Modernization and

Its Political Consequences

Modernization and
Its Political Consequences
Weber, Mannheim, and Schumpeter

Hans Blokland

Translated by Nancy Smyth Van Weesep

Yale University Press

New Haven and London

The translation of this book was made possible by a publication grant from the
Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research (NWO).

Published with assistance from the foundation established in memory of

Philip Hamilton McMillan of the class of 1894, Yale College.

First published in Dutch in 2001 as De Modernisering en haar Politieke Gevolgen:

Weber, Mannheim en Schumpeter (Amsterdam: Boom) © Hans Blokland.

Copyright © 2006 by Yale University. All rights reserved. This book may not be
reproduced, in whole or in part, including illustrations, in any form (beyond that
copying permitted by Sections 107 and 108 of the U.S. Copyright Law and except
by reviewers for the public press), without written permission from the publishers.

Set in Adobe Garamond type by The Composing Room of Michigan, Inc.

Printed in the United States of America.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Blokland, Hans Theodorus.

[Modernisering en haar politieke gevolgen. Dutch]
Modernization and its political consequences : Weber, Mannheim, and
Schumpeter / Hans Blokland.
p. cm.
Translated by Nancy Smyth Van Weesep.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN-13: 978-0-300-11081-4 (cloth : alk. paper)
ISBN-10: 0-300-11081-2
1. Political science—Philosophy. 2. Politics and culture. I. Title.
JA71.B54513 2006
320.01—dc22
2006008117

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability
of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the
Council on Library Resources.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Ed and Rose Lindblom
Dem einzelnen Menschen mögen mancherlei persönliche Ziele, Zwecke,
Hoffnungen, Aussichten vor Augen schweben, aus denen er den Impuls
zu hoher Anstrengung und Tätigkeit schöpft; wenn das Unpersönliche um
ihn her, die Zeit selbst der Hoffnungen und Aussichten bei aller äusseren
Regsamkeit im Grunde entbehrt, wenn sie sich ihm als hoffnungslos,
aussichtslos und ratlos heimlich zu erkennen gibt und der bewusst oder
unbewusst gestellten, aber doch irgendwie gestellten Frage nach einem
letzten, mehr als persönlichen, unbedingten Sinn aller Anstrengung und
Tätigkeit ein hohles Schweigen entgegensetzt, so wird gerade in Fällen
redlicheren Menschentums eine gewisse lähmende Wirkung solches
Sachverhalts fast unausbleiblich sein . . .
—Thomas Mann (1924: 50)

The scientific outlook in political science can easily produce a dangerous

and dysfunctional humility: the humility of the social scientist who may
be quite confident of his findings on small matters and dubious that he can
have anything at all to say on larger questions. The danger, of course, is
that the quest for empirical data can turn into an absorbing search for mere
trivialities unless it is guided by some sense of the difference between an
explanation that would not matter much even if it could be shown to be
valid by the most advanced methods now available, and one that would
matter a great deal if it should turn out to be a little more or a little less
plausible than before, even if it still remained in some considerable doubt.
—Robert Dahl (1961b: 25)
Contents

Preface, xi

Chapter One. General Introduction 1

1 Modernization, 2
1.1 Emergence of Instrumental Rationality, 2
1.2 Differentiation and Individualization: Deterrents to Political Action, 4
2 Pluralism, Polyarchy, and Incrementalism, 7
3 Doubts about Incrementalism and Polyarchy in Political Science, 9
4 Political Endorsement of Polyarchy and Incrementalism, 12
5 Questions, 15

Chapter Two. Max Weber 17

1 Personal and Intellectual Background, 18
2 Weber’s Philosophy of Science, 21
2.1 The Difference between the Natural and the Human Sciences, 22
2.2 The Endless Growth of Knowledge and the Disenchantment
of Our Worldview, 24
2.3 Science and Normative Questions, and What Science Can
Actually Do, 25
3 Capitalism and the Rationalization of Occidental Culture, 28
3.1 Forms of Rationality, 29

vii
viii Contents

3.2 The Rationalization of More and More Spheres of Life, 32

3.3 Ascetic Protestantism as Breeding Ground for Capitalism, 34
3.4 The Capitalist Ethic in Capitalism’s Iron Cage, 36
4 Bureaucracy and Bureaucratization, 38
4.1 Description of Bureaucracy and the Bureaucrat, 38
4.2 The Driving Forces behind Bureaucratization, 40
4.3 The Endless Persistence of an Established Bureaucracy, 44
5 Democracy in Modern Society, 45
5.1 The Bureaucratization of the Political Party, 46
5.2 Leadership, Demagoguery, and “Public Opinion,” 48
5.3 The Functions of Parliament, 50
5.4 The Charismatic Leader as Counterweight to Bureaucratization, 52
5.5 The “Verantwortungsethik” of the True Politician, 54
6 Preliminary Assessment, 55

Chapter Three. Karl Mannheim 61

1 Personal and Intellectual Background, 61
2 The Reception of Mannheim, 64
3 Science and Society, 66
3.1 The Sociology of Knowledge, 67
3.2 Relativism or Relationism, 69
3.3 Sozial Freischwebende Intelligenz and the Possibilities for a
Political Science, 70
3.4 Qualitative Research and Interdisciplinarity, 74
3.5 The Elites: Their Lack of Social Engagement and Their Decline, 76
4 Some Fundamental Assumptions and Concepts of the Sociology
of Planning, 78
4.1 The Unbalanced Growth and Social Distribution of Moral and Technical
Capacity, 78
4.2 Substantial and Functional Rationality and Morality, 80
4.3 The Awareness of the Need for Planning, 82
4.4 The Planning of Personalities and the End of History, 86
5 Planning for Freedom, 88
5.1 Our Ambivalent Attitude toward Planning and the Functionalistic
Manner of Thinking, 88
5.2 Concentration of Power through Application of Social Techniques, 89
5.3 The Creation of Indispensable Social Consensus with
Social Techniques, 90
5.4 Some Techniques of Social Control, 91
5.5 The Pros and Cons of Various Possible Techniques of Control, 94
5.6 Controlling the Planners by Way of Parliamentary Democracy, 96
5.7 Is Planning Possible in a Divided Pluriform Democracy?, 97
5.8 Planning Means More Technical and Less Political Decision-Making, 99
5.9 Planning Makes a Higher Collective Form of Freedom Possible, 100
 Contents ix

6 Mannheim’s Diagnosis of Our Ethical Situation, 102

6.1 The Complete Absence of Social Consensus on Values and the
Causes Thereof, 102
6.2 The Third Way in the Ethical Field: A Militant Democracy, 106
6.3 Religion and the Substance of a Shared, Unifying Goal, 107
7 Preliminary Assessment, 109

Chapter Four. Joseph Schumpeter 114

1 Personal Background, 116
2 Standpoints on Science, Economics, and History, 119
2.1 Positivism, Historicism, and General Social Science, 119
2.2 Economic Thought, 121
2.3 Marx and the Economic Interpretation of History, 123
2.4 Schumpeter’s Definition of Conservatism, 124
3 The Decline of Capitalism, 125
3.1 Capitalism Is a Great Economic Success, 126
3.2 The Economic Success of Capitalism Is No Coincidence, 127
3.3 The Process of Creative Destruction Is the Engine of
Economic Progress, 128
3.4 Monopolistic Practices Are Often Beneficial to the Economy, 129
3.5 The Capitalistic Economy Can Also Keep Growing in the Future, 130
3.6 Capitalistic Civilization and the Rationalization Process, 131
3.7 Capitalism Destroys Its Own Institutional Framework, 134
3.8 Capitalism Makes More and More Enemies, 136
3.8.1 People Are Unable to Evaluate Capitalism Rationally, 136
3.8.2 Intellectuals and Their Subversive Activities, 137
3.9 The Collapse of the Family, the Country Place, and Capitalism, 139
4 The Socialist Economic System Works, 141
4.1 The Sound Rationality of a Socialist Economy, 142
4.2 The Socialist Economic Order Is More Rational Than the Capitalist, 145
4.3 Socialist Man Need Not Be Either a Genius or a Saint, 147
4.4 The Gradual but Inevitable Transition to Socialism, 149
4.4.1 Two Conditions, 150
4.4.2 The Options for Socialists in a Society That Is Still Capitalist, 151
5 Socialism and Democracy, 154
5.1 In Search of a Definition of Democracy, 154
5.1.1 Democracy Is Not a Value in Itself but a Decision Method, 154
5.1.2 The Electorate Determines Who Belongs to the Electorate, 155
5.1.3 A Government by the People Is Already Technically Impossible, 156
5.2 Criticism of the “Classical” Theory of Democracy, 158
5.2.1 The Common Good Does Not Exist, nor Does the Will of the Peo-
ple, 158
5.2.2 The Citizens Are Irrational and Easily Influenced, 159
5.2.3 Abstraction Undermines Responsibility and Rationality, 160
x Contents

5.2.4 The Will of the People Is the Artificial Product of

Manipulation, 162
5.2.5 Why an Untenable Theory Is Upheld, 163
5.3 An Alternative Conception of Democracy, 164
5.3.1 The Suitability of a Democracy Depends on the
Circumstances, 166
5.3.2 Five Social Conditions for a Successful Democracy, 167
5.4 A Socialist Democracy Will Not Differ Much from a Capitalist, 169
6 Making Up the Balance, 170
6.1 Ideology and the Science of Economics, 170
6.2 How Inevitable Is the “Inevitable” March into Socialism?, 174
6.3 The Interest of Managers in Capitalism, 178
6.4 The Positive Political Freedom of Leaders and Citizens, 179
6.5 Schumpeter’s Relativism and Strictly Formal Definition
of Democracy, 181

Chapter Five. Synthesis: The Modernization of Politics

and Society 183
1 The Rationalization Perspective, 184
1.1 The Spread of the Critical Rational Spirit, 185
1.2 Instrumental and Functional Rationality Versus Value and
Substantial Rationality, 186
1.3 Industrialization, Capitalism, and the Dominant Functional
Rationality, 187
1.4 Bureaucracy as Product and Catalyst of Functional Rationality, 189
1.5 Explanation of the Growth and Spread of Bureaucratic
Organizations, 191
1.6 The Appraisal of Bureaucratic Organizations and Government
Interventions, 192
2 Rationalization and Politics, 193
2.1 The End of Big Politics, 193
2.2 The Endless Small Politics, 194
2.3 Our Lack of Imagination, 195
3 Democracy and the Entry of the Masses into the Political Arena, 197
3.1 The Inevitable Consequences of Enlarging the Scale of Politics, 199
3.2 Are There Democratic Alternatives to Parliamentary Democracy?, 200
3.3 The Neutrality Principle of Liberal Democracy, 202
3.4 Trapped in the Emancipation Dilemma?, 203
4 What to Do?, 205

Notes, 211
Bibliography, 241
Index, 251
Preface

Any investigation, as we know, has a “context of discovery” and a

“context of justification.” The latter, in theory, comprises a clear state-
ment of the problem and a coherent and consistent argument. But in
reality—and certainly in the human and social sciences—investiga-
tions are rarely planned and systematically conducted, though they
are usually presumed to be so after the fact. The context of discovery
consists largely of wrong turns, dead-end tracks, and nonrational
strokes of intuition, inklings, guesswork, prejudice, and so on. And
there is nothing wrong with that—so long as the winding paths lead
somewhere in the end.
This investigation thus began, in the usual manner, with little more
than a sense of unease. On the one hand, several trends in our society
seemed to be curtailing people’s political freedom jointly to give
meaning to their communal existence. The term “modernization”
aptly sums up these trends. Modernization is an exceptionally com-
plex process, roughly covering the differentiation, individualization,
and rationalization of society. Of these, the most important is ratio-
nalization, which entails the growing importance of functional ratio-

xi
xii Preface

nality and the diminishing importance of substantial rationality in more and

more spheres of life. The consequences of modernization for our political free-
dom have provoked some generalized laments about the “gap between citizens
and politics,” the “malaise of modernity,” “Politikverdrossenheit,” the “End of
Politics,” the “End of History,” and so forth.
On the other hand, various proposals for political and administrative re-
newal advanced over the past two decades—proposals that have since been car-
ried out for the most part in many countries—only seemed to be increasing the
widespread feeling of political discontent. These proposals constitute an an-
swer to this discontent or to related problems that are said to afflict the welfare
state today: being overstretched, overburdened, and immobile, bogged down
in red tape, uncontrollable, and encapsulated, and lacking legitimacy. The pro-
posed political and administrative changes may be subsumed under several
fashionable headings: privatization, farming out, marketization, deregulation,
decentralization, flexibilization, and globalization. Such changes set the stage
for a restructuring of politics, the economy, and society. In my opinion, this re-
structuring only deepens the political powerlessness or malaise by promoting
the very same modernization trend that spawned the widespread political dis-
content in the first place.
What made me feel uneasy, perhaps even aggravated, is the state of European
social democracy and its “liberal” American counterpart. This “progressive” po-
litical movement has traditionally been a counterweight to unbridled modern-
ization. In a sense, the attempt to control modernization processes was the rai-
son d’être of socialism, as it was of social democracy, its main heir. Both
European social democracy and American liberalism have nonetheless been
“modernized” over the past twenty years. In the process, social democracy in
combination with market liberalism has become a driving force of moderniza-
tion. It seems that social democracy has given up trying to achieve any cultural-
political aims that might transcend current societal processes.

