Four
Some may think this too weak a version of nationalism to merit the name, others that any version of nationalism is merely a stalking horse for chauvinism and xenophobia. To both I would say that in this and in other matters there is much to be said for a golden mean. —Neil MacCormick
The present national awakening began in Europe, for a long time the hearth of all nationalist fires. The nations of Eastern Europe have taken to the streets waving their flags, singing their hymns, and unearthing national heroes buried in the shadows during the long years of communism. In Great Britain, claims raised by the Irish, the Welsh, and the Scots threaten the 400-year alliance among the nations of the British isles. At the same time, the Basques and the Corsicans stake claims for national autonomy, tensions escalate between Flemish and Walloons, and signs of xenophobia appear wherever immigrants concentrate. It is therefore hard to remember that, only a few years ago, it was commonly suggested that the world had reached a postnational era. Amos Elon, an Israeli journalist, wrote in 1987: “In one important sense, modern democracies already live in a postnationalist era. Even in the relatively young nation of Israel, few people seem nowadays to be in the mood for unreflective national celebration.”1 When making this claim, Elon was quite clearly interpreting nationalism in the most extreme, ultimate and unreflective terms.
When approached as a set of definitive values nationalism may indeed lead to social and political catastrophe. Although this is probably the fate of any social or political ideal radically and thoughtlessly pursued, a hidden assumption seems to be at work as far as nationalism is concerned, which grants validity only to its extreme interpretations and identifies it with fanaticism, violent struggle, and disaster.
So firm is this belief that MacCormick’s interesting attempt to offer a moderate view of nationalism is met with great suspicion.2 If MacCormick’s view can be defined as “nationalism,” argues Graham, then “a good many people are nationalists unawares.” This conclusion, which will be defended in Chapter 6, seems too threatening, and Graham thus hastens to reassure us that “such a moderate nationalism is not really nationalism at all.”3 But why should nationalism be the only social ideal that must either be pursued in an ultimate manner or not at all? Moderate nationalism offers a coherent theoretical position, indeed, a more coherent one than its more extreme “relatives.” Why should liberal nationalism, which places reflection, choice, and internal criticism at its center, and rejects the notion that nationalism must necessarily “exalt the idea of the nation above all other ideas,”4 be defined as postnationalist?
The main characteristic of liberal nationalism is that it fosters national ideals without losing sight of other human values against which national ideals ought to be weighed. The outcome of this process is a redefinition of legitimate national goals and the means used to pursue them. Liberal nationalism thus celebrates the particularity of culture together with the universality of human rights, the social and cultural embeddedness of individuals together with their personal autonomy. In this sense it differs radically from organic interpretations of nationalism, which assume that the identity of individuals is totally constituted by their national membership, and that their personal will is “truly free” only when fully submerged in the general one. It is a direct descendant of the cultural pluralism of Herder and the liberal nationalism of Mazzini.
Liberal nationalism relies on the assumption that as liberalism is a theory about the eminence of individual liberties and personal autonomy, nationalism is a theory about the eminence of national-cultural membership and historical continuity, and the importance of perceiving one’s present life and one’s future development as an experience shared with others.
The parallel suggested by this comparison between liberalism and nationalism is frequently rejected. It is often suggested that nationalism is not a theory at all, that it lacks structure and consistency, and that it should therefore be regarded as merely a capricious mood, mirroring human desires and fears, “an irrational relic of, or retrogressive return to, a barbarous past.”5 Seton-Watson claims that the essence of nationalism is that popular sovereignty should be applied to the nation—“the rest of nationalist ideology is rhetoric.”6 Others agree that nationalism might be enormously important for historians and sociologists but claim that it would be absurd to treat it as if inviting serious rational criticism. And Popper, in what is probably the best known attack on nationalism, claims that nationalism is akin to a revolt against reason and the open society, which appeals “to our tribal instincts, to passion and to prejudice, and to our nostalgic desire to be relieved from the strain of individual responsibility which it attempts to replace by a collective or group responsibility.”7
This attack on nationalism notwithstanding, this book attempts to describe an interpretation of nationalism that cherishes reason and the open society, rests on a systematic view of human nature and the world order, and on a coherent set of universally applicable values.
