Beruflich Dokumente
Kultur Dokumente
CITATIONS READS
38 1,233
1 author:
Anne Phillips
The London School of Economics and Political Science
75 PUBLICATIONS 2,637 CITATIONS
SEE PROFILE
All content following this page was uploaded by Anne Phillips on 27 September 2015.
Anne Phillips*
The relationship between feminism and liberalism has always been an uneasy
one. In the first instance, this was because liberals were so hesitant about recog-
nizing that their new understanding of politics had implications for women’s
equality. Liberalism was born somewhere in the seventeenth century – some-
where between the illiberal egalitarianism of Thomas Hobbes and the contractual
conservatism of John Locke – and it was clear from the start that it raised trou-
bling questions about the authority of men inside the family. Once you conceived
of political authority as based (in however tenuous a way) on the consent of the
ruled, you were almost inevitably drawn to question the grounds for domestic
authority. Once you conceived of human beings as being (however tenuously)
equal, you had to justify why women should nonetheless be treated differently
from men. Critics were certainly quick to spot the connection, and often ridiculed
the new ideas by pointing out that those who thought along these lines would have
to consider women as having an equal claim with men to wield authority within
the family, or women as having an equal claim to political power. Most liberals,
of course, managed to dodge these implications. With some notable exceptions
(Condorcet at the time of the French Revolution, John Stuart Mill in the mid-nine-
teenth century), they usually managed to come up with subsidiary arguments that
justified women’s continuing subordination. But there was an uneasiness about
women born in the founding moments of the liberal tradition, a suppressed anxi-
ety about whether it meant you had to regard men and women as equals.
In the later stages of the relationship, it was the feminists who were more
concerned to keep liberalism at arm’s length. The reasons for this are partly
conjunctural. Feminism re-emerged in the 1960s and 70s in a period when liber-
alism was shorthand for everything stodgy, unambitious, and dishonest: a glorifi-
cation of rights and freedoms that paid scant attention to the inequalities of
income and power; a discourse of complacency designed to keep things as they
are. In that moment in history, to be radical was almost by definition not to be
liberal: witness the familiar taxonomy from the 1970s that divided feminisms into
their liberal, socialist, and radical varieties, and rather patronized the liberal sort.
Beyond that historical moment, what is it that feminists have so disliked about
Constellations Volume 8, No 2, 2001. © Blackwell Publishers Ltd., 108 Cowley Road, Oxford OX4 1JF, UK
and 350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148, USA.
250 Constellations Volume 8, Number 2, 2001
liberalism? A key objection is one that has always been leveled at liberalism: that
in promoting a merely formal equality between the sexes, it fails to deliver
substantive equality of power. Liberalism might promise women legal equality
with men, might even develop this into equality of opportunity; but its association
with a market economy ultimately paralyzes its best efforts in this direction, and
offers no plausible solution to the organization of child-care or domestic labor. In
this criticism, political and economic liberalism are seen as two sides of the same
coin, promoting a freedom of choice for the individual that generates gross
inequalities between groups, and then appealing to the freedom of this individual
to resist the collectivist measures that would redress the resulting inequalities.
More recently, however, we have become more willing to see political and
economic liberalism as separate (so that you might favor one without being
committed to the other). We have also become less able to envisage complete
alternatives to the market system (so while there are more or less egalitarian
versions, it is hard now to credit abolition of the market per se). In this changed
context, feminist opposition to liberalism threatens to become something of a
mantra: a comforting repetition whose originating arguments have been lost in
history and have less and less purchase on our other beliefs.