The overarching goal of my research was thus to outline the political conse-
quences of modernization. Briefly, the central research question is as follows:
What are the consequences of modernization for the positive political freedom
of citizens to give their society direction and meaning? I took the theories of
two American political scientists—Robert A. Dahl and Charles E. Lind-
blom—as a point of departure for my argument. I shall expand on these theo-
ries in the second and third volumes of this study. Together, their work spans
more than half a century, thereby offering a vantage point for reviewing almost
 Preface xiii

all of the debates on political thought that took place in the second half of the
twentieth century. Moreover, their theory of pluralism may be seen as both a
manifestation and a justification of the modernization process, at least until the
mid-1970s. In short, pluralists presume that society is fragmented and individ-
ualized; all in all, they recommend social and political fragmentation as a
means to prevent the concentration of power and to enhance the quality of
public decision-making. Indeed, they do not put much stock in the possibili-
ties of discussing values and aims on rational grounds or of governing society
on the basis of a well-wrought substantial rational plan. Furthermore, in its
original form, the theory of pluralism seemed to constitute a lucid defense of
the current social, political, and economic system.
Actually, I wanted to use the theory of pluralism as a backdrop for my posi-
tion that a society grounded in pluralistic assumptions cannot transcend itself.
That is why its citizens are largely unable to resolve the problems associated
with modernization—social and political disorientation, powerlessness, and
alienation.
Working through the vast literature produced by Dahl and Lindblom only
raised more questions, however. For instance, I noted that both had grown re-
markably radicalized in their later work. Initially (rightly or wrongly) lauded or
maligned as apologists of the status quo, they turned into fierce critics of the
current social and political system. In their own view, though, their critique re-
mains within the bounds of the traditional pluralistic framework—a stand-
point I do not share, incidentally. Moreover, both took a social-democratic
stance in their early work, of which the imposing Politics, Economic, and Wel-
fare (1953) is a case in point. Thus, in the course of their intellectual history, they
shifted from the left to the right and back again. It is also striking that this shift
ran counter to prevailing societal trends. How can we explain this contrariness?
In the same vein, it struck me that many ideas that now enjoy currency among
European social democrats (and others far afield) had already been extensively
articulated and substantiated by Dahl and Lindblom in the 1950s and 1960s.
However, they thought they had every reason thoroughly to revise some of
those ideas. How can comparable theories on the organization of society be
considered untenable but also as a necessary adaptation to modern times?
Thus, I kept raising more questions on the development of political
thought. These questions became ever more pertinent in light of the pessimistic
conclusions that Lindblom drew in the 1990s about the potential of the social
and political sciences to produce generally accepted “knowledge” and about the
overwhelming capacity of interested parties to construct or channel public
xiv Preface

opinion. For instance, he wrote that in a genuine science, debate leads to a con-
vergence of ideas and to a broadly accepted “body of knowledge.” But as he
concluded, “In political science, debate rarely leads to findings. And on any
given big issue of fact or value, debate in political science tends to be endless
rather than declining (or terminating in a finding)” (1997: 243). In other words,
I wondered whether we have made any progress in our political thinking or po-
litical knowledge. Can we actually make any progress in these fields? Or is the
spread—the acceptance and even the popularity—of political ideas simply a
matter of fashion, conventions, or what Lindblom calls “impairment”?
These questions became even more poignant in light of the way Max Weber,
Karl Mannheim, and Joseph Schumpeter perceived the modernization of soci-
ety. Many of their perceptions seemed remarkably topical to me, and it seemed
easy to translate much of the current debate on the fundamental social and
political problems of our time—and on their solutions—into terms used by
Weber, Mannheim, and Schumpeter, although only a few participants in the
present discourse seem to be aware of this.
Yet my main reason for analyzing the work of Weber, Mannheim, and
Schumpeter was to bring the modernization of Western society and politics
into focus. As I stated earlier, this process forms the overarching framework for
the entire study, and these theorists are preeminent thinkers on this subject.
Thus, I have formulated the central problematic of this book as follows: What
are the effects of modernization on the political freedom of citizens, through
participation in the democratic process, to exert influence on the structure and
development of their society? This problematic is addressed by asking more
specific questions. How do Weber, Mannheim, and Schumpeter define mod-
ernization? Which forces underlie this process in their opinion? What are the
consequences of modernization for the individual and society? What conse-
quences does modernization have for the ways in which we can and do give
substance to politics and democracy?
The next two volumes of this study will depict politics and policymaking in
a modernizing society, mainly in terms of the work of Dahl and Lindblom.
There we shall see that Dahl and Lindblom—like many others—have built
largely upon perspectives and insights eminently formulated by Weber, Mann-
heim, and Schumpeter (though their debt to Mannheim is much less generally
assumed). For this reason, the present book also serves as an introduction to the
work of these two theorists. On top of that we shall find out that Dahl and
Lindblom eventually, at the end of their career, were struggling with problems
like those confronting their distinguished predecessors in the interbellum pe-
 Preface xv

riod. Therefore, the overarching question is to what extent the problems that
modernization confronts us with today (again) can (still) be solved within the
pluralistic political and policymaking framework, a framework that was bril-
liantly justified by Dahl and Lindblom in the 1950s and 1960s and that is widely
accepted today.

I shall end this preface with a few words of gratitude. The Department of Polit-
ical Science at Yale University has been a most gracious host to me over the past
several years, for which I am most grateful. In particular, Robert Dahl, Robert
Lane, Helen Lane, Charles Lindblom, and James Scott were an enormous stim-
ulus to my work during that period. I thank them for the many written and oral
exchanges of ideas, but especially for their friendship. I am grateful to Rudi
Wielers, Jos de Beus, and Ton Kreukels for their comments on an earlier version
of this book and for our many congenial, though always stimulating, differ-
ences of opinion. Finally, I am deeply indebted to Talja Blokland, who offered
constructive criticism on every line, sometimes more than once. She has seen it.
And that is what matters most to me.
Chapter 1 General
Introduction

People’s capacity jointly to give meaning and direction to social life is

an essential dimension of political freedom. Yet many citizens of
Western democracies believe that this freedom has become quite re-
stricted. They feel they are at the mercy of anonymous structures and
processes over which they have hardly any control, structures and
processes that present them with options and realities they might not
have chosen if they had had any real choice. In this regard, the present
political system seems incapable of resolving any number of today’s
critical problems: environmental degradation; urban sprawl and the
concomitant demise of the inner city; bio industry’s barbaric produc-
tion of unsafe food; the economic and social exclusion of large seg-
ments of society; the relentless expansion of the economic realm and,
as a direct consequence, the erosion of nonmarketable values and the
steady build-up of pressure—especially on time—that the economy
places on people. The incapacity to deal effectively with these prob-
lems only reinforces the impression that the body politic has lost its
grip on events. Thus, a disinterest in politics—even to the point of
cynicism—appears to be a plausible alternative.

1
2 Chapter One

This book considers the extent to which the current sense of powerless-
ness—or rather, in the words of Charles Taylor (1991), the feeling of malaise—
was inevitable, in view of the principles underlying the Western political sys-
tem. It also analyzes the attempts to improve the way this political system
operates. Such notions as deregulation, privatization, decentralization, flexibi-
lization, farming out, and marketization have played a key role in these efforts
since the 1980s. Here, I argue that many of the measures and proposals will only
exacerbate the problems. People involved in these efforts seek to create a social
order in which politics will play a much more limited role; the solutions are ex-
pected to come from the free play of societal forces. My stance is quite different;
I make a case for the rehabilitation of politics. Because of the nature of the
problems facing us today, our only hope of finding real solutions is through po-
litical action.

1 MODERNIZATION

Under the present model of political decision-making and the model of policy-
making associated with it, it would appear that citizens are powerless with re-
spect to the modernization process and are rendered powerless by it. Perhaps
these systems of politics and policy are too closely allied with this process for
people to cope with the downside of modernity.
It is not easy to give an unambiguous definition of modernization and to pin
down its driving force. We can narrow it down, however, by identifying its core
processes: rationalization, differentiation, and individualization. The following
sections give a brief overview of these three processes and serve as an introduc-
tion to the issues that are central to the study.

1.1 Emergence of Instrumental Rationality

According to the Dutch sociologist Jacques van Doorn, rationalization means

that “cultural, moral, political, and ideological values and goals” fade into the
background and “organizational, bureaucratic, technocratic, and formalistic
orientations” come to the fore (1988: 139). The process leaves less and less room
for what Max Weber called value rationality, while instrumental rationality gains
ground in more and more realms of social life. In other words, people increas-
ingly seek the optimal means to an end—to attain a given value or a particular
goal with the least outlay of resources. However, they give less and less thought
to that goal, to defining it and understanding why they might be striving for it.1
 General Introduction 3

Ultimately, this leads to aimless action, devoid of soul and meaning, according
to such theorists as Weber, Mannheim, and Habermas.
According to Van Doorn, this is most clearly evident in the areas of techno-
logical development and industrialization. In the past, the traditional tool was
an extension of the acting individual; nowadays, human beings are operators of
the equipment, and their actions are constrained by the rationality of the
technology. The undeniably superior performance of this rationality gives it a
sacrosanct aura. Thus, it is increasingly held up as a model for order and or-
ganization in human relations. The larger and more pervasive these social-
technological constructs become, “the more society is driven to deal with all
important issues in conformity with the logic of technical effectiveness and
efficiency” (Van Doorn 1988: 143). The most prominent manifestation of this
tendency is the industrialization process that is currently taking place world-
wide. At present, the pace of technological progress, organizational expansion,
and concentration is growing explosively; the scale of economic transactions is
enlarging, leading to greater competition in global markets. These processes,
“each on its own but certainly in concert lead to an accelerated erosion of the
specific cultural and institutional influences of the environment” (1988: 144).
As Marx had predicted, the world is increasingly becoming an indivisible whole
and is everywhere motivated by the same instrumental rationality.
Yet it is precisely the substantial values that give meaning, purpose, and co-
herence to life and diversity and dynamism to culture. The mindless pursuit of
arbitrary ends—something a machine can do, or workers on an assembly
line—deprives the act of its meaning and the actors of their dignity. Even
though instrumental rationality is limited, current social structures and pro-
cesses seem to compel people to think and act in this frame of mind in more
and more domains of life. It often seems that people are trapped in what Weber
has called an iron cage. For instance, managers might feel coerced by the mar-
ket to apply efficiency measures more strictly than they themselves deem
morally acceptable. Under pressure from economic competition from abroad,
the citizens comprising the body politic might feel compelled to spend more
time in gainful employment than they would if they were free to choose other-
wise. In the same vein, individuals are being taken captive by a proliferation of
monsters of their own making—organizations that owe their “total” character
to an inexorable process of bureaucratization, functionalization, and profes-
sionalization. A civil servant, for instance, may feel that his or her freedom is
constrained by bureaucratic rules that force him or her to apply standard deci-
4 Chapter One

sions—prescriptions that do not reflect the concrete and value-laden context

in which one operates.
Weber was terrified of the consequences of this process, which he saw as irre-
versible and unstoppable. He saw us heading toward a cold and impersonal so-
ciety, one in which instrumental rationality would overwhelm value rationality.
Thus, he too had wrestled with the question of how to gain control of the ra-
tionalization process.
The ascendancy of instrumental rationality, of which economic thinking is
both an expression and a catalyst, could not really get under way until substan-
tial rationalities, particularly those embodied in religion, tradition, and culture,
had begun to decline. Thus, in order to halt its progress, one would have to cre-
ate new substantial rationalities. On that basis, one would then have to inter-
vene in the current flow of blind processes. At the level of society at large,
thinkers like Mannheim considered political action to be the best means to do
so. However, Western liberal societies now define politics primarily in instru-
mental terms. Political democracy is an institutional order in which social con-
flicts of interest are resolved by peaceful means. As Harold Lasswell (1936) once
summed it up, politics answers the question of who gets what, when, how. Our
political system offers citizens less and less scope for collective efforts to give
their community meaning and direction through a substantive program. Yet
only that notion of politics would seem to offer any chance of developing a sub-
stantial rational program; only such a notion could engender the power and le-
gitimacy that are needed to rein in the process of rationalization.