Arguing that one could approach nationalism as a theory entails an attempt to uncover the presence of some unifying characteristics able to cut across the myriad of claims raised by different national groups. The existence of these characteristics is often masked by the character of the nationalist discourse which, by its very nature, insists on presenting national claims as unique, a product of each nation’s distinct identity. Nationalists prefer to justify their claims by reference to the particular culture, history, and religion of their nation, rather than by relating them to a broad theory that could fit other national groups. On this count, nationalism differs from other schools of thought. Whereas liberals, for instance, often go out of their way to demonstrate that their specific policies, however remote, correlate with a general theory, nationalists consistently attempt to disguise the universality of their arguments and emphasise the particularistic aspects of their claims and policies. This tendency to emphasise the particular is a universal characteristic, shared by all nationalist claims. Only after we realise this can we begin to search for a general theory hiding behind the multitude of national arguments.
This search is valuable for several reasons. First, a general theory of nationalism could provide the conceptual tools required for a critical evaluation of a broad variety of social phenomena grouped under the generic rubric of nationalism. This evaluation could lead to the conclusion that, at least in some cases, the term “nationalism” has been misused, and could also help us understand the temptation to misuse it. Second, a theoretical framework will enable distinctions between a theory of nationalism and nationalistic policies, similar to the differentiation we make between communism and liberalism as political theories and the specific policies of certain Communist or liberal parties. Last but not least, a comprehensive theory might reveal a different, and possibly more favourable, interpretation of nationalism than is commonly accepted, and underscore the importance of nationalism for the understanding and evaluation of a broad range of social and political phenomena.
Theories of Nationalism:A Search for a Common Ground
A theoretical clarification is in order to begin with. The term “theory” is used here in a programmatic, normative context. It is therefore to be distinguished from other theoretical approaches concerned with the historical development of nationalism, its economic, political, and cultural roots, or its various manifestations. The purpose is to outline a justification of nationalism, that draws attention to its normative aspects, rather than to explain its emergence and development.
Contrary to the ethnocentric nature of nationalistic discourse, which extols the virtues and singularity of one particular nation, a theory of nationalism is, by nature, polycentric. It necessarily recognises and cherishes the plurality of the national phenomenon. Its arguments develop in reference to features shared by all nations, rather than on justifications resting on the specific history, cultural traditions, religious beliefs, or particular values of any one nation. The claim that the Jews are God’s chosen people thus cannot be justified with reference to a theory of nationalism, although it is certainly a nationalist claim.
Similarly, Mickiewicz’s claim that “the Slavs were a chosen people because they were the ‘new barbarians,’ a people without a heritage, with a virgin soul ready to accept a new revelation,”8 which is an integral aspect of the Polish nationalist discourse, cannot find support in a theory of nationalism. Cruise O’Brien claims that virtually every Christian nation took the idea of a chosen people in the promised land and applied it to itself. Although unsure of the full number, O’Brien observes that “writers of the following nations explicitly refer to their people as chosen and to their land as promised: England, France, Germany, Spain, Poland, Russia, Sweden, Switzerland, Ireland, and especially and insistently the United States, for both whites and blacks took up this theme.”9 Other nations, such as Israel, Iran, and Egypt, could be added to this list. But no nationalist would ever describe the pretension to be a chosen people living in a promised land as part of a general pattern, as this would invalidate the claim. Being chosen is only meaningful if others are not.
It is clear why the nationalist discourse often deliberately attempts to mask latent overarching arguments, but the similarities between the different national claims are too obvious to ignore. It is precisely this tension between praise for the particular and the awareness of universality that makes nationalism, as a political and social phenomenon and as a theory, so attractive and complex. It is attractive because it captures the importance of context, of cultural affiliations, of the need for roots, for belonging, for human development and self-fulfillment, thereby illuminating a broad range of issues that liberal theory tends to brush aside. It is complex because it forces the realisation that there are two different and incompatible discourses embedded in each national claim. One tends to describe the particular sequence of events through which a nation has evolved by referring to what is unique to the group, thus developing arguments that are only meaningful to the group’s members. The other emphasises the universal dimension of politics, places the national story within a framework, and relates it to that of other nations, thus developing arguments that are also meaningful within a general context.
