by Simon Smith
As any chef, comedian, daredevil stunt
motorcyclist, wine maker, Prime Minister thinking of calling a snap election to
cynically capitalise on a (curiously mis)perceived advantage, or proctologist
will tell you, timing is
Jesus Christ!
You could have warmed your finger first!
I mean… everything.
And timing is, apparently, something that the folks
at Vernon Press have down to a T. Their publication of Jonas Mortensen’s The Common Good in a second, expanded,
edition could hardly be more opportune. Political opinion at every level in
society violently polarised; our lives are increasingly subjugated to an extreme
individualism which insists upon one's own good as the highest good, the only
good worth considering. This is the kind of mindset which supposes our
contribution to society, specifically in the form of taxation, to be a burden
bordering on the criminal; that nods with bovine approval at the idea that not them is, as the current incumbent of the Whitehouse avers, the “smart”
thing to do. This is the kind of mindset which sees investment in the education
of others, of the next generation, as a gratuity, worse, an imposition, the
justification of which waits on a clear demonstration of the value and benefit
– to the individual in question, of course – of doing so. This is the kind of mindset
to which the question of welfare and a society’s obligation to care for the
poor and the vulnerable is ultimately a question of whether those in need deserve to be cared for.
My own reaction to any such
thinking tends, frankly, to be a little “blue”. Editing it for delicate
sensibilities, I would say, consider two things: firstly, the successes we
each lay claim to are far more to do with what others have done for us than our
own peculiar talents and efforts. If you are clever and interesting – and I’m
sure you are – that is because someone else taught you to be clever and
interesting. They taught you how to talk and think, to read and write, and do
all the other things you regard as most typically and essentially you.
Secondly, whether we are civilised or not, human or not, will not be determined by how assiduously we judge other people.
They will be determined, indeed, are
determined, by how well we take care of others whether they deserve it or not.
The phrase, “there but for the grace of God…” is a good reminder of this; another is “for God’s sake, grow up.”
However, given the apparent
dominance of infantile individualism, now does seem like a very good time to
stop and think about another way of doing things. This other way of doing is
radical in many ways, although it shouldn’t be since it is only a reminder of
fundamental human relations, the essential connections which make us who and
what we are. It is a reminder that sociality is the truth of human being and
that to ignore that truth is a profound mistake. Whether it is the individual
we deify, or the community into which he or she is born, we do so at our peril.
For self and other are inescapable
corollaries, inevitable coefficients; their embrace, in Martin Buber’s poignant
phrase, the “cradle of Real Life.”
In the not-too-distant future,
we shall be dedicating an issue of Appraisal,
the BPF journal, to reviews of The Common
Good and responses by the author. In the meantime, I offer the following
review along with the stong suggestion that you visit the website and seriously
consider purchasing your own a copy.
Review of The Common Good by Jonas Norgaard Mortensen (Vernon Press, 2017)
Given the nature of Personalist thought, it seems strange that no one has dragged it from the cloisters of academe into the public square before. After all, its practitioners stake their claim to real insight into all the richness and complexity of the human condition. We dedicate ourselves to a philosophy of reciprocity; we refuse, as Ludwig Feuerbach advised, to be “torn from the totality of the real human being;” the totality, that is, of concrete relation, full-blooded and bodied. Against the prevailing political, economic, and philosophical winds, we demand to “[t]hink in existence, in the world as a member of it, not in the vacuum of abstraction as a solitary monad, as an absolute monarch, as an indifferent, superworldly God.”[1] But we never tell anyone about it. We talk at great length about the social reality of the self and then we keep it, and ourselves, to ourselves. The first rule of Personalism, it seems, is that no one talks about Personalism.
Fortunately for everyone – philosophers
and normal people alike – The Common Good breaks that rule. In so doing,
it marks what we may hope is the all-important first step in a much-needed
journey. By bringing this vital and exciting tradition to public attention,
this book presents a crucial challenge to the philosophical, political, and
cultural status quo. It does so, moreover, in a remarkably engaging and
readable way. It may also prove to be a great contribution to the development
of a popular public philosophical discourse. (The severely limited engagement
of professional philosophers in public debate always strikes me as a great
shame; how I envy the French their tradition of public intellectuals.)