This is where Martha Nussbaum’s Sex and Social Justice comes in.1 Nussbaum
has been particularly exercised by what she sees as the turn against normative
politics, and the “moral passivity”2 she associates with this. Her larger target, in
much of her recent writing, is those who retreat behind a (usually post structural-
ist) cultural relativism, who become so obsessed with the dangers of a “do-gooder
colonialism”3 that they find it impossible to differentiate between just and unjust
practices, or so philosophically disturbed by invocations of human nature that
they can no longer think of people as having an equal moral worth. Nussbaum
counters this with a theory of human justice that is liberal, humanist, and femi-
nist. In doing so, she tackles head on the supposed conflict between liberalism and
feminism, arguing that “liberal individualism, consistently carried through,
entails a radical feminist program.”4
Though the targets she has been pursuing in recent arguments – romantic
supporters of emotion against reason, irresponsible poststructuralists who can’t
recognize the urgency of women’s needs – are sometimes oversimplified or
misrepresented,5 I share Nussbaum’s perception that the conflict between liber-
alism and feminism has been exaggerated and is due for re-assessment. I agree
with the general point she reiterates through her argument, to the effect that
liberalisms are various, and that criticisms appropriate to one kind of liberal miss
their mark when aimed at others within the tradition. I also agree with her that
feminism is impoverished if it finds itself unable to make evaluative and norma-
tive claims. But her endorsement of a liberal understanding of autonomy begs
too many questions; and in combining a classically liberal emphasis on choice
with a feminist understanding of unjust social power, she is driven into a curi-
ously illiberal liberalism. I argue for a different understanding of the relationship
between equality and autonomy that reinstates equality as the central feminist
concern.6
I. Individualism
In a key essay on “The Feminist Critique of Liberalism,” Nussbaum identifies
three charges feminists have commonly leveled against the liberal tradition: that
it is too ‘individualistic’; that its ideal of equality is too abstract and formal; and
that the emphasis it places on reason underplays the significance of care and
emotion in moral and political life. (The choice of topics is significant in itself,
for while she correctly identifies the major themes in recent feminist discourse,
none of these quite captures that earlier objection about liberalism failing to
address the substantive conditions for sexual equality. The critique of abstraction
comes closest, but recent writing has tended to focus on the abstraction from
gender difference, and resulting identification of equality with sameness, rather
than the relationship between formal and substantive equality.)
The burden of the first objection, as Nussbaum understands it, is that liberal-
ism envisages individuals as islands unto themselves, as solitary, egoistic, self-
sufficient, and not only sees them as such but actively promotes this egoism and
self-sufficiency as a normative ideal. Nussbaum agrees that this would be an ethi-
cally impoverished position – with a caveat about whether self-sufficiency is such
a bad thing for women to pursue – but argues that the characterization does not
capture the tradition as represented by key figures such as Kant or Mill or Rawls.
She goes on to make a strong claim about the centrality of individualism to the
liberal position, but understood now as a recognition of the separateness of indi-
viduals “who always continue to have their separate brains and voices and stom-
achs, however much they love one another.”7 This recognition, she argues, is
crucial for women, whose needs and personae have too often been subsumed
under the ‘greater good’ of the family or community or state. Women desperately
need to be recognized as separate beings, whose well-being is distinct from that
of a husband’s. They need more rather than less liberal individualism. They need
the flourishing of individual human beings to be made prior to the flourishing of
the state or nation or religious group.
The defense of individualism comes as a breath of fresh air, reminding me of
the defiantly titled journal, The Egoist, which was briefly published in Britain in
the 1910s with feminists like Rebecca West among its contributors. There has
been a good deal of unnecessary anxiety about individualism implying a ruthless
self-centeredness, and in the worrying over this, it has been easy to forget the
crucial importance to women of being recognized as individuals in their own
right. Insisting on the importance of each separate individual does not commit one
to a view of human beings as rational calculating machines, self-interested
egoists, or misanthropic hermits. Failing, however, to insist on the importance of
the individual can mean capitulation to the worst forms of female oppression. As
Nussbaum reminds us, there are many women around the world whose individu-
ality is so little recognized that they are systematically passed over in the distrib-
ution of food or health care, or required to sublimate their own needs and desires
in the perpetuation of family honor. The results are not just unpleasant but all too
often deadly. In the famous calculation by Drèze and Sen (based on comparison
of male to female ratios around the world), one hundred million women are miss-
ing – missing, one can only assume, because girls and women have been system-
atically ignored and denied in the allocation of foodstuffs and medical supplies.8
Against this background, it is hard to disagree with Nussbaum on the radical
implications of liberal individualism – hard, indeed, to see why any feminist
would want to disagree.