The complicated relations between these two layers of discourse could be exemplified by following the claims raised by both sides in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Israelis tend to view the establishment of the state of Israel in light of their personal and painful history of expulsion and persecution, from the days of the destruction of the Second Temple through the horrors of the Holocaust and present-day anti-Semitism. This narrative is told in ways that necessarily lead to one conclusion: Due to the tragic sequence of events that marks Jewish history, Jews need a state of their own to secure their existence and to ensure a public sphere where Jewish life can prosper. The story told by the Palestinians follows a similar path of sorrow, expulsion, and mistreatment, and reaches the same conclusion: Palestinian history teaches that in light of their long oppression and in order to ensure their self-protection, Palestinians need a state of their own. The Israeli and Palestinian claims are both grounded in their past suffering. Other nations struggling to ensure their national rights, such as the Kurds, the Basques, or the Armenians, also offer a history of suffering and subjection as grounds for their entitlement to such rights. But suffering and persecution are not suitable grounds for bestowing national rights. Many groups, such as religious sects, women, homosexuals, or members of opposition parties, share a history of suffering, and discrimination. These might entitle them to compensation but not to national rights. By the same token, it would be unreasonable to claim that national groups that have never suffered persecution are therefore less entitled to national rights.
A historical account of the nation’s past may explain how the nation came about, its present condition, the collective fears and traumas that motivate it, its attachment to a particular territory, or its adoption of a particular religion, but it cannot, as such, justify granting it national rights. National rights can only be consistently justified on universal grounds by referring to the value individuals find in the existence of nations, and by assuming that human beings care as much about the national environment in which they implement their life-plans as about the specific content of these plans. The notion of the contextual individual and its concomitant implications, which rely on the right of individuals to be self-determining, on the acknowledgment of the importance of cultural membership, and on the assertion of a general right to culture and national self-determination, must therefore be at the center of any theory of nationalism.
Cultural Nationalism and Liberal Values
The version of nationalism that places cultural commitments at its center is usually perceived as the most conservative and antiliberal form of nationalism. Kohn, for example, used the term “cultural nationalism” to describe East European nationalism and distinguish it from its Western counterpart. Cultural nationalism, Kohn argues, preaches the establishment of closed societies, favours the authoritarian uniformity of state and faith, and fosters xenophobia. Its goals are “narrow, self-centered, antagonistic”; it sees the nation as “a political unit centering around the irrational pre-civilized folk concept,” lending itself “more easily to the exaggeration of imagination and excitation of emotions.” In short, Kohn’s cultural nationalism is on the verge of the pathological and doomed to culminate in catastrophe.10
Liberal nationalism bears no resemblance to Kohn’s description. In fact, it is mainly characterised by the features Kohn had assigned to the Western nationalism modeled on the Enlightenment: It is pluralistic and open, sees national groups as not only a product of history, but also of human will, and broadly follows humanistic tradition. It is structured in line with the assumptions of ethical individualism, stating that “the only way to justify any social practice is by reference to the interests of those people who are affected by it.”11 Accordingly, it rules out appeals in the name of God, Nature, History, Culture, the Glorious Dead, the Spirit of the Nation, or any other such metaphysical entities, unless these claims can be justified in terms of human interests.
Guided by this view of ethical individualism, it places strong emphasis on the possibility and the importance of choice. However, the strong communal dimension of all forms of nationalism is undeniable, and liberal nationalism indeed assumes that living within one’s national community is of value to individuals. The first two chapters considered the instrumental dimension of national membership, namely, its ability to provide a set of beliefs, interests, and behaviours, as well as a coherent, transparent, and intelligible environment in which individuals can become self-determining. It was suggested that in the open and ever-changing modern world, life in a cultural environment that is familiar, understandable, and thus predictable is a necessary precondition for making rational choices and becoming self-governing.