The emphasis of the book on a
range of European, and especially North European, thinkers will likely strike
some readers as something of a shame. However, this seems to me no bad thing. A
number of these thinkers will be unfamiliar to English-speaking readers. Now we
have a very good introduction to them; what could be better? As such, this book
should prove to be a valuable resource to students and ordinary readers alike:
anyone, in fact, who cares to widen their philosophical horizons beyond the
norm. True, it would have been nice to see the likes of Austin Farrer and John
Macmurray mentioned. However, the responsibility for making their work
available to the public can hardly be laid at Mortensen’s door. (Both Farrer
and Macmurray did, in fact, write for a non-academic audience, with, it has to
be said, mixed success.) Should we wish to see them better known and more
widely appreciated, then it is really up to those of us who claim to champion
them to see to it. In that regard, I see this emphasis on Northern European
thinkers, not as a shortcoming of the book, but as a definite challenge to do
likewise if we can.
In any case, many of the most
important names in European philosophy are, in fact, discussed in some detail.
Martin Buber, without whom no such presentation would be complete, is well
represented; likewise, Emmanuel Levinas. Although I’m not sure I would have
labelled Levinas a Personalist per se, his thinking certainly dovetails
nicely with the tradition and has proved itself invaluable to many of us
working in the field. It is, of course, Levinas – arguably borrowing from
Feuerbach, as Buber did – who supplies one of the central ideas in Personalist
philosophy: the infinity of persons. This notion not only underpins the
inherent dignity and uniqueness of persons, as is clearly explained here. Just
as important, it resists any clear-cut definition of what a person is.
(Notably, this is in spite of the implicit assumption that “person” is
synonymous with “human”, something, I suspect, many readers might object to, particularly
considering recent research into non-human animal intelligence.)
Admittedly, to insist upon the
infinite extensions of personhood (as Feuerbach assuredly did) and therefore
the indefinability of persons is something of a risky move. Carelessly handled,
it could easily lead accusations of deliberate vagueness and obscurity. In
contrast, however, Mortensen would be well-advised to consider drawing the
connection between this notion and his earlier talk of “spirit” more
explicitly. Doing so would, I think, help elucidate for the general reader a
difficult and often loaded term. Furthermore, the infinity of persons is, I am
sure, something Personalist thinkers, must stand firm on. It represents a
crucial acceptance and admission – one which no other philosophical, socio-political,
economic, or scientific system would dare make – that personhood simply cannot
be captured, pinned down, by any finite list of capacities, capabilities, or
properties. Personhood is essentially dynamic. Recognising this not only rebuts
the whole panoply of materialist qualifications, quantifications, and
reductions, it also plays a vitally important role in practical morality,
particularly in relation to questions regarding the beginning and end of life.
Another well-known European
mentioned in this book is arch-existentialist, Jean Paul Sartre. Some readers
might feel that his treatment, which is to say, the use made of him here, is
not entirely fair. Sartre’s most famous adage, “hell is other people”, is cited
several times and evidently serves as a convenient springboard for Personalism.
It does so, however, only when taken out of context. Sartre was too good a
psychologist; his point, as expressed in No Exit, the play from which the quotation is taken, is one that few
Personalists would disagree with. People who choose to stifle themselves and
others with selfishness and isolationism, people who resist the opportunity to
engage humanly, openly, in a spirit of mutuality, such people are, indeed, in hell.
That was Sartre’s point.
This, of course, does not
necessarily detract from the point being made: demonstrating the difference
between Personalism and Existentialism (as well as modern scientism). The
belief that the world is, in fact, meaningless is one that has gained far too
much currency in recent years, suggesting profoundly narrow and ultimately
self-stultifying perspective has taken hold of the public imagination. This
must be resisted, not only for moral reasons, but also because it undermines
intelligent and intelligible discourse. Deny that the universe contains meaning
and we end by denying the meaningfulness of all our talk, including the claim
for meaninglessness itself. So goes materialism and, along with it, all the
real and valuable insights which the sciences have to offer.
