Acknowledgments
My interest in liberal nationalism arose out of a process of self-reflection. Between 1977 and 1982 I was very active in the Israeli peace movement (Peace Now) and in the civil rights movement. In the course of these activities I was frequently required to justify the complex position held by supporters of the peace movement, and to vindicate its moderate version of national commitments as a legitimate Zionist approach. My attempts to explain these views made me aware of the vulnerability of the liberal nationalist position, forced to contend with the censure of both liberals and nationalists.
This book is the fruit of many years of personal political involvement, which eventually led me to a concern with the theoretical dimensions of liberal nationalism. I am grateful for the opportunity to spend three years doing graduate work on this subject at Balliol College, Oxford, and I am deeply indebted to the college for their support and for awarding me the Domus Scholarship.
When I embarked on this project, nationalism seemed almost an anachronistic topic. During my years in Oxford I exhausted a stockpile of phrases in answer to the comment, “How interesting!” (Oxfordese for “How weird!”)—usually uttered after I reported I was writing a thesis on nationalism. In the years since, the situation has changed so radically that it is almost impossible to try and make sense of the political reality without giving thought to the pursuit of national ideals, and it now goes without saying that nationalism merits scholarly concern. The mostly aggressive character of the recent nationalist revival, however, placed me once again on the defensive, and I am now busy drawing up a new list of replies to “How interesting!”—apparently evoked by the term “liberal nationalism.” In this book I try to show that, although it might be seen as an impossible match, liberal nationalism is a far more pervasive view than is usually assumed.
When writing the doctoral dissertation from which this book later developed, tutors and friends were generous with their guidance and advice. Sir Isaiah Berlin devoted a great deal of time to discuss with me the thesis developed in this book. His comments and criticism were invaluable, and I am grateful for the skillful and humorous way in which he led me to see my argument more clearly, and to accept that many questions would remain unanswered. After reading the final version of this book I have come to realise how deeply I have been influenced by his work and his temper as a philosopher. Alan Montefiore has closely followed my work over these years, and I have found his guidance and unlimited patience enormously helpful in confronting the philosophical complexities of the questions surrounding this work. His personal friendship and attention were very helpful in some of the hard periods I went through during these years. My tutorials with Steven Lukes introduced me to a whole range of questions in sociology and political science that I might otherwise have left unattended. I deeply appreciate his generous invitation to the European University in Florence and his willingness to read the final draft of my dissertation after he had left Oxford.
Charles Taylor and David Heyd kindly read parts of the work, and I am thankful for their very helpful comments. I would also like to thank Michael Freeden and Neil MacCormick for their stimulating suggestions. Michael Walzer and Amy Gutmann were very generous with their time and advice, read extensive versions of various drafts, and significantly contributed to my thinking on several thorny questions.
Being a graduate student at Balliol College meant that I was privileged to be part of a very stimulating and active group of political philosophy students. It is hard to overstate the contribution of this group to my work and to my intellectual development during those years. In particular, I would like to thank Valerie Monchi, Ragib Bhargaba, Seth Moglen, David Knott, and Mahesh Rangarjan, who read and commented on various drafts. I owe very special thanks to Michael Sarbanes, whose advice was always helpful, and who cheered me up at some of the most difficult moments. Following my return to Israel and in the course of working on this book, I benefited greatly from the remarks of Ruth Weintraub and Amnon Levav. This was a sceptical and critical audience, and although I tried to meet all their objections I am not at all sure I have managed to do so.
I wish to thank Ann Himmelberger Wald, philosophy and political theory editor at Princeton University Press, for her patience and her meticulous reading of the manuscript. Her comments were extremely helpful and are reflected in the final version.
I am very grateful to my editor Batya Stein for her comments, advice, and editorial skills. We have shared questions and doubts and the partnership between us has made this book what it is.
It is customary to end acknowledgments by thanking one’s family, and with good reason. Sharing one’s life with someone engaged in writing a book is not, to put it mildly, a pleasant experience. Lonny, Carmel, and Tal patiently endured the closed door of my study and gave me the love and support without which this book could not have been written.
There is no route back from reflectiveness. This phenomenon of self-consciousness, together with the institutions and processes that support it, constitute one reason why past forms of life are not a real option for the present, and why attempts to go back often produce results that are ludicrous on a small scale and hideous on a large one.