Life within one’s nation has a further advantage. It offers the possibility of being acknowledged by significant others, be it peers or superiors: “they understand me, as I understand them; and this understanding creates within me a sense of being somebody in the world.”12 Agreement with this statement does not imply subscribing to an illusion of perfect harmony or mutual understanding, but rather suggests the presence of certain intangible links among members of a national entity.
Yet, one of the most significant aspects of a “national life” is to be found in an altogether different sphere. A national life allows individuals to enjoy a degree of self-fulfillment they cannot experience on their own. Liberal nationalism does not claim that individuals can find true freedom and expression only through complete identification with the community. It does not endorse claims such as those voiced by Fichte, that only by completely identifying with the whole can man become really man, realising himself in utmost plentitude, and it is this realisation that is the perfect freedom. Membership in a national community is not viewed in perfectionist terms, although it is still assumed that it allows individuals to lead a more meaningful life.
In what way is life within one’s nation better and more meaningful? Two terms require clarification in this context: “meaningful” and “within one’s nation.” The term “meaningful” refers to the nationalist belief that every action taking place within the boundaries of a national entity is endowed with additional meaning. In every field of human activity—music, theatre, literature, sports, the army, or the economy—every action performed within a national context counts both as a contribution to that particular field and as a contribution to the national endeavour. For example, Andy Warhol’s pictures represent an artistic contribution, but they are also a stage in the development of American culture. Lines such as
I travelled among unknown men,
In lands beyond the sea;
Nor, England! did I know till then
what love I bore to thee.
(William Wordsworth, “Lucy” II)
have entered the pantheon of Western poetry, but are also pillars of English culture. In the 1936 Berlin Olympics, Jesse Owens not only won four gold medals and set three world records but, through these achievements, attained a national victory for his country (and for black people everywhere). From a national perspective, the painter working in the solitude of his atelier, the poet writing to his loved one, or the athlete competing in a sports event, strive for the pinnacle of their own individual achievements but, willingly or unwillingly, they are also contributing to the advancement of their own particular nations. If we accept Williams’ claim that “culture is the ordinary,” then the meaning of most of our daily actions transcends their particular and direct function. The ability to turn an everyday act into a source of national pride is one of the most appealing aspects of nationalism. It contextualises human actions, no matter how mundane, making them part of a continuous creative effort whereby culture is made and remade. Insofar as every action within a national entity is endowed with this additional dimension, individuals living within national frameworks enjoy options unavailable to those outside them. It is in this sense that national frameworks can be said to bestow extra merit on social, cultural, or political acts, and to provide individuals with additional channels for self-fulfillment that make their lives more meaningful.
But living within one’s own community could make life more meaningful in other respects. Living within a community where members share an “imagined” sense of togetherness engenders mutual responsibilities. The development of human relationships, the ability to strive together with others to achieve shared goals, enriches human life. Moreover, the respect for continuity inherent in national membership enables individuals to place themselves in a continuum of human life and creativity, connecting them to their ancestors as well as to future generations and lessening the solitude and alienation characteristic of modern life.
We still need to clarify the use of the term “living within one’s nation.” This could sound like a territorial claim, suggesting that individuals must live in physical proximity to other members of their group, but in the modern world this is not necessarily the case. We should here distinguish between two distinct claims.
The first is that in order to lead a prosperous cultural life, a nation needs a public sphere. As the phenomenon of modern diasporas proves, a national community could in fact have more than one public sphere and need not occupy a continuous territory. For example, Said draws our attention to the fact that Cubans in Florida remain Cubans setting up their own Havana in Miami:
Having come to the New World in an age of rapid travel and communication no longer means that you have to give up the old country, since it turns out that you can bring it with you. A century ago, the implacable realities of geography meant that, over time (though, of course, a longer time than most people can recall), most immigrants began to forget the old country in much the same way that even the most bereaved of lovers eventually ceases to be able accurately to picture a loved one’s face. Now the simple accessibility of the entire world makes such forgetfulness all but attainable.13
The second claim is that in order to be able to enjoy the additional national dimension ascribed to an individual achievement, the latter need not take place within one’s national community. Although written far away from Dublin, Ulysses is part of the Irish culture it portrays. While writing Ulysses, Joyce was in a metaphysical sense, “living within his community,” and could have claimed he never left home. It is therefore wrong to reduce the concept of “living among one’s people” to the concrete, physical place where a person is living at the moment of creation. We should understand this concept in more abstract terms.