But liberalism is not just about recognizing the equal importance of each
individual, nor is it the only tradition that stresses this point. Rousseau’s
condemnation of the condition of dependency (dependency between men, that
is, for he never seemed so bothered by relations of dependency between
women and men) can also be read as asserting the importance of each separate
individual; while Marx’s critique of alienation and commodification highlights
the denial of individuality under the domination of capitalist power. Moreover,
while liberalism puts the individual at the center of its analysis, it took an
embarrassingly long time to turn its individualism to the service of women.
Nussbaum acknowledges this last point, noting that as recently as the 1970s,
John Rawls was still imagining a social contract in which the actors were
(male) heads of households, looking after the interests of other family
members.9 She attributes this failing in liberalism to its concern with freedom
of choice, a concern that made liberals particularly resistant to interference in
the family, and encouraged them to regard the family as an untroubling,
harmonious whole.
It seems more plausible to me to take it as evidence that liberalism is primar-
ily driven by its commitment to free choice rather than its recognition of individ-
uals as equal and separate. Historically, the references to equality were more
descriptive than normative – as when Hobbes noted that the weakest could always
employ cunning to overcome the strongest, and that there was no reliable consen-
sus about ‘natural hierarchy.’ Even those who talked of equal rights as derived
from God were hardly committing themselves to strong positions on the equal
worth of each human being; while the utilitarians were often quite explicitly prag-
matic, merely noting that there was no secure basis for saying one person counted
for more than another or that one kind of activity had greater intrinsic value. If the
tradition were as centrally concerned with the equality and distinctness of indi-
viduals as Nussbaum’s account suggests, it really is difficult to make sense of its
tardy appreciation of women’s claims. The conundrum becomes less puzzling if
we recognize that liberalism is driven by its critique of authoritarian and (later)
interventionist government rather than any grand thesis about each individual
being of equal worth. Liberal individualism has been primarily about choice, and
it was only after a long process of internal and external criticism that it took more
seriously its own statements about the equality of individuals.
The radicalism Nussbaum reads into the tradition is still more implicit than
overt, and she barely engages with the additional elements attached to its under-
standing of individualism that have been the object of much feminist critique.
What, for example, of the arguments Carole Pateman develops against liberal
contractarianism in The Sexual Contract or The Disorder of Women?10 Pateman
makes two large charges against the liberal contractarian tradition. The first is
that liberalism for men was based on subordination for women, so that the social
contract concluded between separate and autonomous men was premised on a
prior sexual contract that delivered them control of the women. Fair enough,
Nussbaum might say, but that was in the bad old days of early liberalism, and not
something intrinsic to the liberal tradition.11 The object of Pateman’s second
critique is less easily located in liberalism’s pre-history. She also argues that
liberalism generated an understanding of individuals as the owners of their own
bodies and capacities, not therefore beholden to anyone else for the disposition
of these (this is where the anti-authoritarianism comes in), but entitled to enter
into contracts with the other (separate) individuals for the use of their talents or
capacities.
The resulting model of human interaction is, in Pateman’s view, profoundly
unsatisfactory; and one of her illustrations is the Baby M case in the USA where
a woman who entered into a contract to become a surrogate mother changed her
mind in the course of the pregnancy, but was ordered by the court to surrender the
child. Pateman draws on Marx’s critique of the wage contract to pinpoint the
fiction involved in this: the fiction that there is a ‘commodity’ provided by the
surrogate mother – the service of her body – that can be treated as separable from
herself. “To extend to women the masculine conception of the individual as
owner, and the conception of freedom as the capacity to do what you will with
your own, is to sweep away any intrinsic relation between the female owner, her
body and reproductive capacities.”12 The model was not dreamt up to deal with
women as autonomous beings, and the moral impoverishment of its understand-
ing of freedom becomes transparent when it is later extended in this way.
What is at issue here is not whether “taking money for bodily services” (to
quote another essay in Sex and Social Justice) is intrinsically wrong, for while
Nussbaum adopts a more robust position than Pateman on prostitution and surro-
gacy, the question is not whether prostitution should be banned or surrogacy
contracts legally upheld. Pateman’s deeper point is that liberalism has drawn on
notions of self-ownership for its understanding of freedom and choice, and that in
doing so, it reflects a misleadingly masculine model of human interaction. When
freedom was first figured as the capacity to do what you will with your own, the
things that were ‘your own’ included not just property but people: your servants,
your children, your wife who had no right to withhold sexual services and could
still be beaten at will. The subsequent extension of this freedom to women (rather
like the extension of male models of employment, which in the man’s case had
depended on a wife) means it begins to crack at the seams.