—Bernard Williams
As we entered the final quarter of the twentieth century, there was a widespread assumption that the age of nationalism was over, that we were on the threshold of a postnational era. It is now clear that this assumption was wrong. National movements are regaining popularity, and nations that had once assimilated and “vanished” have now reappeared. Estonians, Latvians, Corsicans, and Lombards awake from the long slumber that communist regimes or Western European nation-states had forced upon them, flex their muscles, and set out to march under the banner of national independence. These attempts to turn back the historical clock are often marked by bloodshed and by a violation of the rights of neighbouring nations. In their enthusiasm to regain their national identity and acquire recognition and self-respect, national activists often overlook the changes that have taken place in the surrounding political, economic, and strategic circumstances, and fail to realise that national slogans have become obsolete. The era of homogeneous and viable nation-states is over (or rather, the era of the illusion that homogeneous and viable nation-states are possible is over, since such states never existed), and the national vision must be redefined.
The twenty-first century is unlikely to see nationalism fade away. Liberals, whom some had viewed as the great winners of the twentieth century, must come to terms with the need to “share this glory” with nationalism, and probably with religious fundamentalism too. Liberals then need to ask themselves whether national convictions matter to their way of thinking, to their values, norms, and modes of behaviour, to their notions of social justice, and to the range of practical policies they support. In other words, they must rethink their beliefs and policies and seek to adapt them to the world in which they live.
Some may argue that liberals should rather engage in a struggle against the national phenomenon, offer a universalist alternative, and rely on persuasion and education to eradicate national feelings. Although this attempt to manipulate individual preferences rather than meet them is obviously paternalistic, it could be viewed more favourably were we to agree that national aspirations are ultimately evil and there is nothing in them that merits our respect. But is this indeed the case? Even when viewed from a liberal perspective, nationalism advances an important claim, which can hardly be dismissed as manifestly and utterly irrelevant, false, or morally reprehensible. This is not to say that certain types of nationalism are not morally repugnant, but the same could be said of almost any political theory. The oppressive and at times murderous nature of people’s democracies, the malicious neglect of the poor and the needy that follows from a rigid adherence to free-market libertarianism, clearly show the horrific results of pushing even the most virtuous of ideas to their logical end. National ideas have indeed fueled some of the most devastating regimes of this century, but they have also inspired some of its most glorious moments, when the struggle against colonialism and imperialism was waged in the name of national self-determination.
This work is an attempt to demonstrate that the liberal tendency to overlook the value inherent in nationalism is mistaken, and to explore ways in which nationalism might contribute to liberal thinking. This could prove to be a rewarding venture, particularly if it provides us with a better set of tools with which to confront some of the bitter conflicts tearing our world apart.
The treatment of nationalism and liberalism in this book is not symmetrical. Liberalism is taken as the starting point, and there is no attempt to justify the set of liberal values in light of which this work aims to reflect on, evaluate, and structure a theory of nationalism. In the pursuit of this task, it breaks away from the liberal tendency to describe nationalism as resting merely on irrational (some say primitive) fears of “the stranger,” as motivated by a morally irrelevant attraction to what is familiar and similar, by an unscrupulous desire for power, or as an excuse to grab advantages for one nation at the expense of others. These elements obviously have a role in the understanding of nationalism, but they fail to exhaust the reasons for its appeal. Underlying nationalism is a range of perceptive understandings of the human situation, of what makes human life meaningful and creative, as well as a set of praiseworthy values. Liberals are challenged to accommodate those worthy elements, and lend substance to national values within the boundaries of liberalism.
My attempt to introduce national values into the liberal discourse is motivated by an ongoing personal commitment to pursue a national vision while remaining faithful to a set of liberal beliefs. I have consequently refrained from taking a frequently offered piece of advice suggesting I renounce the concept of “nationalism” in favour of a less emotionally loaded term, such as “people” or the much discussed “community.” Although resorting to a less controversial and less pejorative term might have made my position more acceptable, I thought it would be wrong to bypass the concept of nationalism. Liberals who give up this term and surrender it to the use of conservative political forces, or note the difference, to chauvinist and racist ideologies, alienate themselves from a whole set of values that are of immense importance to a great many people, including liberals.