This discussion demonstrates that there is more than one way to live a national life and contribute to the prosperity of one’s nation. This approach demands that we reinterpret the concept of national obligations, taking into account this variety.
National Obligations
The liberal view of national membership presented here could be attacked on the grounds that it leads to the disintegration of precisely those frameworks it values most dearly. It is commonly argued that the preservation of national frameworks does not require choice or creative skills, but rather loyalty, commitment, and a readiness for self-effacement, and that the existence of nations depends on the fact that membership in them is not elective but dictated by fate. National obligations are therefore frequently portrayed as imposing on individuals, regardless of their consent, a duty to follow the rules, to be faithful rather than innovative.
Liberal nationalism takes issue with both these claims. It argues that membership in a nation is elective, since individuals can leave the nation of their birth and create new national affiliations, and that this turns the adherence to a culture and the assumption of national obligations into voluntary acts rather than inevitable consequences of fate. But claiming that national obligations could be seen as voluntarily assumed says nothing about their nature. Individuals can, voluntarily, choose to become subservient to a person or an idea. So what is the liberal-nationalist view of the content of national obligations? Are they best defined as conscious obedience, or is it possible to arrive at a more open interpretation of this concept that will make it compatible with a liberal understanding of nationalism?
In the literature on nationalism—Anderson, Deutsch, Gellner, Hertz, Smith, Snyder—the term “obligation” is rarely found. Instead, we usually find terms such as “duty” and “loyalty.” The use of these terms is meant to allude to the involuntary, ultimate nature of national affiliations, to portray them in radical terms as a commitment to support the nation unconditionally, to accept blindly all its cultural and social features, to be ready to sacrifice one’s life to protect it and ensure its continued existence. According to this interpretation, loyalty means nothing less than a total commitment, an effacement of the individual vis-à-vis the nation. But this is only one possible interpretation of loyalty in general and of national loyalty in particular. We are supposed to be loyal to our family and friends, to the values we hold as well as to our nation. Under very extreme and extraordinary circumstances, these loyalties could indeed demand that we sacrifice our lives. We are not, however, usually required to take our displays of loyalty to such extremes.
If the only determining feature of national obligations is the readiness for self-sacrifice, then the relations between individuals and their nation are fundamentally different from all other types of social relations. On the other hand, if self-sacrifice is only demanded in rare and extreme cases, but is not the one and only defining characteristic of national obligations, then these obligations share a great deal with other associative commitments.
A social body can only generate those obligations logically derived from its ends, and national obligations must therefore refer to what we might term “the national goals.” There are several general aims every nation is likely to pursue: assuring its continued existence, the well-being of its members, the flourishing of its culture. To assume national obligations thus means acquiring special responsibilities toward fellow nationals, contributing to the ongoing existence of the national unit, partaking in the continuous re-creation of its culture, learning and respecting its traditions, and engaging in a political struggle that will ensure the nation a public sphere of its own. All these obligations can be pursued in a more or less extreme way.