When freedom is given more general application, it becomes more thoroughly
individuated. It also becomes more turned in on itself. For the majority of the
population, the property one can freely dispose of basically comes down to one’s
bodily and mental capacities, for what other property do most people own? It may
indeed be better to have this kind of freedom than to be disposed of by somebody
else: better to be in a position where one can charge for the use of one’s body, for
example, than to be handed over as the spoils of victory or married off at one’s
father’s will. But as Pateman and others have suggested, the equation of freedom
with the freedom to dispose of oneself is still a pretty impoverished understand-
ing – and not one feminists should too readily endorse.
In a related critique of liberal conceptions of autonomy, Jennifer Nedelsky
observes that women are more likely than men to recognize the centrality of rela-
tionships in constituting the self, to know that we do not spring up like Hobbes’
mushrooms, but take our being at least in part from our relations to others. The
irony, as she notes, is that women know this centrality of relationships through
oppressive experience, through a long history of being defined by reference to
men.13 The individuality Nussbaum celebrates plays a key role in challenging this
oppression, but we will not get very far if we think of individuality “in isolation
from the social context in which that individuality came into being.”14 Nedelsky’s
point here (which, in other contexts, Nussbaum seems happy to endorse) is that
certain social relations will enable autonomy while other make it far more diffi-
cult, and that simply stressing our individuality or separation is not enough of a
guide. The separateness of individuals is more complicated than is suggested by
the reminder that we have different brains and voices and stomachs; and a sepa-
rateness that implies ownership or mastery – disposing of oneself as one chooses,
or living a life that is finally one’s own – has been regarded by many feminists as
neither a possible nor desirable ideal.
A rather different worry is the ethnocentrism implicit in autonomy: that auton-
omy may be being interpreted in a very culture-specific way;15 or that the high
value liberals attach to autonomy takes what has become a central preoccupation
of western cultures and turns it into a universal norm.16 Nussbaum recognizes that
individuals will make different choices in their pursuit of their life’s goals, that
some may choose to identify personal fulfillment with the furtherance of their
group or community, while others adopt more individually defined objectives. In
her conception of the good life, however, such decisions should always emerge as
the individual’s own choice. If the alternative is that decisions are imposed on the
individual by others, I presume no feminist would want to disagree, but Nuss-
baum’s approach raises difficult questions about how we are to view the ‘choices’
people make in cultures that attach less value to autonomy, and most importantly,
how we are to view the ‘choices’ of women in such cultures. I shall return to this
later.
defined so crucially around the individual’s capacity for choice – and I don’t think
Nussbaum addresses these.
Her own understanding of choice is about exploration and creation rather than
any simpler notion of ‘discovering’ an original self, but she operates with distinc-
tions between a human core and disposable contingencies that continue to suggest
a relatively unproblematic notion of human identity and human freedom.
Consider this statement:
Liberalism does think that the core of rational and moral personhood is something
all human beings share, shaped though it may be in different ways by their differ-
ing social circumstances. And it does give this core a special salience in political
thought, defining the public realm in terms of it, purposefully refusing the same
salience in the public political conception to differences of gender and rank and
class and religion. This, of course, does not mean that people may not choose to
identify themselves with their religion or ethnicity or gender and to make that iden-
tification absolutely central in their lives. But for the liberal, choice is the essential
issue; politics can take these features into account only in ways that respect it.18
This is at one level unexceptional. People clearly vary in the strength of their
identification with their gender or ethnicity or religion, and people clearly choose
– to change or give up their religions, to leave brutal partners, to bring up their
children very differently from the way they were brought up themselves. But the
formulation suggests a highly contingent understanding of gender (as something
we can ‘choose’ to identify with).19 This contrasts with widely shared feminist
views on embodiment, and the impossibility of conceiving of individuals as
distinct from the bodies through which they live their lives.