MacCormick excels in conveying the problems faced by liberals who are also committed to a national cause:
Whether ‘nation’ and ‘nationalism’ are antithetical to or compatible with ‘individual’ and ‘individualism’ is a question of acute personal concern for me. I have been for a good many years a member of the Scottish National Party, and yet remain in some perplexity about the justiciability of any nationalistic case within the terms set for me by the other principles to which I adhere.1
Liberal nationalists confront a whole range of questions: Should I prefer my liberal beliefs to my national commitments? Are both intrinsically valuable because they reflect different aspects of my personality? Is it really the case that my liberal values reflect rational thinking and the exercise of choice, while my national attachments are part of the emotional, inexplicable allure of the mysterious word “my”—“my” people, “my” culture?
If the conflict between liberalism and nationalism is, as Gellner describes it, “a tug of war between reason and passion,”2 liberals might feel obliged to give liberal values priority over national convictions. But if this description is simplistic and misleading, there may be no easy way of ranking these two sets of values. Liberals might then have to acknowledge that a wide range of incommensurable and incompatible values and norms are relevant to their life, and seek a reasonable compromise.
This book suggests that the liberal tradition, with its respect for personal autonomy, reflection, and choice, and the national tradition, with its emphasis on belonging, loyalty, and solidarity, although generally seen as mutually exclusive, can indeed accommodate one another. Liberals can acknowledge the importance of belonging, membership, and cultural affiliations, as well as the particular moral commitments that follow from them. Nationalists can appreciate the value of personal autonomy and individual rights and freedoms, as well as sustain a commitment for social justice both between and within nations.
Certain tensions between liberal and national values are, however, inherent. Some of these values lead to incompatible policies and many such conflicts, explored in the final chapter, are not the outcome of “a logical incomparability between duties abstractly defined, but between the actions they require in a given situation.”3 In other cases, liberal and national values are incommensurable, that is, there is no single scale on which they might be measured and compared. How can we determine which will be more valuable to the individual’s well-being—a wide range of civil liberties or membership in a flourishing cultural group, full-scale autonomy, or a deep sense of belonging?
Arguing that national values should be acknowledged and respected, rather than dismissed as inherently groundless and irrational, entails a move toward greater moral complexity and more frequent collisions between rights and values. At best, these could be resolved by untidy compromises aimed at alleviating harm and suffering. Tidiness is not a proper end for heterogeneous societies, says Berlin; there are no perfect answers to social problems, and the pursuit of absolute solutions too often leads to oppression or bloodshed.4 The search for a theory of liberal nationalism, which renounces the ultimate pursuit of one set of values at the expense of the other, is an attempt to avoid this peril.
The starting point of this work is a set of beliefs endorsing individual rights and liberties, affirming the right of individuals to equal respect and concern, and presuming that governments should be neutral and impartial vis-à-vis individual interests, preferences, and conceptions of the good, propositions endorsed by most contemporary liberal theorists. As far as the national dimension is concerned, this book does not embark on a descriptive account of the political, historical, sociological or economic circumstances that brought nationalism about, or allowed its development as a global force. It presents nationalism as a way of thinking about human nature and about a world order, from which prescriptive implications for moral and political thought might be derived.
My inquiry concerning the foundations of liberal nationalism, begins with the basic methodological postulate of every political ideology—a portrait of human nature. The idea that there are universal features that characterise human nature might seem more plausible to liberals than to nationalists. Yet, the nationalist emphasis on the importance of particular circumstances for the construction of personal identity does not contradict the universalist view of human nature. On the contrary, nationalists can endorse this notion and claim that, by nature, individuals are members of particular human communities. Outside such communities they cannot develop a language and a culture, or set themselves aims. Their lives become meaningless; there is no substance to their reflection, no set of norms and values in light of which they can make choices and become the free, autonomous persons that liberals assume them to be. Being situated, adhering to a particular tradition, and being intimate with a particular language, could therefore be seen as preconditions of personal autonomy, although they could also be perceived as restricting the possibility of choosing elements that are constitutive of personal identity, such as communal and cultural affiliations and a basic set of values. But would national, religious, and cultural movements be so fearful of conversion and assimilation were it not clear that individuals do indeed have a choice in these realms?
The first chapter discusses cultural choices in great detail, asking whether culture can be a precondition of reflective thinking and the exercise of choice, while in itself remaining an object of choice. It is argued in this work that although cultural choices are neither easy nor limitless, cultural memberships are not beyond choice. In this sense, the view of culture and communal membership developed here differs from the perfectionistic and collective approach generally adopted by communitarians, in that it cherishes openness, reflection, and individual choice.