The struggle for the revival of Hebrew as a living, modern language might provide a good illustration of the range of options in the fulfillment of national obligations. Eliezer Ben-Yehuda (1858–1922) led the effort to turn biblical Hebrew into a living language. He was a “lingual zealot.” Although Hebrew lacked many words necessary for life in a secular, mundane, and prosaic context, Ben-Yehuda insisted on speaking only Hebrew and invented new words as needed, which he registered in his dictionary. For Ben-Yehuda’s supporters, speaking any language but Hebrew meant betraying their national duties. Much later, during the 1970s and 1980s, Jewish dissidents in the Soviet Union were ready to risk imprisonment for teaching Hebrew. Today, Hebrew is the mother tongue of several million people for whom speaking Hebrew is no longer part of a conscious and deliberate effort. Many Israelis today feel safe enough to incorporate English words when speaking or writing in Hebrew. They are no longer purists of their own language but are open to learning others as well as incorporating foreign expressions. By using the language, they fulfill their national obligation and contribute to the process of re-creating their own culture. Nevertheless, were they ever threatened or forbidden to speak their language, they too might be ready to risk their liberty and their lives for it.
Individuals have a choice. They can refuse to speak the language of their community, reject their culture, and assimilate into a different culture. They can also stay within their culture, develop special mutual responsibilities, and retain and foster a sense of exclusiveness, thereby contributing to the preservation of the nation as a lively social unit. This does not entail that nationalists are culturally conservative or that they revere their own particular culture. They can be critical of it; they can aspire to change it, develop it, or redefine it. They may be deeply disappointed by it, believing it to be in decline and inferior to other cultures. Plamenatz emphasises this point when he suggests that calls to devote oneself to the flourishing of one’s culture are usually voiced when a culture is felt “to be inadequate or lacking.”14 Fichte’s Address to the German Nation was indeed delivered in this spirit. Fichte saw the Germany of his times as corrupt, on the verge of disintegration and annihilation. This age, he said, is like a shade that stands weeping over its own corpse. Germans must therefore make a choice:
If you continue in your dullness and helplessness, all the evils of serfdom are awaiting you; deprivations, humiliations, the scorn and arrogance of the conqueror; . . . until, by the sacrifice of your nationality and your language, you have purchased for yourselves some subordinated and petty place, and until this way you will die out as a people. If, on the other hand, you bestir yourselves and play the man, you will continue in a tolerable and honorable existence, and you will be growing up among and around you a generation that will be the promise for you and for the Germans of most illustrious renown.15
Understood in this way, the assumption of national obligations implies the reflective acceptance of an ongoing commitment to participate in a critical debate about the nature of the national culture, suggesting that individuals have a reason to adhere to their national obligations even after the establishment of a nation-state. Hence, contrary to Seton-Watson’s claim that independent nations, which are territorially satisfied and nationally conscious, no longer need nationalism, this interpretation views a commitment to the nation as a sustained, enduring project. This project involves encouraging individuals to remain, by choice, within their national group, to actively participate in the continued re-creation of their national culture, and to contribute to the well-being of their fellow members. In this sense, nationalism has a permanent role. Therefore, it seems that the most common way of fulfilling national obligations is not through self-sacrifice, or by subordinating one’s well-being and interests to the welfare of the collective, but rather by participating in a cultural dialogue. The language we teach our children, the bedtime stories we tell them, and the lullabies we sing to them, are as good a way of satisfying our national obligations as a declaration of readiness to die for the sake of the nation.
Pluralistic Nationalism
Liberal nationalism requires a state of mind characterised by tolerance and respect of diversity for members of one’s own group and for outsiders. Contrary to widespread perceptions, national communities might, in some respects, be more open and pluralistic than communities in which social bonds rely on a set of shared values. When membership is based on an overlapping consensus of shared values, those outside the consensus can be marginalised, and their membership questioned to the point of turning them into outcasts, as was the fate of Communists in the United States. But in a society where social cohesion is based on national, cultural, and historical criteria, holding nonconformist views does not necessarily lead to excommunication. All through the bitter confrontation between de Gaulle and Sartre concerning the independence of Algeria, de Gaulle never doubted that Sartre was a respected member of the French nation. Or, mark the difference, the English public never saw Kim Philby or Antony Blunt as anything but Englishmen, and the Israeli public still sees Uri Davis, an Israeli affiliated with the PLO, as an Israeli. The national bond is not broken even in cases of extreme normative disagreements. Since the roots of unity in national communities are outside the normative sphere, they can accommodate normative diversity, and in this sense be more pluralistic than groups held together by shared values.