1.2 Differentiation and Individualization:

Deterrents to Political Action

The chances for citizens to organize themselves politically and thereby jointly
determine their future are shrinking because of two processes that go hand in
hand with rationalization: differentiation and individualization. By differ-
entiation we mean that more and more human activities are organized within
an ever-growing number of increasingly specialized institutions. Consequently,
social complexity increases; while mutual functional dependencies expand, so
does the sovereignty within the specialized institutions. Individualization is re-
lated to this process. It means that people see themselves—and are seen by oth-
ers—less and less as members of a single social group, as exponents of a specific
pattern of values, norms, customs, and expectations. While the number of
groups to which a person belongs keeps rising, membership in those groups be-
 General Introduction 5

comes less and less meaningful; the extent to which they confer an identity
upon their members is declining. As people’s repertory of roles grows in range
and complexity, their identity is no longer constant, clear cut, coherent, or se-
cure (cf. Blokland 2003). Moreover, one might say that there is an expanding
domain in which the individual, unhindered by others, can do or be what he or
she is able to do or be (cf. Berlin 1958). This does not, however, imply that the
individual is more capable of taking charge of his or her life. A growing negative
freedom does not necessarily mean that people are able to make informed
choices and justify those choices in terms of values and goals they have set for
themselves (Blokland 1997a).
Robert Lane adds another dimension to the preceding analysis of present-
day individualism. In a book entitled The Loss of Happiness in Market Democ-
racies (2000), he presents evidence from a large number of empirical studies
affirming the body of criticism of modern societies—particularly by such au-
thors as Tönnies, Simmel, Fromm, Mumford, and Wirth—that modern social
relations are typically superficial, impersonal, and instrumental. That is why
people tend to say they often feel lonely and long for intimacy. A “Machiavel-
lian syndrome” is spreading through the market economies of the West; to an
increasing extent, people are adopting a manipulative stance toward their fel-
low men. It seems as if they can no longer separate the way they treat others on
the job from how they behave away from work. They are continually calculat-
ing the costs and benefits of a relationship; they end it when it no longer “pays
off.” Consequently, modern people often have many casual acquaintances
but rarely any good friends (2000: 96). According to Lane, modern individual-
ism—defined as the pursuit of personal aims instead of collective goals—ex-
plains why we are lonely and indifferent. Although people long for human
warmth, they continuously seek greater self-sufficiency, which they see as cru-
cial to a sense of well-being. An unbounded striving for independence or free-
dom from bonds makes relationships noncommittal and superficial; moreover,
it undermines the social conditions for self-determination (cf. Blokland 1997a:
chap. 4). Intimate and meaningful relations are the most important building
blocks of human well-being. Therefore, as the ultimate consequence of con-
temporary individualism, the well-being of Americans has by their own report
been on the decline for about three decades. Europe is lagging, as usual, but the
trend is in the same direction. Lane observes “a kind of famine of warm inter-
personal relations, of easy-to-reach neighbors, of encircling, inclusive member-
ships, and of solidary family life” (2000: 9). Due to this lack of social support,
6 Chapter One

people have become much more vulnerable to the misfortunes of life: illnesses,
stress, unemployment, disappointing relationships, frustrated ambitions, failed
expectations, and the like. The end result is a widespread but quiet desperation.
Differentiation and individualization have major political consequences.
These processes, along with the expansion of economic, social, and political
domains as a result of rationalization, make it increasingly difficult for individ-
uals to identify themselves with others and with a public cause. For this reason,
they are less and less willing and able to engage in a common political project.
Instead, citizens focus their political energies on the promotion of particularis-
tic interests. Meanwhile, the noncommittal Greenpeace model of political par-
ticipation is gaining in popularity; people commit themselves in an abstract
fashion to a fairly abstract cause. Politics as the expression of a collective will, as
the mobilization of electoral majorities on the grounds of a substantive politi-
cal program, disappears from the picture. Consequently, as Charles Taylor
writes, there is a growing sense that the electorate is powerless against the state
and the market, and that it would be rather naïve and utopian to think they
could control their own future through politics (1991: 113). Thus, they no
longer even try. They become alienated from politics, and complaints about the
“gap between citizenry and politics” become a common topic for discussion.
Because of political disinterest and apathy, citizens do not have a shared experi-
ence of political action. This reinforces their sense of helplessness and prevents
notions of public interest from taking root. It is thus increasingly difficult to
combat social fragmentation and to counter the primacy of instrumental ratio-
nality. To lose the capacity to forge effective political majorities is, in Taylor’s
apt metaphor, “to lose the paddle in mid-river” (1991: 118).
Thus, modernization leads to political powerlessness in various ways. The
first problem is the advance of instrumental rationality, which leads to the cre-
ation of “iron cages,” the virtually uncontrollable structures and processes of
bureaucratization and economization. The second problem is that individual-
ization, differentiation, and the blurring of substantial rationalities in more and
more domains of life are making it increasingly difficult for citizens to identify
with each other and with any public interest. The erosion of shared values and
goals reduces the chance of citizens engaging in political action to shape their
society. They lack the shared conceptions of the Good Life and the Good Soci-
ety that are necessary to take that step. The third problem is that individualiza-
tion and differentiation also lead to greater social pluriformity, complexity, and
opacity. Problems and solutions in one area of policy are increasingly inter-
twined with issues in other areas. Increasingly, problems, aims, and interests are
 General Introduction 7

being defined in widely divergent terms. Furthermore, the calculating, individ-

ualized citizens take collectivities less and less into account. Society is breaking
down into so many autonomous domains that it is no longer under control.
This brings us to the issue of pluralism.

2 PLURALISM, POLYARCHY,
AND INCREMENTALISM

The cause of the powerless feeling that many people get from the present polit-
ical system might thus be the modernization process. Earlier, I suggested that
the current political and policymaking systems might not be able to counter
this process, since to a far too great extent they are an expression or outcome of
this process. In that light, a close examination of these systems is expedient.
This is what I shall do in the two subsequent volumes of this study, where I treat
the development of the work of two American political scientists, Robert Dahl
and Charles Lindblom. I decided to analyze work by scholars from the plural-
ism school because the theory of pluralism is largely a reflection of the Western
political systems. The theory describes and legitimates their organization but
has also determined it to some extent. In that light, to analyze the social, polit-
ical, and administrative problems these systems have to contend with today, it
is useful to make the assumptions underlying pluralism theory explicit and
then evaluate them. It is to those assumptions that we might look for the seeds
of contemporary problems.
The political system in present-day Western liberal democracies may be de-
fined as a “polyarchy,” following the lead of Dahl and Lindblom (1953). Closely
aligned with such a political system is a specific approach to policymaking
known as incrementalism, which Lindblom in particular has studied (1959,
1963, 1965). Both polyarchy and incrementalism are based on specific meta-
physical, epistemological, and ethical assumptions—assumptions that are
characteristic of Western liberal or humanistic thought. A salient example is the
conviction that there are many precious but often conflicting values, the rela-
tive merits of which will have to be weighed when they clash. Another is the
conviction that circumstances partly determine the weight of our values and
that we therefore have to redefine their relative merits whenever these circum-
stances change. Yet another is the conviction that the possibility of working out
a practical, comprehensive, consistent normative political theory is quite lim-
ited. It is also assumed that individual freedom and the derived political free-
doms—freedom of speech and freedom of association, for instance—are valu-
8 Chapter One

able because they permit each and every individual to formulate his or her own
definition of the Good Life. It is assumed that the state should be neutral with
respect to ways citizens define the Good Life. It is assumed that the highest aims
pursued by individuals in modern society will be attained by groups and that it
is mainly through these groups that individuals will articulate and defend their
interests. Furthermore, it is assumed that democracy is a method for decision-
making, a means to weigh the relative merits of conflicting social interests; that
social reality is generally much too complex to be captured and explained in a
single theory; and that we can rarely grasp policy issues fully and resolve them
in one stroke. These, along with other assumptions to be discussed later, con-
stitute the fairly coherent body of political theory that we may call pluralism. In
what follows, I shall briefly elaborate on this theory and the corresponding po-
litical and policy models that comprise it. First, I shall review the assumptions
of incrementalism. These in particular might shed more light on the issue of
current political powerlessness.
Incrementalistic policy consists of a continual stream of marginal policy
measures or revisions supported by various social actors or “partners.” For their
part, the policymakers do not pursue a well-defined long-term goal; rather,
they try to alleviate a pressing short-term problem. Policy is made piece by
piece, incrementally, in a continual bargaining process among government, in-
terest groups, political parties, and bureaucracies. Decision-making is the out-
come of a never-ending conflict about the instruments, values, and aims of pro-
posed policies.
Pluralists consider incrementalism as both a descriptive and a prescriptive
model. Not only does it provide an empirical description of the policy process
in open Western democracies. It also offers a normative justification of that
process. The situation is quite different under the synoptic model, which plural-
ists cast as the counterpart of incrementalism. Supposedly, the synoptic model
is mainly prescriptive in character, and rarely if ever is it (or can it be) put into
practice. Those who try to work with this model—or believe they are applying
it—assume that there is a fundamental consensus among the various actors
about the instruments, values, and aims of the policy; they assume that society
is to a large extent makable; and that there is sufficient information, knowl-
edge, and expertise to work with this model. Synoptic policy comes about
through an exhaustive and rational assessment of all alternative instruments
(and their consequences) in order to attain a rationally planned long-term goal.
To explain the connection between incrementalism and democracy, plural-
ists generally refer to the prevalence in open democratic societies of influential
 General Introduction 9

and relatively autonomous organizations motivated by particular values and in-

terests. In our Western political systems, individual citizens do not influence
government policy through direct democracy. Rather, their influence is mainly
indirect, through the players in the nongovernmental arena known as the “so-
cial midfield”—a totality of relatively autonomous organizations serving as an
intermediary and a buffer between the state and individual citizens. The high
profile of these organizations is one of the reasons why Dahl and Lindblom
speak of a polyarchy instead of a democracy. As a result of the activities of these
organizations, decisions are not made by a single rational actor at one central
point; instead, they are made in a disjointed manner. Ultimately, the outcome
of their conflicting interests and competing influence is a more or less organic
body of measures, agreements, and routines. Society ends up with an inevitably
unstable, conditional compromise lacking a deeper rationale, without a coher-
ent and consistent plan to realize a far-reaching, well-defined aim.
According to the pluralist, if one opts for an open democratic society, one
also opts for incrementalistic policy. Giving incrementalism further justifica-
tion, pluralists stress that there is too much disagreement on the aims and in-
struments of policy, that society is too complex and too fragmented, and that
policymakers do not have sufficient knowledge, information, and resources to
be able to make far-reaching and comprehensive decisions in a responsible
manner. Therefore, it is considered more prudent to concentrate on making
marginal changes in the status quo and muddling through. Less can go wrong
when the adjustments are minor, and any mistakes will be easier to correct.
Moreover, marginal changes are more readily accepted than radical ones.
Successful government policy requires social support—certainly in a democ-
racy—and incrementalism makes it easier to garner.

3 DOUBTS ABOUT INCREMENTALISM

AND POLYARCHY IN POLITICAL SCIENCE

Since the end of the 1960s, the incrementalistic policymaking model and the
polyarchic political model that is one of its pillars have been subject to a critical
reappraisal in the political science literature. Interestingly, Lindblom and
Dahl—who were among the founding fathers of these models—have increas-
ingly cast doubt on their merits. The literature has been giving more and more
attention to three questions. The first is the extent to which these models (still)
give an adequate empirical description of current political and policy practices.
The second is whether we should (still) consider these models and practices as
10 Chapter One

favorably as we used to do, bearing in mind the kind of problems Western soci-
eties have to contend with today. And third, what are the alternatives?
Most questions have been raised about the role of interest groups, a topic
central to the theory of pluralism. Dahl notes that these groups might give con-
tinuity to social inequalities, undermine the awareness of civil society or com-
mon interest, distort the public agenda, and frustrate citizen control of this
agenda (1976, 1982, 1994, 1998). One question in particular is whether plural-
ism has degenerated into what Theodor Lowi (1969) has called interest-group
liberalism—a system whereby oligarchic interest groups, possibly in concert
with governmental organizations, engage in nontransparent negotiations and
make decisions that, in a true democracy, should be the prerogative of the po-
litical process.
In Lindblom’s critique of interest groups, he concentrates on what he calls
the privileged position of business (1976, 1977, 1990, 2001). Initially, he and
other pluralists treated private companies the same as other independent orga-
nizations. They thought that the one-sided interests that businessmen pursue
would be compensated by the particular bias of other interest groups. In his
later work, Lindblom calls this stance inexcusably naïve. The political resources
(money, knowledge, organization, relations) and thus the political power of
private enterprise are incomparably greater than those of other interest groups.
On top of that, government is always eager to lend an ear to the representatives
of private enterprise, since its public legitimacy has become highly dependent
on the prosperity of the private sector. Furthermore, Lindblom considers it
naïve to assume that businesses are completely controlled and directed by the
market and that it is ultimately the consumers who determine business policies.
Many of the decisions that businessmen make—decisions that have far-reach-
ing consequences for individuals, groups, and even societies—are barely if at
all dictated by the market or, as the case may be, by the consumer. This applies
to location decisions, for instance, or the technology to be used, product devel-
opment or innovation, recruitment of management, salary scales, labor rela-
tions, and so on. In our liberal political systems, decision-making authority on
such social issues as these has for the most part been relegated to individual en-
trepreneurs. Consequently, according to Lindblom, these systems have de facto
two elites: a political elite, over which the citizens can exert some degree of con-
trol; and an economic elite, which for the most part has free rein.
Another problem with the current polyarchic systems is also related to the
position of interest groups. According to Dahl and Lindblom (1976: xxii), the
problem is an inability to realize collective goals. These systems are designed
 General Introduction 11