It may be, however, that the
critical attitude towards Sartre is symptomatic of a stronger, Kantian,
influence on the author’s thinking. This becomes particularly evident where the
discussion grapples with moral matters. Kant is, of course, of great significance
to anyone working in the field of ethics; Personalists are no exception.
Indeed, Charles Conti credits him (partly on Farrer’s behalf) with a most
effective use of the “the flint of moral sensitivity to fire the sensate self
with a metaphysical vision of ‘the self’.”[2] (This was, Conti reminds us, designed to resist the
causally flattened sense of agency retailed by Hume and every materialist ever
since.) Granting that, however, the deployment of means/end thinking – even to
oppose it – may not be an entirely convincing move. Certainly, it resists the
utilitarian values which underpin such thinking, values which have come to
dominate politics and economics almost entirely, as the author is evidently
well aware. Nevertheless, this Kantian approach remains, ultimately, too
rationalist to satisfy. Place too much emphasis on the role of reason in ethics
and we risk undermining another vitally important insight, which our author is
keen to bring to light. That is, the attempts by the like of Scheler (p. 88-9),
Macmurray, and William James to reintegrate our emotional faculties into moral
and all other intelligent thinking. (The dominance of reason was, of course,
never more than intellectual fantasy, as the violence which characterises the
20th Century clearly demonstrates.)
More problematic, perhaps, for
the overall explication of Personalism, is the question of whether this Kantian
influence allows us to fully unpack the implications of persons as a social
reality. It leads, for example, to the – perfectly reasonable – claim that
objectifying others, treating them, in Kantian parlance, as a means rather than
an end, is a grave offence to the inherent dignity of persons. Similarly, we
are told – again, quite reasonably – that the common obsession with one’s own
ambitions and desires often comes at the cost of others. The plain truth of
these remarks is undeniable. The question is, however, do they go far enough?
The answer, I think, is “they do not,” particularly considering Mortensen’s claims
for the radical nature of Personalism, which ultimately stop short of demonstrating
the unique moral position available in Personalist thought. Personalism, that
is, is not simply another form of Kantianism. It is radical, as Mortensen says; not least because it invites us to
reframe our moral thinking by starting, not with the “I” as moral agent but
with the “you” of moral reflexivity.
What needs to be fully grasped
here is that persons are essentially interconstitutive: our very existence is a
consequence, a function even, of the dynamic interplay between persons. This is
true from top to bottom: on every physical, biological, psychological, and
metaphysical level. Otherwise put, consciousness, personal identity, is
reflective: the self (co)constructs itself in and as a reflection of the other.
This means that, when one objectifies others, one inevitably objectifies
oneself likewise – means/end thinking isn’t strictly necessary here – leaving
oneself unable to act as a genuine other, a person, to others and so become one
oneself.
Recognise this and the case
against individualism might have been significantly more forceful and, as a
result, more damaging to the status quo. Equally, this would enable our author
to push Wojtyla harder still and show that the self is not simply a gift to
others but is a gift of them (and perhaps, if we dare, of an Other).
So much for philosophers and
their influences. More important by far in a book like this is the inclusion of
famous political figures such as Martin Luther King and Desmond Tutu. Their
struggle for freedom and dignity still resonates world-wide; locating them
within the Personalist tradition both grounds and exemplifies the real power of
such thinking in the most pragmatic – and dramatic – way possible. Bishop
Tutu’s work with the South African Reconciliation Commission provides a most powerful
demonstration of this. The connection between those struggles and the deep
socio-political concerns from which this book arises supplies a solid
foundation which readers cannot help but share. Further, it provides excellent
grounds for considering (or reconsidering) Personalism as well as the means for
readers to orient themselves in their understanding of it. It will, I am
certain, give The Common Good the broad appeal that it needs and
deserves.
