grows on the assumption that political ‘others’ are at best not worth engaging with seriously, and at worst, bad people for holding certain political beliefs. The past decade of illiberal politics took immense pride in the idea that ideas other than their own were not worth platforming, hearing, considering, and thoroughly studying. This is the very opposite of what Lawlor identifies as being an ‘‘actively open-minded thinker’’ who searches for arguments on both sides of an issue, and doesn’t ‘‘neglect counter arguments against their own claims’’ (Being Reasonable, p. 163).

A society in the grip of belief polarization is on a dangerous path to permanent disunion. An analysis of global democracies since 1950 conducted by Jennifer McCoy found that what she calls “pernicious polarization” correlates with serious democratic decline. The U.S. in particular is unique in being a large-scale democracy with unparalleled levels of polarization, and a political and social climate which promises ever grander opportunities for discord. If we are to sustain a healthy democracy, we will have to find ways to draw back from this spiral of resentment and vice, and recover instead a capacity to see others as offering something of value to our public deliberations. Because ‘‘our social surroundings are already primed to fuel a polarization dynamic,’’ says Talisse, ‘‘citizens need to rehabilitate their capacities for democratic reflection,’’ particularly in ‘‘settings that are detached’’ from the raucous, democratically toxic, and digitally-mediated political ecosystem. This means establishing ‘‘some social distance from our political friends and foes’’ alike (Civic Solitude, pp. 107–108). 

Consider, for example, the act of reposting. Part of what makes belief polarization so effective is that posts and reposts by partisan allies often focus on dissecting outrageous or seemingly wrong-headed statements, rather than finding out and representing the best reasons for these apparently problematic statements. As a result, one does not necessarily come any closer to understanding opposing ideas. On the contrary, high exposure to partisan representations of the atypical individuals on ‘the other side’ hardens feelings of animosity and deepens our misunderstanding. That is partly why, sometimes, the most reasonable response to mutual condemnation and recrimination on social media is, as Talisse suggests, to step back from the back-and-forth in order to engage in critical reflection about the arguments at stake. The reasonable liberal will wish to spend less time focused on sniffing out outrageous positions online, and more effort deciphering the premises which constitute a part of each group’s arguments. 

The exhortation to impose some separation between ourselves and those aspects of our environment which distort our ability to act with impartiality is not new. Smith noted that we can never form any judgment concerning others, ‘‘unless we remove ourselves, as it were, from our natural station’’ and ‘‘endeavour to view them as at a certain distance from us’’ (emphasis added). This he describes as the method that any ‘‘fair and impartial spectator’’ and ‘‘equitable judge’’ would adopt. He adds that this juridical viewpoint is best achieved when we ‘‘view things with the eyes of other people, or as other people are likely to view them’’ (Theory of Moral Sentiments, p. 133). This is a difficult exercise which requires not only serious acquaintance with certain matters of fact relevant to the meditation, but also an acute self-regulation which enables the judge to deliver a verdict that expresses the right emotions for the best reasons. 

But if Talisse is right, and democratic citizens need to occasionally ‘‘occupy spaces where they can be alone with their thoughts,’’ in places ‘‘where they can engage in a kind of civic reflection that is detached from the fray of partisan political struggles,’’ then the reasonable liberal must find moments of quiet solitude which can reveal the mind of the political stranger (Civic Solitude, p. 3). Such an exercise in perspective-taking will not solve all the existing problems of politics in a polarized age, but at the very least this willingness to be as reasonable as possible will do a better job of sustaining democracy than the recreational lampooning of our civic enemies. 

One way to move closer to a reasonable outlook on politics is to find out (1) what matters to others, and (2) why it matters to them. This is what moral psychologists have been trying to elucidate. According to Kurt Gray, human beings have developed a “harm-based” moral cognition, which not only makes us highly sensitive to the experience of pain, but also greatly indignant when the people we care about are being similarly mistreated. This harm-based moral mind largely determines what we choose to focus on as a cause of moral outrage, and is in his view the root cause of our political disagreements. ‘‘People scream at others on social media not primarily to win points,’’ Gray explains, ‘‘but because they feel threatened’’ (Outraged, p. 109). When a consultant gets fired for making a racist joke and a paramedic for mocking the death of Charlie Kirk, fear of harm to valued groups and loved ones motivates the moral fury of these reactions (ibid., p. 48). 

If as Gray suggests our moral reactions are partly expressions of the things we are most fearful of, then it becomes possible, for example, to argue that when a man like Mr. Mike Arnold, the volunteer mayor of a small Texas town of Blanco, sees the harsh online rhetoric applauding Kirk’s assasination and proceeds to call for the resignation or dismissal of offenders, he is not only acting out of fear, but activated to protect what matters to him. The New York Times reports that his immediate reaction to the offending posts was to worry that the U.S might descend into the kind of sectarian violence he witnessed as a missionary in Nigeria. ‘‘There must be economic consequences for this cancerous vitriol,’’ he wrote. 

Political liberals might react in different ways to different offenses based on their system of values, but fear that harm may come to the people, ideas, or things that we cherish remains a common human response. As Thomas Hobbes emphasized more than three centuries ago, ‘‘The passion to be reckoned upon, is fear’’ (Leviathan, I.15.31). For a man like Mr. Arnold, the fear of civil disorder was enough to get him to impose a kind of social death on a complete stranger. This does not, of course, excuse the behavior, but it begins the process of making our political rivals not just more legible but human in a way we can also recognize in ourselves. 

Featured Image is Statue of Adam Smith, High Street, Edinburgh, by Matt Kieffer