Since it is predicated upon a universal commitment to the existence of national groups as such, liberal nationalism is polycentric by definition. It thus falls under the rubric of what Walzer calls “reiterative universalism.”16 Reiterated acts of self-determination create a world marked by differences. A theory of nationalism grounded in the assumption of reiterative universalism is necessarily polycentric, that is, it presupposes that there is one civilisation but many nations and views particularistic national struggles as variations on a theme. Every national struggle thus represents an attempt to re-create the particularity of each nation, but also reflects the aspiration to join the “family of nations, the international drama of status equals, to find its appropriate identity and part.”17 Reiterative universalism thus implies a moral lesson, since it is “a moral act to recognize otherness in this way”; it teaches modesty, and suggests that there is something to be learned from others.18
Some might claim that nationalist movements tend to become entrenched in their own particularistic concerns and ignore those of others. Indeed, in the heat of the battle, most national movements will deny the national rights of their opponents. Yet, at the same time, they will rely on the universal right of all nations to self-determination articulated in the United Nations’ charter in order to gather support and justify their own particularistic struggle.
The first version of reiterative nationalism appeared in the aftermath of the French Revolution. The Girondins had advocated promoting “sister” revolutions in the territories that France had conquered, or expected to take over. In the First Propagandist Decree, dated November 19, 1792, the National Convention declared in the name of the French nation that “it will grant fraternity and aid to all people who wish to recover their liberty.” The Second Propagandist Decree, dated December 15, 1792, went one step farther and issued a document headed as follows: “[From] the French People to the ______ People.” This document was sent to all revolutionary generals, who were asked to fill in the blank with the name of the appropriate country, as it was conquered and/or liberated. The document opens with the following words: “Henceforth the French nation proclaims the sovereignty of the people of ______. You are henceforth, brothers and friends, all equal in rights, and all equally summoned to govern, to serve and defend your Patrie.”19 The idea that all national liberation movements should model themselves on French nationalism was accepted by other nations too. For example, the 1792 Convention of Irish Patriots declared that it contemplated with joy the spectacle of the “grand nation” giving liberty to Europe.
Supporters of the French Revolution described themselves as patriots of their own countries and claimed that, by following the French example and accepting French guidance, they were serving the best interests of their own nations. “Blank-space patriots” were henceforth to devote themselves to two nations: la grand nation and their own. It is quite obvious that the “blank-space patriots” and the soeur republiques were favoured only due to their potential value as supporters of the French ambition to eventually rule Europe, and the cynicism underlying this idea was later a source of bitter disillusionment. In fact, it was also partly responsible for the emergence of the ethnocentric German nationalism expressed by Fichte in his Adresses to the German Nation (1807), which were delivered in French-occupied Berlin. But despite these drawbacks, the idea of reiterative nationalism played a significant role in European nationalism up to the end of the nineteenth century. One harbinger of the Jewish national revival that led to the emergence of the Zionist movement was Aaron David Gordon. Gordon urged the Jewish nation to struggle against assimilation. Jews should tap their creative sources, but without setting themselves apart from other nations. Nations, he argued, are organic entities, and in the process of mutually activating each other, they resemble celestial bodies and create relations of mutual solidarity.”20
Another illuminating example appears in the writings of Kazimierz Brodzinski, who credited the Poles with being the first to realise that the principle of national egoism had to be replaced with a polycentric perspective. Formerly, he argues, each nation had regarded itself as the goal and centre of the universe, and
the Polish nation alone (I say it boldly and with patriotic pride) could have a foreboding of the true movement of the moral universe. It has recognised that every nation is a fragment of the whole and must roll on its orbit and around the centre like the planets around theirs.21
This passage reflects the extraordinary combination of particularistic pride and universal commitment typical of the progressive-romantic version of liberal nationalism prevalent in mid-nineteenth-century Europe. This approach promoted the idea of the brotherhood of nations, which share a sacred duty to be mutually helpful in the struggle for freedom and international justice.22