Claiming that individuals can choose their communal affiliations does not imply that they approach their membership superficially, or that they consider it irrelevant to their self-definition. Several elements, although constitutive of our personal identity—religious beliefs, political affiliations, professions, and styles of life—are nevertheless subject to reflection and choice.
This emphasis on the elective aspect of personal identity has important implications for the theoretical understanding and the practical realisation of cultural and national rights, which are discussed in Chapters 2 and 3. Rights are viewed here as meant to allow individuals to lead a life which, on reflection, they have come to value, rather than a life imposed on them by history and fate. It makes no sense to ensure individuals the ability to adopt a culture they despise, or to belong to a community they do not wish to be members of. The right to culture is meant to allow individuals to live within the culture of their choice, to decide on their social affiliations, to re-create the culture of the community they belong to, and to redefine its borders.
Notwithstanding the individualistic dimension of this argument, liberal nationalism recognises that culture and membership are communal features, whose worth can be fully enjoyed only together with others making similar choices. A right to culture thus entails the right to a public sphere in which individuals can share a language, memorise their past, cherish their heroes, live a fulfilling national life.
This approach presupposes a cultural definition of the term “nation,” in which the nation is seen as an “imaginary community.”5 The concept “imaginary community” is used here, following Anderson, to describe a community too big to allow for direct personal relations among all its members. The boundaries of such a community and the notion of recognition that follows from it, are products of its members’ ability to “think the nation” by the power of their imagination. Hence, rather than implying false beliefs or misrepresentations of reality, “imaginary” implies that, unlike the family, the tribe, or the people, the nation exists only when its members consciously conceive themselves as distinct from members of other groups. This “illusive” definition makes it hard to draw clear distinctions between a nation and other types of cultural communities. Less harm is likely to be caused, however, by accepting an ambiguous definition of the term “nation,” which might lead to the inclusion of groups that would be left out by a stricter one, than by excluding borderline cases.
If culture, in its widest sense, is what holds a nation together and preserves it as separate from others, then the existence of a nation as a distinct social unit is contingent on the presence of a public sphere where the national culture is expressed, where an individual feels free to “develop without repression those aspects of his personality which are bound up with his sense of identity as a member of his community.”6 This demand for a public sphere in which the cultural aspects of national life come to the fore constitutes the essence of the right to national self-determination. This right is to be distinguished from the right to self-rule, which is the right to take part in the political institutions that govern one’s life. Whereas the latter is derived from democratic theory, the former is grounded in a theory of nationalism. Chapter 3 develops this distinction and follows up its practical implications.
Historically, the nation-state has been the prevalent solution to nationalist demands for self-determination. National self-determination can indeed substantiate a claim for political institutions that members might see as “their own,” and for a public sphere where the national culture might be expressed, but these ends can also be achieved through a variety of other political setups, including federative and confederative arrangements, local autonomies, or the establishment of national institutions. Were nation-states the only way of realising the right to national self-determination, its implementation would remain the privilege of only a fortunate few. The merits of a model suggesting that the political implications of this right be phrased in more modest terms, is that it allows all nations to enjoy it in some form.
Chapter 4 outlines in more detail the parameters of liberal nationalism, and demonstrates that it can be distinguished from some of its more notorious neighbours, such as fascism and nazism. Liberal nationalism is predicated on the idea that all nations should enjoy equal rights, and in fact derives its universal structure from the theory of individual rights found at its core. If national rights rest on the value that individuals attach to their membership in a nation, then all nations are entitled to equal respect. The justification of national rights is thus separated from the glorious or tormented past of each nation, from its antiquity, or from its success in attaining territorial gains.7
Chapter 5 turns to the question of justice. Theories of nationalism do not endorse a particular conception of social justice, although we can infer a certain moral approach from the basic set of beliefs underlying national thinking. Its most immediate consequences touch on the claim that membership influences the moral obligations of individuals. Members have certain special obligations and responsibilities toward each other, thereby sustaining a claim for partiality: Individuals thus have a reason, although not an ultimate one, to prefer members over nonmembers. In the course of the discussion several distinctions regarding the subjects as well as the spheres in which this favouritism is justified are drawn.