primarily as a means to reconcile conflicting particularistic interests and to pre-

vent the concentration of power. The goal of the founding fathers of the United
States was certainly not to create and effectuate political power but rather to re-
strain it. Moreover, they were strongly inclined to deny the very existence of a
common cause; they conceived of politics as a continual process of negotiation
on the distribution of scarce resources, both material and immaterial. This ex-
plains the importance of interest groups and of negotiation and trade-off
processes. Now, according to Dahl and Lindblom, there is a rising threat that
these social-political systems will prove to be structurally incapable of dealing
with problems of a new kind. These are not distributive but collective in charac-
ter. Environmental pollution, the depletion of natural resources, a polarized so-
ciety, and the gap between rich and poor countries are just a few examples.
Lindblom fears that existing polyarchies will not provide sufficient opportuni-
ties for the mobilization of majorities or for necessary collective action. Writing
in the 1970s, Lindblom called for the creation of opportunities for the realiza-
tion of public interests; otherwise polyarchy would not survive (1977: 166).
Furthermore, as a consequence of the political system’s incapacity to respond
to urgent public interests—a drawback caused in part by the interest groups—
the system’s legitimacy has come under pressure. In the mid-1980s, many com-
mentators observed that there is no consensus (or no longer consensus) on
what constitutes the good political order, what the responsibilities of the state
should be, and which legitimate claims can be made on the state. The erosion
of consensus on these questions leads to an unconstrained pursuit of particu-
laristic interests. Confronted with a flood of claims, the public administration
is permanently overasked and overburdened. For this reason, many political
scientists have called for a fundamental political debate on the values and aims
of our society.
In sum, the issue is whether policymakers within the existing polyarchic po-
litical systems are (still) able to resolve the current problems with incremental-
istic policy. Doesn’t the answer to problems like environmental degradation,
global warming, biotechnology and bio industry, social exclusion and disinte-
gration, urban sprawl, lack of political legitimacy, the continual expansion of
the economic domain, the increasing pressure of time under which people have
to live and work, crime, the rapid spread of clinical depression and feelings of
discontent, distrust, and loneliness (Lane 2000), and so on require more polit-
ical vision and regulation than these models of politics and policy generate?
Aren’t incrementalism and polyarchy too closely associated with immobility,
lack of direction and efficacy, the promotion of short-sighted particularistic in-
12 Chapter One

terests, and limited instrumental rationality to offer a way out? Or, more specif-
ically, if one designs political and policymaking models—as the American plu-
ralists had originally done—that are based on a fragmented, individualized,
and uncontrollable society in which there is no consensus on the common in-
terest, then is it surprising that the societies in question are increasingly moving
in this direction?

4 POLITICAL ENDORSEMENT OF POLYARCHY

AND INCREMENTALISM

A growing sense of doubt about the polyarchic and incrementalistic model

gradually took hold within the field of political science at the end of the 1960s.
Nonetheless, these models became increasingly popular in the 1980s and 1990s
among numerous politicians, journalists, and other opinion makers. From
their point of view, the existing Western political system had proven its superi-
ority to all other models. It even marked “the end of history”: all societies take
on this organizational form, and it was presumed to be the highest form attain-
able. The collapse of the “communist” East Bloc was said to have demonstrated
“the right of the right” and the superiority of “liberalism.” As Francis Fuku-
yama (1989), among others, asserts, from now on politics worldwide will con-
sist of nothing more than a monotonous endless series of incremental policy
revisions and reconciliations of material conflicts of interest. The “Great Nar-
ratives” have come to an end. The “individualized” citizens, incidentally, have
become articulate, independent, and autonomous. They no longer have any
need for collective ideals or organizations. Politics would do well to honor this
emancipation by freeing society from the bonds of restrictive rules, institu-
tions, and structures.
It is a vision of social reality that numerous politicians, journalists, and other
opinion leaders propagate and at the same time, through their own actions, val-
idate and consolidate. Since the 1980s, concepts like deregulation, decentral-
ization, privatization, flexibilization, and individualization have been the leit-
motifs of public discourse.2 As a consequence the modernization of society
receives an enormous additional impulse. Meanwhile, as most research in the
Western world shows, the social discomfort about the existing political system
continues to grow (Pharr and Putnam 2000; Putnam 2002). The gap between
citizen and politician and the widespread lack of interest in and cynicism about
politics become extensively discussed issues. The full-blown euphoria about be-
 General Introduction 13

ing in the right, though, prevents a thorough analysis of the causes of this
malaise.
Likewise social democracy—in the twentieth century the most important
opponent to unbounded and uncontrolled modernization—appears to be
sensitive to the “modern” range of ideas. Socialism was a protest against a soci-
ety mainly organized on functional rational premises and was an attempt to
formulate a substantial rational alternative. It opposed individualization when
there was a tendency to define this concept one-sidedly as an extension of neg-
ative freedom. Positive freedom, the ability to give substance and meaning to
one’s life on the basis of well-chosen values and aims, was considered at least as
important. Socialists opposed individualization, differentiation, bureaucratiza-
tion, and economization when these processes predominantly seemed to pro-
duce a nonegalitarian, contract society of nameless particles, a society that frus-
trated the development of the capacity for individual and political positive
freedom (cf. Blokland 1997a).3 Social democracy, though, has also been “mod-
ernized” over the past two decades. Many normative premises and ideals have
been jettisoned as useless and ineffectual ballast. The demands of modern times
and modern voters would have made this inevitable. As a consequence, to-
gether with market liberalism, social democracy has become a powerful stimu-
lus of modernization. Social democrats seem to have given up every effort to re-
alize cultural-political ideals, which transcend the current societal processes.
Some important problems of the liberal systems—for example, a lack of di-
rection and purpose, the difficulty to formulate and accomplish common
goals—are solved when the modern or “new” social democrats simply redefine
the problem. They contend that one can only say a society is ungovernable or
lacks direction when one assumes that the government can indeed control and
direct society. The refutation of this assumption, something that the pluralists
are supposed to have done before, implies that one can be much less anxious
about political impotence. Arguments along these lines can be found in sociol-
ogist Paul Kalma’s De Illusie van de “Democratische Staat” (The Illusion of the
“Democratic State”), published in 1982 by the scientific council of the Dutch
labor party.4 In this book, Kalma cogently argues that in an open, pluralistic so-
ciety the state will inevitably be exposed to a wide array of conflicting claims
and influences. Obviously, in such a society the state will not have the tools it
needs to enforce a specific pattern of behavior. Consequently, democracy does
not go along with a strong state. Democracy, according to Kalma, should not
be sought in the relation between state and society but within society: in the re-
14 Chapter One

lations and conflicts between social organizations. Above all, politics should
create and maintain the procedural framework in which “horizontal coordina-
tion” could take place. This “societal democracy” should replace political de-
mocracy, that is, the “vertical coordination” between state and society. Since
1982, this way of thinking has become dominant in the Dutch labor party. It is
not idiosyncratic but exemplary of the developments in the 1980s and 1990s in
European social democracy.5 The “New Labor” of sociologist Anthony Gid-
dens (1998) and politician Tony Blair (1999) is a prime example of this trend.6
Postmodernism, popular notably among the former left-wing cultural elites,
is another important contemporary catalyst of rationalization, fragmentation,
and individualization. Its supporters take the fragmentation, splintering, un-
knowability, unpredictability, and chaos of reality as their point of departure,
even welcoming this as liberating, and transform the philosophical pluralism
that also constitutes the basis of political pluralism into relativism and skepti-
cism. As a consequence, to an unprecedented degree, they strengthen the incli-
nation of the pluralists to assume that it is impossible to justify the existence of
any common interest and that policies are hardly ever more than the un-
planned product of a multitude of influences and aims. Traditional, substan-
tial-rational politics is given up.
Amazed and somewhat melancholic, Dahl and Lindblom have followed the
currents in political and public discourse. Since the mid-1970s they have grad-
ually changed from apparent defenders of the existing political system into
harsh and unrelenting critics. It is remarkable that their thinking has developed
in the opposite direction to that of the majority of West European social de-
mocrats: whereas Dahl and Lindblom move from social liberalism to social
democracy, the social democrats move toward social liberalism. Thus, while the
European social democrats assist in the conversion of existing welfare states
into welfare states “American style,” Dahl and Lindblom are pleading, more ur-
gently than ever, for the introduction of Western European welfare arrange-
ments in the United States. While the social democrats repudiate the notion of
government as the most important instrument of social control and renewal,
and increasingly consider government as only one of the many participants in
what Lindblom describes as processes of partisan mutual adjustment, Lind-
blom and Dahl in particular call for a more central and more potent role for the
same government. Whereas the social democrats increasingly downplay the
possibilities of justifying visions of the common good, Dahl in particular in-
creasingly calls for formulating these visions. Whereas the social democrats de-
fine politics less and less as the organization of effective majorities on the basis
 General Introduction 15

of well-reasoned utopias, Lindblom and, again, notably Dahl plead to a grow-

ing extent for such a definition of politics and distance themselves in this
process from the polyarchal alternative: the struggle between interest groups
over the distribution of assets, privileges, and positions. Whereas the social de-
mocrats, sometimes enthusiastically, support processes of privatization, dereg-
ulation, and decentralization, Dahl and Lindblom warn against the impru-
dence of these processes. Whereas the social democrats accept free enterprise in
almost all its manifestations, Dahl and Lindblom argue for a far-reaching de-
mocratization of the private sector. And so on.
In sum, the remarkable situation occurred that in the 1980s and 1990s a large
number of politicians, journalists, postmodern academics, and other opinion
leaders proclaimed the ultimate victory of pluralistic (market) liberalism, while
many political theorists increasingly felt they had to dissociate themselves from
this ubiquitously applauded liberalism and were seized by Another State of
Mind.7 What is possible on the theoretical level, however, appears to be hardly
possible on the practical level. The pluralistic system seems unable to stop its
own reproduction.

5 QUESTIONS

This book addresses several questions. The first concerns the extent to which
citizens in a political system marked by modernization—a system that is quite
aptly described and justified by pluralism—(still) have opportunities jointly to
exert influence on the organization and development of their society. In other
words, what are the consequences of the processes of rationalization, individu-
alization, and differentiation for democracy? This is not a novel question. It
had already been addressed by numerous political and social theorists by the
end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth. The ideas of
Weber, Mannheim, and Schumpeter are representative of the ideas that were
formulated at that time and are preeminently suited to our purposes as well.
Together, they offer a thorough analysis of modernization and an explicit and
coherent presentation of thinking on politics and democracy, a body of
thought that is steeped in modernity. Moreover, the social and political prob-
lems caused by modernization, in their view, are typical of those confronting
our present-day society. The capacity to resolve these problems determines the
political credibility of the pluralistic theory and the current social order.
Second, it is strange that the developments briefly described in this intro-
duction—pluralism and social democracy—could have taken such divergent
16 Chapter One

paths. The change that has taken place in social democratic thinking is gener-
ally depicted as an inevitable “modernization” or adjustment to “reality.” But
what is the relation between reality and a political theory? If the change were
truly unavoidable, how could Dahl and Lindblom then propound ideas that
social democrats actually renounce? It is known that in the past two or three
decades social democratic ideas have developed largely along the same lines as
the ideas and sentiments prevailing in society at large. But what has determined
the course of that broader development? Could it be that in general the social
democrats and liberals but also the conservatives and Christian democrats have
no option but to adopt the ideas and sentiments that are formed by the same
modernization process that they might hope to control? This is yet another rea-
son to examine the political consequences of modernization more closely.
The third question follows from the previous one and concerns the extent to
which progress has been booked. Many of the current social and political theo-
ries and analyses show a strong resemblance to theories and analyses from ear-
lier periods, even though the persons involved are seldom aware of it. Of
course, this relative lack of progress is partly inherent in the epistemological na-
ture of the disciplines concerned, which are fundamentally different from the
natural sciences. Nevertheless, the lack of progress seems to flow from an over-
all lack of knowledge about how one’s own field—and that of relevant related
fields8 —has developed, as well as from a general inclination toward renewal
and originality.9 In search of recognition, political scientists increasingly refuse
to build upon the work of their predecessors or even to become acquainted
with it. Not only are books more than three years old taken off the bookstore
shelves, but quite soon afterward they are also wiped from the collective mem-
ory of the scientific community.10 One of the reasons to analyze the work of
Weber, Mannheim, and Schumpeter is to investigate the extent to which theo-
ries and insights that are, in some cases, nearly a century old have actually be-
come outdated in the meantime. As we shall see, this body of work proves to re-
tain a remarkable relevance and can seamlessly be fitted into current debates on
the state and the future of our political systems.
Chapter 2 Max Weber

Liberalism . . . is a corrosive which eats away unity, undermines cohesion,

causes apathy and creates dissension. It robs the revolutionary ranks of
compact organization and strict discipline, prevents policies from being
carried through and alienates the Party organizations from the masses
which the Party leads. It is an extremely bad tendency.
—Mao Tse-Tung (1967: 140)

Nineteenth-century liberal and radical thinkers like John Stuart Mill

and Karl Marx had a rather optimistic vision of “progress” in history
and of the possibilities that a democratic society offered for citizens to
develop their talents to the full. In the twentieth century, however,
this optimism about the Enlightenment project turned into pes-
simism in certain intellectual circles. This happened not in the “post-
modernist” 1980s but at the beginning of the century. One of the main
exponents of this shift is Max Weber (cf. Held 1987: 143ff.). Although
Weber was a firm believer in such modern values as individualism and
pluriformity, he thought that the modernization of society posed a se-
rious threat to these values. He considered the bureaucratization and
marketization of more and more spheres of life as the main expres-

17
18 Chapter Two

sions and catalysts of this process. His analysis of their individual and societal
consequences largely determined his thinking on politics and democracy. The
following discussion gives extensive treatment to these processes. The first topic
presented in this context is Weber’s philosophy of science, followed by the gen-
eral process of rationalization and its two main manifestations and stimulators,
namely, the capitalist market economy and bureaucracy, and subsequently the
political conclusions that Weber drew with respect to the increasing growth of
both organizational forms in our society. I begin with a brief sketch of Weber’s
personal and intellectual background.