The body is not something we can readily ‘transcend’: we cannot distance
ourselves from our supposedly contingent bodies in ways that will generate a non-
sexed, non-gendered individuality. Nor can we seriously conceive of ‘stripping
off’ the accidents of height, weight, skin color, body shape, genitalia, so as to
approach some deeper human core. When Nussbaum distinguishes between
‘core’ and other, she does so to assert the moral irrelevance of gender when it
comes to claims about human equality: I have no quarrel with this. When the
distinction is carried over, however, into our political or psychological existence,
it becomes much less plausible. Gender is hardly a contingent characteristic in
political life, and when democracies refuse to recognize this (as when people
grandly proclaim that voters should be more interested in the candidates’ ideas
than whether they are female or male), they reproduce and reinforce existing
inequalities. Gender is also pretty inseparable from who we are in a more every-
day sense – it is not just a detachable contingency. One implication is that the
choices we face are more constrained than Nussbaum would allow. This is partly
because we are dealing with how others see as well as how we see ourselves (I
may decide not to identify with my gender, but cannot stop others from viewing
me in this way); it is also because the choosing individuals are already constituted
by the elements they are supposedly rummaging through and deciding to pick up
or drop.
The other reservation about autonomy is that the compulsion to be in control
of one’s life can itself be viewed as a trap. One of the lessons I have drawn
(rightly or wrongly) from Foucault is that processes previously conceived of as
liberation – working to get clearer about who and what you are, working to ensure
that choices made really are your own choices and not just subservience to exter-
nal pressures – might themselves operate as regimes of power. I don’t mean by
this just that choice can be a burden as well as a liberation – though it is worth
pondering the agonizing dilemmas women go through in this age of more reliable
contraception over whether or not to have a child, and the surprising frequency of
the wish that it could all be left to chance. No one said freedom was going to be
a picnic, but when we set autonomy at the center of our moral or political lives,
we are forced to assume more responsibility than many of us can cope with for
the forces that structure our lives, and we come to regard anything that is not a
result of autonomous choice as thereby a failure. Nussbaum simplifies the issue
when she asks us to consider whether we want a world where women live their
own lives, or live lives as dictated by others: put like this, there is clearly no
contest. But there is still a lot at issue in what is meant by ‘separate individual’;
whether autonomy means being able to do what one chooses with one’s own;
what counts as ‘one’s own’; and whether thinking of freedom in this way
concedes too much to a masculine model. Autonomy is a complex and slippery
notion. To anticipate my later argument, feminism is on surer ground when it
focuses on equality rather than autonomy per se.
criticism is clearly mistaken, and one of the essays in Sex and Social Justice is
explicitly devoted to what is wrong with American society. Her individualism
does, however, make her profoundly skeptical of claims generated of behalf of
cultures, tending to see these as representing the self-serving interests of men in
patriarchal communities, or the self-denying support of women so depressed by
their conditions of subordination that they are as yet unable to articulate their
needs and concerns. As regards religion, Nussbaum defends a political liberalism
that respects different religious conceptions, even when these entail metaphysical
positions about the superiority of men over women, or individuals choosing to
live non-autonomous lives.36 But this respect for the choices people may make in
a liberal society only highlights the tension in her thinking (perhaps, in the end, it
is the tension in trying to marry Aristotle to Rawls) when it comes to less liberal
contexts. Her analysis of preference formation still leads her to a position from
which she can view women in illiberal cultures only as active critics or passive
dupes.
In her re-assessment of the feminist critique of liberalism, Martha Nussbaum
lays some but not all of the ghosts to rest. She encourages us to stop treating indi-
vidualism as a dirty word; to recognize the varieties of liberalism, rather than
focusing on its worst excesses; and give up on uncritical endorsement of the
emotions as if what we feel is always going to be right. What she leaves us with,
however, is a curiously illiberal liberalism that presumes the fundamental sepa-
rateness of human beings and sees them as charged with making choices and
pursuing their autonomy – but has to reject many of those choices as products of
unjust social power.
A feminism driven primarily by equality would face some parallel problems:
there would still be tensions, for example, between claims for sexual and cultural
equality, and these are not always so neatly resolved by saying it is the men who
make the cultural claims. But because equality is relational, it directs us more
urgently to differential powers and capabilities – not just whether individuals
have the minimum necessary for choice, but whether their positioning in social
hierarchies shapes their choices in unequal ways. The old complaint against liber-
alism is that it sets up individual freedom as more important than social equality.