Contrary to common wisdom, the conception of justice implied by liberal nationalism is no more egoistic and no less satisfying, but more consistent than that of traditional liberalism.
The inconsistencies found in liberal theories of justice reveal that many national elements, although unacknowledged, have been fused into liberal thought; some of them are explored in Chapter 6. For example, the liberal conception of distributive justice is particularistic and applies only within well-defined, relatively closed social frameworks, which favour members over nonmembers. The same applies to the liberal conceptions of membership and political obligations, which simultaneously embody two contradictory images of the political community: that of a voluntary association and that of a community of fate. This dualistic perception comes to the fore in the liberal stand on questions of naturalisation, as citizenship in a liberal state is more often a right acquired by birth than through voluntary consent. Indeed, this could almost be expected, since the modern conception of the state emerges from the amalgamation of liberal, democratic, and national ideas. Liberal nationalism is therefore a more common position than is generally assumed. Most liberals might disagree and tend to dissociate themselves from nationalism because they identify it only with its most extreme and intolerant versions. In so doing, however, they deprive themselves of the possibility of gaining a better understanding of the sources of their own thinking.
The national point of view grants prominence to several dimensions that liberal theory has tended to overlook: social attachments, cultural affiliations, the communal aspect of individual identity, and particular moral commitments that grow out of membership in associative communities. Once the importance of these dimensions is recognised, they could shed light on the liberal argument itself.
Were homogeneous nation-states possible, liberal nationalism would pose no problems. But most contemporary states are multinational, and under these circumstances, the demand that a state should reflect one national culture entails harsh implications for members of minority groups.
Drawing a line between the political and the cultural spheres could serve to alleviate some of the problems raised by multinationalism. The most important aspect of this distinction is that nationality, which is here used to describe membership in a nation and not in its misleading yet widespread connotation of citizenship, should not be a criterion for participating in the political sphere or for the allocation of goods and services.
An open political culture, that compensates members of minority groups for cultural disadvantages, may lessen the problems faced by national and cultural minorities. Nevertheless, alienation from a system characterised by cultural features one does not share is a persistent cause of personal suffering and political unrest. These tensions are inherent in the national nature of the modern state, and cannot be dealt with unless we reconsider our understanding of its roles and functions.
The final chapter offers guidelines for such a reconsideration, keeping in mind that solutions are never simple, even under optimal conditions. The main merit of this discussion is not in its ability to unravel all possible entanglements, but in pointing to the irresolvable collision between worthwhile values. It addresses a plea to liberals to be attentive to the nature of national claims, and to seek ways of taking them into account alongside traditional liberal values.
Liberals often align themselves with national demands raised by “underdogs,” be they indigenous peoples, discriminated minorities, or occupied nations, whose plight can easily evoke sympathy. But if national claims rest on theoretically sound and morally justified grounds, one cannot restrict their application: They apply equally to all nations, regardless of their power, their wealth, their history of suffering, or even the injustices they have inflicted on others in the past.
It is true that fanatic nationalism is a more dangerous tool in the hands of the mighty, and zealous nationalism can indeed lead to deplorable consequences. Even some of the moderate views suggested in this work could be used to justify evil policies if isolated from their overall context. At the risk of stating the obvious, it must be said that all decent solutions to the problems raised in this book require a fair degree of tolerance, open-mindedness, and common sense, and no theory, no matter how well-defined, could be of any help in their absence.
It could also be claimed that reflective nationalism is not nationalism at all and that, by nature, nationalism is holistic and ultimate, and could never be reflective, individualistic, and antiperfectionistic. Williams’ words, which served as the epigraph of this introduction, seem appropriate in response: “There is no route back from reflectiveness.” That is why past forms of life, as well as past forms of thought, are not suitable options. Some nationalists, as well as some communitarians, might indeed hope to return to the intimate, close, authoritarian communities of the past that, in the haze of history, appear as a lost Eden. But the past has withered, and trying to force it back can, as we have recently witnessed, be “ludicrous on a small scale and hideous on a large one.”8
The feeling that national thinking stakes an important claim if it could only free itself from the rhetoric of blood and soil and acknowledge that reflection and choice are as important as history and fate, is what motivated me to write this book. It is for the reader to judge whether I have succeeded in placing national thinking within the boundaries of liberalism without losing sight of either.