1 PERSONAL AND INTELLECTUAL

BACKGROUND

Weber was born in Erfurt in 1864, the eldest of seven children of an affluent
Protestant couple. His father was a rather self-satisfied, superficial, and author-
itarian representative of the establishment, and over the course of time Weber
developed an ever-deepening aversion to the man. He was an important mem-
ber of the National Liberal Party, Bismarck’s uncritical pillar of strength, and
an unpretentious people’s representative in the Prussian Diet and the national
Reichstag, among other governmental bodies. Weber’s mother was more prin-
cipled; she was an austere Calvinist, a woman with an intensely experienced
sense of responsibility. Although Weber himself was never able to believe the
doctrine, he tended to resemble his mother more and more over the course of
time. Nonetheless, according to Lewis Coser, the conflicting personalities of his
parents formed to a large extent the basis for the inner conflict that Weber was
to face throughout his life (1977: 235 – 36).1
Weber had a false start—according to Coser, largely inspired by his father—
as a bragging, conceited student who distinguished himself mainly by his beer-
drinking capacity and the scars that he had amassed in many a duel, in accor-
dance with a good German custom. Afterward, however, he developed more
and more into an ascetic, rigid moralist who stayed true to his principles, no
matter what the situation was. He regularly took a public stand in support of
people whose opinions and ideals he perhaps repudiated but whom he re-
spected because they put these opinions and ideals into practice—taking a
stance that was just as sincere and independent as his own. Moreover, Weber
was an exponent of the liberal attitude that one has a right to one’s own defini-
tions of the Good Life and the Good Society. Actually, not only do people have
this right, but, in his opinion, they also have little else to choose.
 Max Weber 19

From his early years on, Weber was very strongly engaged in politics—
something that was unusual for the average German academic in his time.
Throughout his entire scholarly career he wrestled with the alternative—that
of an active role in politics. Ultimately he restricted himself mainly to playing
an engaged role behind the scenes2 and to the publication of essays with a
strong political thrust, such as “Politics as a Vocation” and “Parliament and
Government in a Reconstructed Germany,” as well as numerous opinion pieces
in newspapers like the Frankfurter Zeitung and the Münchener Neuesten Nach-
richten. Maybe this was a good thing, too. Of the two qualities that he thought
a politician had to possess, Weber lacked one himself. There is no doubt that he
had the necessary zeal and impassioned devotion to an issue. The equally nec-
essary capacity to relativize and make compromises, however, was somewhat
underdeveloped (Mommsen 1989: 7; Coser 1977: 243).3
While Weber could apparently be impatient and uninhibited in daily life, he
was cautious in his scientific work. He was continually and acutely aware of the
great limitations of every approach to reality and the dearth of knowledge that
inevitably plagues anyone who studies topics that are as extensive as those he
generally tackled. For example, at the end of his “Vorbemerkung” to his Ge-
sammelte Aufsätze zur Religionsoziologie, he apologized at length for the fact that
he was no more than a well-meaning layman in the field of study in question.
This fact leads to “der vollkommen provisorische Charakter dieser Aufsätze”
(1920: 13).4 The reason and justification for Weber nonetheless to work on the
topics in question in a relatively superficial manner is that the specialist in-
evitably loses sight of the bigger picture; the specialist does not draw out the re-
lationships or see the large-scale developments, which the generalist is able to
do. Whatever the case may be, one consequence of Weber’s caution is that his
generalizations are continually embedded in clauses, often excessively so,
which does not always enhance the readability of his work. The incessant use of
quotation marks, brackets, and modifiers like “in part,” “to a not insignificant
degree,” “often,” “as a rule (but not always),” “roughly,” “generally,” “possibly,”
“perhaps,” and so on has in some instances developed into a disturbing man-
nerism in Weber’s writing.
During Weber’s university education, his major fields of study were law and
economics. But he had difficulty limiting himself to these disciplines. Philoso-
phy, history, religion, classical languages, and music also attracted his interest,
which was unusually wide ranging. Weber was perhaps the last generalist in the
human and social sciences. He wrote historical dissertations on socioeconomic
topics and conducted large-scale empirical research on the living conditions of
20 Chapter Two

farm laborers to the east of the Elbe River; he was, as already noted, interested
in political issues, both theoretically and practically; and he published studies
that are still worth reading today in the areas of sociology of religion, sociology
of law, and epistemology. He was also driven in his position as the editor of the
Archiv für Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik, which he, along with Werner
Sombart, turned into the most important social-science journal in Germany.
In addition, starting in 1909 he was the editor of the major overview of the so-
cial sciences, the Grundriss der Sozialökonomik.
Weber died relatively young, at fifty-six years of age, of pneumonia. Along
with many millions of others, he was a victim of the influenza epidemic that
ravaged the world after the First World War, an epidemic that incidentally took
more lives than the war itself. Because of his early death, he was not able to
complete the synthesis of the work that many today believe was in gestation.
The main work in which this synthesis should have taken shape is his unfin-
ished magnum opus Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft, which was published posthu-
mously in 1921.
No one works alone. Even one of the greats like Weber benefited from the in-
sights of his predecessors and contemporaries. Among the most important
sources of inspiration were Marx and Nietzsche, along with a number of repre-
sentatives of the neo-Kantian idealist tradition and the historic-economic
school (cf. Coser 1977: 244–50; Turner 1991: vii–xxv; Gerth and Wright Mills
1948: 46 –50; MacRae 1974: 52– 61; Mommsen 1989). The influence of contem-
poraries may be assumed, given the highly diverse group of intellectuals that
got together regularly in Weber’s home in Heidelberg during the years preced-
ing the Great War: Ernst Troeltsch, Georg Simmel, Robert Michels, Werner
Sombart, Wilhelm Windelband, Heinrich Rickert, Karl Jaspers, Ernst Bloch,
and Georg Lukács. The various influences come up in the course of this chap-
ter. Here, I shall limit myself to a few brief remarks.
Weber felt inspired by Marx’s emphasis on the materialistic backgrounds of
ideas and of social relations and developments. One is not likely to find philo-
sophical justifications of such political notions as the state, democracy, and so-
cial equality in Weber’s work. He also appreciated Marx’s contempt for the
vague, idealistic German philosophical tradition and his refusal to think in
terms of invisible entities like Kultur, Volk, and Geist. Nonetheless, as we shall
see, he considered Marx’s historical materialism excessively monocausalistic:
from Weber’s perspective, ideas cannot be fully derived from interests and can-
not be seen exclusively as arbitrary weapons in the struggle between the classes
and parties.
 Max Weber 21

Nietzsche’s standpoint that ideas are nothing more than psychological ratio-
nalizations in the service of the personal will to power also went too far for We-
ber. Ideas are not purely subjective, they are not fully determined by psychic
tendencies that are separate from their content, and they have their own mo-
ment in the development of events (see for instance Weber’s treatment of the
relation between Protestantism and capitalism). It is nonetheless self-evident
that Weber’s notions of disenchantment (“Entzauberung”), polytheism, and
charismatic leadership as well as those of power, politics, and the state were gen-
erated in an intellectual climate that was mainly influenced by Nietzsche. Par-
ticularly striking is the similarity in their thinking on the role of the charismatic
leader (cf. Mommsen 1989: 26). The charismatic political leader with a strong
inner conviction and a far-reaching vision of society is the only type of leader-
ship that Weber considers capable of guiding society in a direction more ele-
vated than the path of blind societal forces.5 Yet Weber put little stock in Nietz-
sche’s belief in aristocratic Übermenschen and his contempt for the masses
(“die Vielzuvielen”). The real political leader distinguishes himself by his capac-
ity to let the masses follow voluntarily. Essentially, as Mommsen writes, Weber
was still a liberal with respect for the individual and his rights, liberties, and
preferences (1989: 27).
Another important influence on Weber came from the German neo-Kanti-
ans. This brings us to his conception of science.

2 WEBER’S PHILOSOPHY OF SCIENCE

The question of what we can learn, and indeed have learned, in the social and
political sciences is an important theme in this book. Therefore, I shall regu-
larly dwell upon conceptions of science. Another reason to devote attention to
this topic is that a person’s conceptions in this field are generally crucial to a
thorough understanding of his or her other work. As a rule, a person’s ideas
about what and how we can know have a strong influence on his or her ideas
of the content and importance of democracy and on the degree to which and
manner whereby we can intervene in societal events.
Various topics are important in Weber’s epistemology: the distinction be-
tween the social and the natural sciences; the relation between science and ra-
tionalization; and the relation of the human sciences to normative problems.6
These topics are discussed in the next three subsections.
22 Chapter Two

2.1 The Difference between the Natural

and the Human Sciences

Weber’s vision of science is grounded in the idealist tradition of German

thought that goes back to Immanuel Kant (cf. De Valk 1980b: 174; Coser 1977:
219 –22). In Weber’s time, its main exponents were Wilhelm Dilthey (1833 –
1911), Wilhelm Windelband (1848–1915), and Heinrich Rickert (1863 –1936).
The core of the neo-Kantianism in question is the conviction that a fundamen-
tal difference exists between the natural sciences and the human sciences. In na-
ture, there are phenomena that are repeated over and over according to the
same pattern: a stone that one tosses into the air falls every time back to the
ground again. By generalizing from a large number of these objectively observ-
able phenomena, one can formulate a natural scientific law. One can subse-
quently connect these laws to form theories. In the human sciences, however,
such repetition occurs much less frequently. Instead, one sees unique, one-
time-only constellations of phenomena and situations. Rarely does history re-
peat itself. The reason for this, according to the neo-Kantians, is that humans
are intentional, free, creative beings. Their behavior does not obey the laws of
nature. And thus we cannot study and understand this behavior by applying
the analytical and generalizing methods of the natural sciences.
Yet the neo-Kantians also see a difference in favor of the human sciences: the
human actors who determine the social events and developments have motives
that we can understand (verstehen). Stones have no motives, goals, or culture;
people (often) do. Explanation in the human sciences consists not of formulat-
ing a law—even if one could be found—but of getting to the bottom of the
motives of the people who determine the events in question.
Weber was considerably less dogmatic than many of his neo-Kantian prede-
cessors, who preferred to view each human act and every social phenomenon as
a unique, one-time, purely individual situation and rejected any efforts at
generalization. He aligned himself with the distinction between the natural sci-
ences and the humanities and asserted that the motives of the actors must be es-
tablished if we are to arrive at a true explanation of human conduct. Nonethe-
less, he also wanted to do justice to the positivist tradition of empirical testing
and establishing statistical relationships. Not all human behaviors are unique
and unrepeatable. Weber agreed with Marx that patterns can be observed
too, patterns that often have a materialistic basis. So far as he was concerned,
though, one does not explain very much by establishing statistical relation-
 Max Weber 23

ships. For Weber, an explanation is only complete when one can understand
these relationships on the basis of, and can coordinate them with, the meanings
ascribed to them by the persons involved.7 One does not obtain this under-
standing of meanings or motivations through “hard” statistics. Relatively “soft”
entities, such as “empathy” and “ideas,” are crucial here.
Weber elaborated on these ideas in several documents, including “Wissen-
schaft als Beruf,” initially presented as a lecture in 1918 at the University of Mu-
nich and published a year later. Today, Weber asserted from his lectern, many
seem to believe that science has become a problem of calculation, a problem
that its practitioners solve in a statistical, industrial manner in a kind of labora-
tory and for which all they need is a cool, pragmatic intellect (1919b: 135). This
kind of thinking demonstrates, in his view, that those involved do not have the
faintest idea of what really goes on in laboratories and factories. Ultimately,
what counts, he emphasized, is ideas, and these present themselves primarily in
an intuitive manner. This process cannot be forced and has nothing to do with
cold calculation. Naturally, as Weber admitted, statistical calculations are very
important in sociology, and no sociologist should feel too good for this manual
labor, even though in the end the findings are often rather modest. But when
no good “idea” comes to mind regarding the direction of his calculations or
over the meaning of the results, then even modest findings would be too much
to expect (1919b: 135).
Ideas, Weber continued, present themselves at the most unexpected mo-
ments and seldom while one is sitting at a desk puzzling over a problem. But at
the same time he admitted that if we never sat down at our desk there would be
little chance of useful ideas ever emerging: the idea “is not a substitute for work;
and work, in turn, cannot substitute for or compel an idea, just as little as en-
thusiasm can. Both, enthusiasm and work, and above all both of them jointly,
can entice the idea” (1919b: 136). Nevertheless, he warned, every scientist has to
take into account that sometimes he will just not get any inspiration at all. In
this way, a scientist is no different from the entrepreneur or the artist.
Incidentally, with respect to the quantity and quality of their ideas, people in
the sciences are, generally speaking, hardly distinguishable from dilettantes.
Often, dilettantes come up with better ideas than experts do. And many of the
best hypotheses in the social sciences have come from laymen (cf. Lindblom
1990: 157ff.). According to Weber, a dilettante differs from an expert mainly in
that the former does not use a robust and verifiable methodology. Thus, he is
usually unable to test his ideas and work them out.
24 Chapter Two