In this regard, the discussion of
freedom and democracy in chapter 2 is both interesting and useful, providing as
it does another important “hook” for the reader. Such matters are, of course,
of vital concern today. That Mortensen has taken care not to present freedom
and democracy in their usual garb, but rather as they are better understood by
Personalists is, I believe a vitally important move. The idea of freedom, not
as a matter of individual liberty as is commonly assumed, but as a concrete
connection between persons and their social context, was central to Farrer’s
conception of personhood likewise. In his Gifford Lectures (published as The
Freedom of the Will) he compares Sartre’s notions of absolute freedom to
“the spectacle of forty Phaetons drunk, driving wild on the Place de la
Concorde”. “Thank heaven,” he responds, “I have this lecture to write, and
beyond that, my pupils to see to; and ah, beyond that, if I dare to look, there
is Lazarus on the doorstep, covered with sores.”[3] In similar vein, and extending the suggestion that freedom
is a function of the dynamic interplay between persons, is the re-conception of
democracy in terms of conversation. This will, no doubt appeal to many in the
West, especially those who suspect that they have been disenfranchised by the
political and economic systems which were meant to serve their welfare.
Furthermore, it is likely to appeal as much, if not more, to non-Western
readers. Much of the Arab world finds common conceptions of freedom and
democracy problematic to say the least. Talk of dialogue – in which all parties
freely admit that they have something to learn from others – and freedom
expressed in our duties to others seem better able to open up routes for
fruitful dialogue.
In less dramatic fashion, the use
of research by, for example, the OECD, also gives our philosophy of reciprocity
a practical edge, particularly as it is clearly linked to persuasive reminders
of the economic costs of ignoring these insights. That said, a word of caution
when it comes to supporting these ideas with actual research: the author’s
reference to victim-offender conferences is, no doubt, entirely reasonable and
well supported. However, it may well face scepticism in the UK. Such
initiatives have, over the years, been treated with considerable hostility by
the British press. This does not detract from the point, which still ought to
be made, however, the author may wish to be prepared for a negative reaction.
One slightly odd note was the
citing of research regarding work-related stress (p. 34). Given the importance
of social connections and participating in the lives of others to our own
well-being, it may strike the reader as curious to find that it is those who work
in health care and education that suffer most. It may be that this reflects the
increasing bureaucracy as well as the move towards increasing focus on skills
and competencies with its consequent depersonalisation of these professions
(discussed on p. 36-7). It would be interesting to see Mortensen’s view on this
more explicitly stated.
The broader socio-political
foundation of the book is another area which might be usefully expanded,
particularly as it impacts on the neglect of Personalism, discussed in the
final chapter. It may be worth noting that the rise of existentialism,
correctly identified here as one of the primary reasons for that neglect, is
itself part of a much bigger picture. This includes the emergence, during the
post-enlightenment period, of what Michael Polanyi describes as “revolutionary
societies”. Such societies were, as Polanyi shows, driven by the violent
rejection of absolute truth in favour of moral and political relativism. This
was quickly followed by the transformation of all truth into economic and power
relations and the rise of both Fascism and Communism. To give the reader a
sense of this would, perhaps, help to elucidate the rise and eventual dominance
of utilitarian values. A brief consideration of Polanyi’s analysis of these
events, which appears in The Logic of Liberty and elsewhere, might,
therefore, prove useful.
There is, of course, considerably
more that I should like to say about this book. It is, after all, one which
invites creative and constructive engagement. That, I think, captures the
spirit of both this work and its subject matter very well: creative and
constructive engagement. In so doing, the author has highlighted a vital
contrast, not only between Personalism and traditional, oppositional, modes of
thought, but also between Personalism and the standard attempts to resolve
those oppositions. It seems clear – especially after reading The Common Good
– that Personalism goes further and does more precisely because it does not
take the best elements from other views and seek to integrate them as most
political, social, and moral thinking does. Personalism does not, that is, take
from other positions, it seeks the best in them. It seeks out, in
other words, that space within those other discourses wherein their human
construction is hidden and draws it out into the open where it may flourish. By
such means are bridges built; by such means, more importantly, do we become
persons in the first place. That, I take it, is the message of this book.
1) Principles of the Philosophy of the Future, 67.
2) Metaphysical
Personalism, 183.
3) The
Freedom of the Will, 300.
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