This would be an unfair complaint against Nussbaum, whose understanding of the
basic capabilities necessary to human flourishing involves a clear perception of
the material conditions implied in this. The move, however, is from equal to basic,
and this mirrors a wider retreat from egalitarianism that has been characteristic of
the last twenty years. It sets Nussbaum what may be unnecessary philosophical
conundrums about determining the minimum capabilities for a human existence,
and leaves her on the rather shaky ground where she has to criticize choices in the
very name of choice. We have become accustomed to think of equality as a more
ambitious demand than autonomy, and so far as the distribution of resources is
concerned, this undoubtedly remains the case. But if we want to address the prob-
lem to which Nussbaum directs us – the social formation of preferences and the
danger of presuming that what people put up with is what they want or need – it
is better to focus directly on equality, not slip this in via autonomy and choice.
Even when extended in the way Nussbaum suggests (to address material condi-
tions for ‘genuinely’ free choice) we cannot get what we need simply from ideals
of autonomy and choice. We have to combine these with strong notions of equal-
ity. In my view, this means addressing end-state inequalities as well as those that
limit our point of departure.
NOTES
* I wrote this paper in the spring of 2000, courtesy of a Research Fellowship at the Research
School of Social Sciences, Australian National University. It was first presented at a workshop on
Feminist Social and Political Theory held at ANU, and subsequently at the Universities of Sydney
and Cambridge, and I am indebted to all participants for their comments and criticisms. I would also
like to thank Susan Mendus, Martha Nussbaum, and Ingrid Robeyns for detailed comments on an
earlier draft.
1. Martha C. Nussbaum Sex and Social Justice (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999).
2. She applies this term to Judith Butler, who (in Nussbaum’s reading) views all normative
positions as inherently dictatorial. “The Professor of Parody,” The New Republic 22, no. 2 (1999):
37–45.
3. Nussbaum, Sex and Social Justice, 32.
4. Nussbaum, “The Feminist Critique of Liberalism,” Sex and Social Justice, 67.
5. I think this applies to her discussion of Nel Noddings in “The Feminist Critique of Liberal-
ism”; of Annette Baier in “Virtue Ethics: A Misleading Category?” The Journal Of Ethics: An
International Philosophical Review (1999); and of Judith Butler in “The Professor of Parody.”
6. Though Nussbaum employs the liberal language of autonomy in Sex and Social Justice, her
usual preference (guided by what she sees as the specific western history of the concept of auton-
omy) is for more “neutral” terms like choice or practical reason. I have nonetheless focused on
autonomy in this paper, because I see the concept as central to assessing the relationship between
feminism and liberalism.
7. Nussbaum, Sex and Social Justice, 62.
8. Jean Drèze and Amartya Sen, Hunger and Public Action (Oxford: Clarendon, 1989).
9. Rawls did not, of course, say that the contracting parties were male, but he failed to see the
sexist implications of treating them as household heads.
10. Carole Pateman, The Sexual Contract (Cambridge: Polity, 1988); The Disorder of Women
(Cambridge: Polity, 1989).
11. Pateman would not accept this characterisation, for she explicitly presents her analysis of
the origins as a thesis about what continues to constitute contract theory. I find this the less convinc-
ing of her claims.
12. The Sexual Contract, 216.
13. Jennifer Nedelsky, “Reconceiving Autonomy: Sources, Thoughts and Possibilities,” Yale
Journal of Law and Feminism 1, no. 7 (1989).
14. Nedelsky, 36.
15. Sawitri Saharso argues for a modified understanding of autonomy that is worthy in western
liberal eyes but also compatible with what she sees as a different kind of autonomy characteristic of
Asian cultures. “Female Autonomy and Cultural Imperative: Two Hearts Beating Together,” in Will
Kymlicka and Wayne Norman, eds., Citizenship in Diverse Societies (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2000).
16. Bhikhu Parekh makes this stronger claim, arguing that when liberals set up autonomy as the
central moral norm, they deny the authentic otherness of non-liberal cultures. See, for example, “A