2.2 The Endless Growth of Knowledge and

the Disenchantment of Our Worldview

According to Weber, the work of the scientist does indeed differ from that of
the artist in one respect: it can and will become outdated. People can consider
a work of art beautiful or ugly, but they can never say that it has been made ob-
solete by a new work of art. Not so with science, in Weber’s opinion: “In sci-
ence, each of us knows that what he has accomplished will be antiquated in ten,
twenty, fifty years.” His optimism on this point is boundless: “In principle, this
progress goes on ad infinitum” (1919b: 138).8
Weber sees this scientific progress as the most important part of a process
that has been going on for centuries, the process of intellectualization or men-
tal rationalization. The implication of this process is not that each and every
one of us possesses more knowledge than our ancestors. But few people really
understand how an automobile is put into motion. The implication is, accord-
ing to Weber, the dissemination of the certainty or the belief that if one would
want to understand something, one could learn about it at any time (1919b:
139). Thus, less and less do we believe that our lives are controlled by mysterious
powers and forces we cannot get a grip on. Instead, we think we (can) gain
more and more control over things through calculation. This means, as Weber
wrote, “that the world is disenchanted. One need no longer have recourse to
magical means in order to master or implore the spirits, as did the savage, for
whom such mysterious powers existed. Technical means and calculations per-
form the service” (1919b: 139). In this sense, Western culture has for thousands
of years been undergoing a process of “Entzauberung” (Weber derived the
term from the eighteenth-century poet and thinker Friedrich von Schiller).
Science — that is, logical deductive reasoning or empirical experimentation
(1919b: 141)—is both an outcome of this process and its impetus.
Yet does rationalization have a purpose and a meaning beyond its practical or
technical value? Narrowing the question down to the role of the practitioner,
does the scientist’s vocation have meaning? Weber showed how in earlier times
people hoped that science would pave the way to truth, to real art, real nature,
the real God, or true happiness. Today, no one believes that anymore. Weber
cited Tolstoy, who in answer to the question about the meaning of science sim-
ply said that science is meaningless. This is because science does not give an an-
swer to the question that is really important to us: “What shall we do and how
shall we live?” (1919b: 143). Weber did not dispute this. But by no means did he
consider the questions that remain to be devoid of all meaning.
 Max Weber 25

Weber admitted that it is impossible “scientifically” to defend normative

standpoints, for instance about how we should live. Such attempts at mounting
a defense are meaningless because the various spheres of value in our lives are in
irreconcilable conflict with each other (1919b: 147). Referring to Nietzsche and
Baudelaire, he asserted that something can be beautiful despite its depravity or
precisely because of it. In the same way, something can be sacred or lofty pre-
cisely because of its ugliness, and something can be true even though it is not
beautiful, sacred, or good. These are just a few examples of the battle “that the
gods of the various orders and values are engaged in” (1919b: 148). Christianity,
as all religions do in the end, has rationalized this battle and dethroned poly-
theism in favor of the One. But now that Christianity and its monotheistic
ethics are becoming less important, the gods have risen from their graves and
resumed their old struggle. Weber considered it our fate to have to live with this
conflict; we cannot escape it and we ourselves will continuously have to choose
sides in it: “Our civilization destines us to realize more clearly these struggles
again, after our eyes have been blinded for a thousand years — blinded by the
allegedly or presumably exclusive orientation towards the grandiose moral fer-
vor of Christian ethics” (1919b: 149). Because of the “disenchantment of the
world,” the most fundamental and lofty values have retreated from public life.
They are still to be found in direct personal relations and, for those who are sin-
cerely able to make the inevitable “intellectual sacrifice” that this calls for, in re-
ligion. This is the fate that we have to accept. If this burden is too heavy and we
are sincerely and honestly able to surrender ourselves to a belief, then so far as
Weber was concerned, more power to us. Yet he has nothing but contempt for
those who do not dare to face up to their situation and seek security in places
where it cannot be found, that is: in science (1919b: 155– 56)

2.3 Science and Normative Questions,

and What Science Can Actually Do

If science cannot choose sides in the struggle between the irreconcilable gods
and thus cannot provide an answer to normative questions, what kind of con-
tribution can it actually make? Weber saw three options (1919b: 150 – 51). First,
science can help us control our environment by technical means. Although one
might not expect this in light of very fundamental publications such as
Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft, Weber was ultimately of the opinion that science is
not an end in itself but must always be conducted in the service of human well-
being and societal reforms (cf. De Valk 1980a: 170 –74). Like the technical sci-
ences, such disciplines as sociology, political science, and economics are in his
26 Chapter Two

view what Van Doorn later called “intervention sciences” (1989: 156ff.). By way
of these disciplines, people try to understand as objectively as possible how so-
ciety came into being, its essence, and its prospects; subsequently, on the basis
of this knowledge, people then try to intervene in social situations. As I men-
tioned earlier, to Weber the purpose such interventions should serve—in
which direction people should try to steer society—was a nonscientific ques-
tion, though. Science can only indicate where the alternatives lie. The choice is
up to the individual.
Second, according to Weber, science can offer thinking methods: tools for
thought and for its practice and development. In view of that, the task of the in-
structor in the social and political sciences is to try to instill knowledge as objec-
tively as possible, regardless of one’s personal political opinions. However, a
good instructor also teaches his students to recognize and acknowledge facts
that do not match up with the standpoints of their political party. And for each
of their party’s standpoints, as Weber emphasized, there are uncomfortable
facts (1919b: 147). This is precisely what poses a challenge to their thinking,
thereby exercising and honing it.
Finally, in Weber’s opinion science can provide clarity, clarity about our val-
ues and aims as well as about the instruments with which these might be
achieved. With respect to values, science can help a person “to give himself an
account of the ultimate meaning of his own conduct ” (1919b: 152). When a practi-
tioner is successful in this, science then fulfills, in Weber’s opinion, its moral
task of instilling in people an understanding of themselves and a sense of re-
sponsibility.
Weber elaborated on this last topic in his essays Die “Objektivität” sozialwis-
senschaftlicher und sozialpolitischer Erkenntnis (1904) and Der Sinn der “Wert-
freiheit” der soziologischen und ökonomischen Wissenschaften (1917). Despite his
explicit desire to make a rigorous distinction between empirical knowledge and
value judgments, it proves that he did not want by any means to eliminate nor-
mative questions from science. Weber thought that precisely science could go a
long way toward answering them (1904: 149 – 50). The first and foremost ques-
tion that he considered susceptible to scientific analysis concerns the chances of
achieving a given aim with the available means. Scientific analysis allows us in-
directly to estimate or criticize the practical feasibility of a certain aim in light
of existing circumstances. If an aim is feasible, we can then assess the conse-
quences of attaining it, as well as of the means used to that end. This provides
an opportunity to weigh the desired consequences against the undesired ones
and thereby to determine the expense of realizing one goal relative to other
 Max Weber 27

goals pursued or values upheld. In light of the fact that many values worth pur-
suing also conflict with each other, this expense can rarely be avoided, as Weber
emphasized. Therefore, trade-offs among values will be inevitable. The scientist
can help a person evaluate their relative merits by showing her that every action
(or inaction), in view of its consequences, implies a choice in favor of certain
values and thereby the rejection of other ones. In addition, the practitioner of
science can support the decision-maker by elucidating the deeper meaning of
her ambitions, explaining the ideas that underpin it. And finally, the scientist
can help the decision-maker by examining the internal consistency of norma-
tive attitudes and the assumptions on which these are based. In other words,
the scientist can provide clarity about the practical standpoints that someone
with a certain fundamental worldview will be expected to take if she is to re-
main consistent and thus maintain her integrity. The scientist can make it clear
to people that if they worship a particular god, this could logically imply that
they would (or might have to) renounce another one.
In short, according to Weber, an empirical science can never tell a person
what he should do; it can only make it clear what he can do and, under certain
circumstances, what he wants to do. Does this imply “philosophical value rela-
tivism”? The German-American political philosopher Leo Strauss believes it
does. He sees Weber as the forerunner of behavioralism and in that capacity as
the source of the standpoint that scientists cannot draw any conclusions on
normative issues. In Strauss’s view, the latter standpoint implies value relativism
and ultimately leads to nihilism and irrelevance. As he writes in Natural Right
and History, Weber “assumed as a matter of course that there is no hierarchy of
values: all values are of the same rank” (1953: 66).
Another German-American political philosopher, Arnold Brecht, in his
book Political Theory: The Foundations of Twentieth-Century Political Thought,
mounts a forceful defense of Weber against these allegations and thereby of
what he labels “scientific value relativism” (1959: 222– 31).9 Brecht rejects as
complete nonsense the assumption that Weber was of the opinion that all val-
ues are equally worth pursuing or are above criticism. First of all, Weber be-
lieved that it was not only impossible to prove scientifically that a hierarchy of
values was present but that its absence could not be proved either. It would be
rather inconsistent to proclaim such a truth in the same breath in which one de-
nies the existence of absolute truth. Besides, writes Brecht, “the very point of
his work was that values are unequal according to their different origins, impli-
cations, and consequences, and also because of their different ideal meaning.
He did not treat values as ‘equal,’ but merely their validity as ‘equally demon-
28 Chapter Two

strable’ beyond the demonstrable consequences. He did not even treat all val-
ues this way but only ‘ultimate’ values; for he recognized of course that each
value can be judged scientifically as to its consistency with, and its usefulness
for the attainment of, some allegedly ulterior value” (1959: 263 – 64).
Thus, Weber believed that there are many values worth pursuing, though
they regularly conflict with each other and then have to be weighed against one
another.10 This evaluation would be meaningless, even impossible, if he as-
sumed that the attainment of certain values can never be criticized, regardless of
the consequences for other values, values held by the actor in question and by
others. In this regard, Gabriel Almond rightly points out the close connection
between Weber’s “Verantwortungsethik” and his opinions on the contribution
that science can make to normative issues (1998: 79 – 81; see section 5.5 below).
The true politician, in Weber’s opinion, allows himself to be led by an ethic of
responsibility. This differs from a “Gesinnungsethik” in its stipulation that peo-
ple have to weigh the values that pertain to the issue in question, taking into ac-
count the probable consequences of the instruments that might be used. Every
evaluation is thus made in a concrete context. One needs knowledge of this
context to make a well-considered evaluation. According to Weber, the social
sciences can provide this. Therefore, writes Brecht, it is by no means the case
that Weber wants to ban values from science, since supposedly they could not
be approached scientifically. Weber’s main ambition, as we have seen above,
“was not to leave values alone but, on the contrary, to influence evaluations in a
truly scientific manner by a solid discussion of their implications and conse-
quences” (1959: 264).