This fellowship of nations fighting for their independence is a major feature of liberal nationalism. It is in this spirit that Mazzini addresses his fellow Italians and asks them,
What is it that makes our heart beat when hearing the story of battles for national liberation taking place in far and remote places? . . . A people, Greek, Polish, Circassian, raises the banner of the fatherland and of independence, fights, conquers, or dies for it, what is it that makes our heart swell with joy at its victories, and sorrow over its defeats? . . . And why do you eagerly read the miracles of patriotic love recorded in Greek story, and repeat them to your children with a feeling of pride, almost as if they were stories of our own fathers?23
Even Treitschke, from his extreme ethnocentric position, recognises that
all nations, like all individuals, have their limitations, but it is exactly in the abundance of these limited qualities that the genius of humanity is exhibited. The rays of the Divine light are manifested, broken by countless facets among the separate peoples, each one exhibiting another picture and another idea of the whole. Every people has a right to believe that certain attributes of the divine reason are exhibited in it to their fuller perfection.24
Beyond its obvious moral virtues, polycentric nationalism has a methodological advantage: It is free from the theoretical limitations inherent in particularistic nationalism. Ethnocentric nationalists, by relying on arguments exclusively related to one particular nation, rule out a universal justification of national rights and lose the ability to hold a meaningful dialogue with members of other nations.
The polycentric nature of liberal nationalism helps to distinguish it from other movements that have often been associated with nationalism—imperialism, racism, fascism, and nazism.
Imperialism, according to Smith, is nationalism’s closest relative since
it fits perfectly with the sense of superiority inhering in ‘ethnocentric nationalism,’ [however] imperialism is essentially a derogation, even a contradiction, of the main tenet of ‘polycentric nationalism’—the right of each nation to realise itself in perfect autonomy, so as to be able to contribute to mankind.25
Fascism is also a reversal of the trend of “polycentric nationalism.” It introduces additional elements “which in themselves contradict ‘polycentric’ tenets, and substitutes the State for the Nation, as the prime object of collective allegiance and identification.”26 Racism again reverses the “polycentric” trend, although it could be regarded as a post-Darwinian aberration of “ethnocentric” nationalism.
Nazism, Smith claims, is the purest contradiction of nationalism in toto. At first glance, nazism would indeed appear to be the final culmination of “ethnocentric” nationalism, “a sentiment that Hitler knew only too well how to exploit.” Yet, if we trace the course of Nazi ideology, we shall find that
the original vertical division of the world, envisaged by even ‘ethnocentric’ nationalism, gets gradually subverted by radical imperialism into this diametrically opposed racial casteism on global scale, using pseudo-scientific ‘Darwinian’ notions of domination through struggle.
There is as much connection between nationalism and nazism, Smith argues, as between nationalism and communism; the convergence between both pairs of ideologies is to be sought in the particular social contexts, not in ideological affinity or structural similarity.27
“Racism,” “sexism,” and “chauvinism” are, respectively, a ranking of races, sexes, and states, but “nationalism,” claims Walzer, works differently. It is entirely compatible with a theory of incommensurability or with mere agnosticism about ranks and orders. “Nationalists are more like patriots, in that they can respect and value commitments similar to their own in other people—and they can do so, unlike egoists, without viewing the others as competitors and antagonists.”28
We have so far argued that nationalism could be more pluralistic and less ethnocentric than is commonly assumed, and in this sense, it is not hard to dissociate it from its supposedly close ideological relatives. Differentiating between nationalism and its more notorious associations, however, requires a detailed discussion of its ethical implications.
Beginning with the idea of the contextual individual and proceeding from cultural to national rights, a certain notion of the necessity of cultural and national life emerges, suggesting that individuals are better off when able to share their lives with some particular others they care about and see as their partners in a life-project. This partnership creates not only special human relations, but also special rights and obligations that affect our understanding of the moral sphere. The ethical implications of nationalism, which will be developed in the next chapter, are closely related to this understanding of the importance of national membership and the particular ties it creates.