3 CAPITALISM AND THE RATIONALIZATION

OF OCCIDENTAL CULTURE

Those who have lost the faith cannot look to science for salvation. Yet loss of
faith is increasingly common in a culture characterized by a continual process
of rationalization. Weber took this process to be the essence of Western bour-
geois-capitalist society. The central theme of his work is how this society could
come into being (Weber 1920: 10). It is a unique phenomenon in world history,
and this fact calls for an explanation: What are its essential characteristics, and
by which unique coincidence did it become possible or inevitable? As De Valk
writes, Weber was of course not the only one to show an interest in this theme
(1980b: 212; cf. Nisbet 1966: chap. 2). Being aware that a special process was tak-
ing place, nearly all great sociologists of the nineteenth century and the begin-
 Max Weber 29

ning of the twentieth were studying the development of modern society. It is

primarily their terminology that differs. Durkheim wrote of the transition
from a “mechanical” to an “organic” solidarity; Tönnies wrote of the shift from
the traditional Gemeinschaft to the rational Gesellschaft; Comte considered hu-
manity’s arrival at the “positive stage”; and Marx, Mannheim, and Schumpeter,
just like Weber, saw a process of rationalization. This rationalization is what the
various analyses have in common.
Weber provided an elegant, succinct description of his vision of the rational-
ization of Western society in the foreword to his Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Reli-
gionssoziologie (1920). This description contains the basic material for an initial
abstract sketch of his view of society and the world. After giving that sketch, I
shall examine the elements that are most relevant to our purposes. By way of an
introduction, however, I shall begin with a short review of some abstract defini-
tions of rationality. Along the way, these definitions will be given more content.

3.1 Forms of Rationality

As Weber pointed out, people can mean different things by “rationality.” Mys-
tical contemplation can be rationalized, but so can the economy, technology,
scientific work, raising children, war, the courts, or public administration. In
all of these areas, people can rationalize from different perspectives and in
different directions, and what is “rational” from one point of view can be com-
pletely irrational from another. Different civilizations therefore distinguish
themselves by the way in which and the extent to which specific spheres of life
are rationalized (1920: 12).
Rigorous, unambiguous definitions of forms of rationality and rationaliza-
tion are not to be found in Weber’s work.11 Precisely because he was searching
for all conceivable manifestations of rationalization, he apparently did not
want to pin himself down beforehand to a specific definition, a definition that
would restrict his investigations. Notwithstanding, Weber was still the most lu-
cid in Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. This text begins with a conceptual treatise on
the basic sociological terminology that he wishes to use in his extensive analy-
ses. Among these terms are his analytical distinctions between orientations of
social actions (1978: 24 –26). Here, he described four of these: instrumentally
rational (Zweckrational ), value rational (Wertrational ), affective, and tradi-
tional orientations. With variable weights and in changing composition, these
can together form the basis for social action. For our purposes, the first two no-
tions are the most important.
Instrumentally rational action is determined, according to Weber, by the ex-
30 Chapter Two

pectations about the actions of others and about other developments in the sur-
roundings. The actor uses these expectations as conditions for or means of real-
izing his own aims. In this sense, an action is rational when the aim, the means,
and the secondary consequences of these means are all taken into account and
weighed in a “rational” manner in the course of the deliberations. This means a
rational consideration of alternative means, of the relations between the aim
and the side effects that might arise from the possible means, and of the relative
importance of various possible aims (1978: 26).12
Value-rational action, in contrast, is grounded in the conviction that an eth-
ically, aesthetically, religiously, or otherwise inspired action is inherently valu-
able. Weber clarified this form of rationality by comparing it with affective and
traditional social action (1978: 25). The latter are based on the actor’s feelings or
deeply engrained habits, respectively. Value-rational action differs from affec-
tive action by the deliberateness of the values upon which the action is ulti-
mately based and by the considered, consistent manner in which the action is
geared to these values. Yet what they have in common is that the meaning or
significance of the action lies only in the action itself and not in the attainment
of one goal or another. The acts to satisfy one’s needs—for vengeance, sex, de-
votion, contemplation, “release”—are thus affective actions that form a goal in
themselves.13 Purely value-rational actions, as Weber wrote, would be those of
persons who try to put their convictions into practice, regardless of the personal
costs this might entail. Duty, honor, loyalty, beauty, religious calling, or any
“affair” whatsoever bind the actor, he firmly believes, to a specific way of act-
ing.14
Instrumental rationality does not go along with affectively and traditionally
oriented action, action that comes about without any rational considerations.
Traditional action is on the border of meaningful behavior, and sometimes it
has crossed that border. Often, it does not amount to much more than a reac-
tion that one takes for granted, without thinking about it, to external stimuli, a
reaction that is repeated many times and has become a habit. By far, most
everyday human behavior comes close to this type of orientation, according to
Weber. In places where tradition is followed more consciously and deliberately,
there is a growing overlap with value-rational action.
Instrumental rationality, finally, can indeed be combined with value ratio-
nality: from a value-rational stance, people can determine aims and their rela-
tive weights, aims for which people subsequently seek the most suitable means
in an instrumental-rational manner. From the perspective of instrumental ra-
tionality, however, value rationality is irrational: the more one feels called to
 Max Weber 31

achieve a certain goal, regardless of the eventual consequences, the less promi-
nent will be the role of rational considerations. Furthermore, increasing ratio-
nalization is often represented simply as an increase in instrumental rationality,
a situation that would proportionately diminish the role of value rationality.
This representation of the issue is too simple, as the above discussion suggests.
What needs to be specified is in which spheres of life which of the two forms of
rationality would increase or decrease. In that regard, it is conceivable that both
forms of rationality could become more important in a particular sphere of life.
Moreover, this representation loses sight of the other possible orientations for
action. Thus, one might propose that in modern society, affective rationality is
steadily becoming the more important form.15
In the domain of economics, Weber distinguishes two other forms of ratio-
nality that are important to us: formal rationality and substantive or substantial
rationality (1978: 85 –86). Weber uses the concept “formal rationality of eco-
nomic action” to indicate the degree to which quantitative calculations are pos-
sible and are actually made. In this sense, an economic system is more formally
rational the more it quantifies the allocation and distribution of goods and ser-
vices.
The substantial rationality of economic action is the degree to which the
provision of goods to certain groups is determined by ultimate values. These
can be diverse in nature: political, religious, ethical, hedonistic, utilitarian,
egalitarian, and the like. The result of an economic action is measured in terms
of these values, against “these scales of ‘value rationality’ or ‘substantive goal ra-
tionality’” (1978: 85). Again, this measurement can of course be performed in a
formally rational manner, through rational calculation using the means that are
technically most suitable.
The formal rationality of monetary calculations thus does not tell us any-
thing about how the goods will be distributed in the end. That is determined by
substantial rationalities. In contrast to popular belief, the “free market” or the
money economy is therefore not characterized entirely by value-free formal ra-
tionality; it is not “neutral.” Here, formal rationality is in fact embedded in and
dependent on substantive conditions. Market prices, for instance, are not ob-
jective quantities but the result of conflicts of interest and compromises be-
tween relatively autonomous parties. They are the product of power constella-
tions (1905: 107– 09).
Formal rationality can be optimized thanks to the presence of money. As
Weber writes, money constitutes the most rational means to steer economic ac-
tivities (1978: 86; 1905: 100). Because of this resource, counting and calculat-
32 Chapter Two

ing—formal rationality—can be steadily refined: people can work out the ex-
act prices of all means that are necessary to manufacture a product; one can cal-
culate the expected returns from all economic options and the actual returns and
costs of all economic activities actually performed; consumers can adjust their
expenditures in accordance with the law of decreasing marginal utility; and so
on. The more developed capitalism becomes, and the more calculations are
performed, the greater the role of formal rationality, and, as we shall see, the
harder it is for people to evade this rationality.

3.2 The Rationalization of More and More

Spheres of Life

To ascertain what is special about a society, Weber drew comparisons with

other cultures, both of the present and of the past. He also takes this approach
when investigating the rationalization of Western culture. This is done in an
unbelievably extensive manner in Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. He was able to re-
strain himself a little more in the abovementioned foreword to his works on the
sociology of religion. Here he elucidates that rationalization has made more in-
roads into numerous spheres of life in the West than in other civilizations. For
instance, other cultures have also had their science. But according to Weber,
only Western science has a link with mathematics, the logical proof, the sys-
tematic experiment, the rational definition of concepts, the pursuit of objectiv-
ity (1920: 1–2).16 In the same vein, art is found everywhere and in all periods.
But only in the West is there a rationally constructed musical notation, rational
and harmoniously composed music, a rationally organized orchestra. There are
schools everywhere, but in Weber’s view, nowhere are the curricula, examina-
tions, or qualifications worked out as rationally as in the Occident. Accord-
ingly, nowhere has the Fachmenschentum become so ubiquitous and predomi-
nant. At the university, in the state bureaucracy, in the companies—wherever
one turns, the Fachbeamte is the pillar on which the organization and the social
order rest.17 Furthermore, the work setting of many of these employees, the
modern Western state, is characterized by a rationality that permeates its whole
being in a way unknown elsewhere: a rationally grounded constitution, a ratio-
nally elaborated system of laws and rules, and a rationally organized bureau-
cracy that is used by specially trained and qualified experts to perform their du-
ties in public administration.
Furthermore, only in the Occident does one find capitalism, described by
Weber as the “schicksalsvollsten Macht unsres modernen Lebens” (1920: 4). The
essential characteristic of this capitalism is not, as many believe, the profit mo-
 Max Weber 33

tive. Indeed, human types found in other societies—like beggars, crusaders,

waiters, bandits, corrupt civil servants, artists—also seek profit. The typical
characteristic of capitalism, Weber stipulated, is that in the context of a sustain-
able, rationally organized enterprise the goal is a continually renewed profit, in a
word, profitability. Another characteristic is that every individual enterprise can-
not help seeking to make a profit; otherwise it would lose out in the unavoidable
competition with other businesses. Furthermore, in order to realize this neces-
sary profit, the companies are continuously calculating: in every capitalistic ac-
tivity, the parties involved figure out precisely to what extent a particular ex-
change of goods and services is to their advantage. And in efficiency-oriented
companies, there is a permanent balancing of the books, keeping an eye on the
balance between expenditure and income, between input and output. Formal
rationality is preeminent, whether the parties involved like it or not.
Of course, these capitalistic enterprises and activities can be (and have been)
found in other places and at other times as well. Specific to the Occident, how-
ever, is their importance and widespread presence in society and, consequently,
their nature, form, and direction of growth. In this sense, according to Weber,
a unique kind of capitalism has emerged in the present-day West: “die rational-
kapitalistische Organisation von (formell) freier Arbeit” (1920: 7). This ratio-
nal, market-oriented business organization was made possible by the rational
bookkeeping methods and the separation of the family household from the en-
terprise. These two phenomena are closely linked: an exact accounting calcula-
tion can only take place if labor is a tradable commodity. Only in the West is
there, as a consequence, a “proletariat” that owns only its labor; only there does
a class struggle take place between the owners of the means of production and
the wage laborers (1920: 9).
Weber’s quest for the motivations underlying the development of bourgeois
enterprise capitalism takes him many places and does not reveal any mono-
causal, unambiguous relationships. First of all, he states that the explanation
for the development of capitalism is above all determined (at least in part) by
the growth of technical capacities and the sciences on which they are based.18
However, the economic advantages offered by the capitalist application of these
technical capacities partly explain their development. Mathematics and me-
chanics existed in other cultures as well, but it was precisely in the Occident
that capitalism put a premium on their application and development. This
premium derived, in turn, from its peculiar social order. Weber included the ra-
tional structure of the legal system and public administration among its “un-
doubtedly important” components. Clearly, modern rational enterprise capital-
34 Chapter Two

ism can only make the calculations needed for it to operate when the law and the
government are predictable. And only in the West was this the case (1920: 11).
Thus, before capitalism can become a driving force behind the rationaliza-
tion of society, this system must first have developed somewhat. This can only
happen in a rationalized environment: in any case, rational technical means, a
rational administration, and a rational legal system have to be present. Yet why
is it precisely in the West that these conditions have been met? Any answer to
this question has to refer first of all to the specific economic conditions, in We-
ber’s opinion. Nonetheless, we should definitely not dismiss the converse of
this causal relationship, whereby culture is the independent variable. In these
passages of the “Vorbemerkung,” Weber emphasized that the development of
economic rationalism is highly dependent upon people’s capacity and propen-
sity to take a practical-rational attitude toward life. Mental limitations could
obstruct the spread of this attitude. This was certainly the case in the past. The
belief in magical and religious powers and the ethical responsibilities that peo-
ple derived from these hampered the development of an economically rational
lifestyle (1920: 12).

3.3 Ascetic Protestantism as Breeding

Ground for Capitalism

Weber addressed the abovementioned magical and religious powers in his es-
says on the sociology of religion. The most well known of these essays is Die
protestantische Ethik und der Geist des Kapitalismus (1905). There, he attempted
to show how the ascetic Protestant ethic was to some extent conducive to the
development of the modern capitalist ethic.19 The point is that puritan Protes-
tantism preaches values and attitudes that form an excellent breeding ground
for capitalism: order, austerity, discipline, thrift, industriousness. In this study,
thus, Weber did not give an answer to the question of why people at a certain
point took the step of rationalizing their worldview, in the manner of mono-
theistic Christianity in general and Protestantism in particular. Weber primar-
ily offered an explanation of why capitalism could thrive so well in a culture
that was formed by this Protestant religion. He did not actually get around to
giving a fundamental answer to the first question.
In Weber’s interpretation (which is based on, among other things, a close
study of the views of an English puritan, the Presbyterian Richard Baxter), in
terms of the doctrine of ascetic Protestantism a person must use the brief time
that is allotted to his earthly existence to secure his status as one of God’s cho-
sen people. For this reason, whiling away the time and wasting it—by socializ-
 Max Weber 35

ing, gabbing, or even sleeping more than is physically required—are the worst
conceivable sins (1905: 157–58). All things considered, all forms of sponta-
neous, useless enjoyment are wicked. Asceticism, wrote Weber, “turned with all
its force against one thing: the spontaneous enjoyment of life and all it had to
offer” (1905: 166).
The money that one earns by one’s labor is also a gift from God, and one can
use it in this spirit exclusively to thank him. It is not fitting to buy objects of im-
mediate gratification for one’s own pleasure. Possessions that one has obtained
through God are usually accompanied by heavy responsibility: one is supposed
to cherish them, to keep them, and to multiply them as much as possible. It is
on this last point, according to Weber, that ascetic Protestantism is distin-
guished from the traditional moral objections to acquisition and enrichment.
This doctrine has nothing against the acquisition of as much in the way of in-
come and assets as possible. It is merely directed against their use (1905: 171). In
other words, the pursuit of wealth for its own sake is reprehensible. But to gain
wealth by the sweat of one’s brow (Gen. 3: 19) is a sign of God’s blessing.
The connection between this puritan attitude toward life and capitalism is
obvious. As Weber stated, “The religious valuation of restless, continuous, sys-
tematic work in a worldly calling, as the highest means to asceticism, and at the
same time the surest and most evident proof of rebirth and genuine faith, must
have been the most powerful conceivable lever for the expansion of that atti-
tude toward life which we have here called the spirit of capitalism” (1905: 172).
The renunciation of consumption in combination with hard work then led in-
evitably to the accumulation of capital. This subsequently made productive in-
vestments possible. These, in turn, led to greater production, an even greater
accumulation of capital, and even more investments. And so on. Incidentally,
Weber emphasized that Protestant asceticism thereby becomes a threat to itself:
the industrious labor and the renunciation of immediate consumption natu-
rally leads to the abundance that induces people to secularize their worldview.
Indeed, the flesh is weak and the eye covetous. As a result, the more abundance
there is, the more irresistible the worldly temptations become. More and more,
people will surrender to life’s worldly pleasures, and slowly the original spirit of
the religion will dissipate. Weber cites the founding father of Methodism, John
Wesley, who in the eighteenth century wrote: “I fear, wherever riches have in-
creased, the essence of religion has decreased in the same proportion. Therefore
I do not see how it is possible, in the nature of things, for any revival of true re-
ligion to continue long. For religion must necessarily produce both industry
and frugality, and these cannot but produce riches. But as riches increase, so
36 Chapter Two

will pride, anger, and love of the world in all its branches” (cited in Weber 1905:
175). According to Wesley, this also happens among Methodists: they work
hard, renounce excessive consumption, and thus grow more and more affluent.
And he continues, “Hence they proportionately increase in pride, in anger, in
the desire of the flesh, the desire of the eyes, and the pride of life. So, although
the form of religion remains, the spirit is swiftly vanishing away” (cited in We-
ber 1905: 175). The only way out that Wesley sees is for the believers to give away
more and more of their riches to others.
As we know, things turned out differently. In capitalistic culture, bourgeois
entrepreneurs feel that their pursuit of monetary success is justified by God’s
blessing. Businessmen even see it as his command. Moreover, religious asceti-
cism provides them with frugal, conscientious, and exceptionally industrious
workers who see their labor as a God-given goal in life. And in the grossly un-
equal social division of the affluence thereby produced, they see a divine provi-
dence that is unfathomable to human beings and above criticism. Incidentally,
ordinary people, in the teachings of John Calvin and Pieter de la Court, only re-
main religious if they are poor. As capitalist culture develops, this insight is
gradually secularized to become the utilitarian knowledge that these people
only work hard if it is an economic necessity to do so.20

3.4 The Capitalist Ethic in Capitalism’s

Iron Cage

One of the ways that Weber described the abovementioned capitalist ethic was
by referring to two popular works by the American politician, writer, and sci-
entist Benjamin Franklin: Necessary Hints to Those That Would Be Rich (1736)
and Advice to a Young Tradesman (1748).21 In these books, Franklin emphasized
various attitudes of the successful entrepreneur, attitudes that Weber saw as
characteristic of the capitalist ethic. Weber referred to a few of them. Time is
money: time that is not spent on work costs a person the amount he could have
earned by working. Credit is money: if one leaves money unused, doing so
costs the interest that one could have drawn on it. Money attracts money: by
investing and lending money, a person can let money work for him so that it
will accumulate. Honesty and punctuality generate confidence, credit, and
thus money. Therefore, one should always be honest and punctual in making
payments so that people can always count on the money of others. For the same
reason, people should not be seen in the tavern or playing billiards. Indeed, in-
vestors have little confidence in people with that kind of lifestyle and will
quickly call in their loans. And this, in turn, costs money.
 Max Weber 37

Weber emphasized that there is more to this “philosophy of greed” than a

number of clever tricks and skills to get rich quick. What is involved is an ethic,
the individual’s duty to strive to increase his assets, an ambition that needs no
further justification (1905: 51). Something else that Weber immediately noticed
is that many of the attitudes praised by Franklin have a strong utilitarian aspect:
honesty, diligence, and carefulness are virtues because they bring in money,
they are thus not value-rational orientations (1905: 52). Nevertheless, here we
are not concerned with a strictly egocentric, exclusively pleasure-seeking atti-
tude toward life. Weber emphasized that eudemonism and hedonism play no
role whatsoever in the ethic in question. Wanting to earn more and more
money is a goal in itself, a goal that from the perspective of the individual’s well-
being would appear to be transcendental and completely irrational in character.
Thus, economic acquisition does not serve, and is not subservient to, the satis-
faction of material needs. This “natural” relation is reversed in capitalism: man
lives to work (1905: 53).
Weber considered the insatiable longing to earn money, a longing that peo-
ple experience as a duty and a calling, to be the most characteristic aspect of the
social ethic of capitalistic culture. Everyone, regardless of his occupation or po-
sition, is presumed to act upon this desire. The capitalist economy manifests it-
self to individuals as an immense, unchangeable cosmos in which they must
find a way to survive. People who are born into that cosmos can only adapt to
the norms that apply there if they are to survive. This is no less true for em-
ployers than for employees: “The manufacturer who in the long run acts
counter to these norms, will just as inevitably be eliminated from the economic
scene as the worker who cannot or will not adapt himself to them will be
thrown into the streets without a job” (1905: 55). Despite the numerous similar-
ities between the Protestant and the capitalist ethic, there is thus one very es-
sential difference: “The puritan wanted to work in a calling; we are forced to do
so” (1905: 181). Weber described the modern economic order as an iron cage,
the bars of which consist of the technical and economic conditions of mechan-
ical production. With an irresistible force, they determine the lives of the peo-
ple who are born into this gigantic machine. They have no choice but to subject
themselves to the formal rationality that controls the market system and indi-
vidual enterprises. This will probably be the case, as Weber sadly wrote, “until
the last ton of fossilized coal is burnt” (1905: 181). Once the flywheel of capital-
ism has been set in motion, it can do without its former religious-ascetic basis.
The reason is that it rests on a mechanical foundation.22
When the capitalist ethic cannot be justified by referring to the highest spir-
38 Chapter Two

itual values or to the economic coercion exerted by the capitalist system, indi-
viduals no longer even feel the need to justify themselves. As if it were a sport,
they work and consume for the sake of working and consuming. On a melan-
choly note, Weber observed that the old ideal of humanity, once defended by
Goethe in his Wanderjahre, an ideal of development and enjoyment of all our
faculties, now lies far behind us. The possibility that a new chance could ever
arise to achieve this ideal for living is unlikely in his view.23

4 BUREAUCRACY AND BUREAUCRATIZATION

Once economic rationalization gets underway, it is virtually unstoppable. The

same is true of bureaucratization processes. They constitute the second impor-
tant manifestation of rationalization. What Weber feared most was the increas-
ing importance of bureaucracy in more and more realms of life. This more than
anything else determined his concepts of democracy and politics, which I shall
treat next.

4.1 Description of Bureaucracy

and the Bureaucrat

According to Weber, a modern bureaucracy, which is found in both the public

and the private sectors,24 has several essential characteristics (1978: 217–26;
956 –58). First of all, a range of laws and rules defines precisely who or what has
which authority to do something. Second, there are strictly delineated hierar-
chical relations by which the superiors control and exert power over their sub-
ordinates. Third, the operation of the apparatus ultimately depends on knowl-
edge that is collected in dossiers. Moreover, the office setting and its financial
resources are strictly separated from the private lives of those who work there.
Weber emphasized on several occasions that, contrary to popular opinion, the
position of civil servants is therefore fundamentally the same as that of the em-
ployees in a private firm. That is because in both cases their hierarchical subor-
dination is determined by the fact that the means of production are not in the
hands of a particular employee or civil servant but are in the hands of the em-
ployer or the government (1978: 130ff., 219, 222, 980 –83, 1394). Fourth, the em-
ployees have had a thorough education in a certain specialized field. In the
course of their education, they have passed a long series of widely recognized
examinations. Fifth, their office activities require them to work full time, which
was previously not the case. The job is not an honorary appointment to be per-
formed alongside one’s normal activities. And sixth, administration takes place
 Max Weber 39

on the basis of abstract, more or less stable and exhaustive rules, rules that can
also be learned. Relationships and relations are then no longer determined by
personal privileges and favors, as they are in a patrimonial context.
Of course, all of this has consequences for the position of the civil servant
within and outside the bureaucracy. Weber notes various ones (1978: 959 – 63).
The official has a fixed occupation for which he has had a specific education.
Entering the bureaucracy means that he accepts a specific responsibility that
belongs to a particular position. He is loyal or faithful not to a person but to an
abstract function. He fills an office. An authority—a functionary who occu-
pies a position higher up in the hierarchy—appoints him and assigns him a
specific rank with a salary that is linked to it. This salary thus depends on the
rank and not on one’s achievements. The typical official makes a predictable ca-
reer in the bureaucracy by slowly moving on at set times to higher positions.
His rank and salary ensure him a certain social status. In the case of state offi-
cials, this status is moreover protected by a permanent appointment, a guar-
anteed pension, and legal sanctions against insults (that is, against insults at a
functionary in office). Not coercion, threats, or violence but a guaranteed
salary, predictable promotions, prestige, status, duty, occupational honor, as
Weber indicated, are what make certain that functionaries fulfill their duties
faithfully and that the bureaucratic machine keeps running smoothly at all
times (1978: 968). The impersonal character of the bureaucracy also ensures
that everyone who succeeds in getting appointed to head it can use it for his
own purposes. The reason is that civil servants are loyal not to a leader or mas-
ter but to the apparatus and to their position. A government bureaucracy
therefore keeps on running uninterruptedly after an enemy has taken over the
territory. As Weber wryly observes, all the occupier has to do is replace the top
officials.
Another characteristic of present-day civil servants is their ubiquitous pres-
ence and their strong social position. In the administration of modern, large-
scale associations, as Weber noted, specially trained expert functionaries in-
evitably play the main role. Their discipline is the precondition for success.
This is even more prevalent when an association becomes bigger, when its tasks
become more numerous and complex, and when its existence becomes more
dependent on power—power on the economic market, the electoral market,
or the military battlefield (1918: 1399). Whereas local notables were able to
dominate every conceivable kind of association in the past, today their place
has been completely taken over by paid, qualified, and specialized functionar-
ies. Their ascendancy can be seen everywhere. But certainly the modernization
40 Chapter Two

of the state, whether it be under absolute or under democratic rule, implies the
steady but certain replacement of feudal, patrimonial, patrician, or other kinds
of elites by professional, hierarchically organized civil servants (1918: 1393; cf.
1919a: 81–83). Their position is continuously reinforced in the process. As we
shall see directly, they owe this primarily to the fact that they are socially indis-
pensable, but besides this, Weber asserted, they also owe it to the circumstance
that their political superior is generally no more than a well-meaning dilettante
(1978: 224). The civil servant is the specially educated expert with, as a rule,
years of experience. The politician is a mere passerby. What is more, initiated
experts are often able to increase their power even more by keeping their
knowledge and intentions to themselves. In this way, they can forestall any crit-
icism that might arise and fend off any possible attempts to influence them.
Weber acknowledges that this practice is also regularly the result of objective
necessity. Nonetheless, he considers the nature of the primary driving force to
be pure power politics. The concept of “professional secrecy” is in his view a
typical invention of the bureaucrat, for which there is seldom a purely func-
tional justification (1978: 992, 225; 1918: 1417–19). Bureaucrats simply try to ex-
pand their power as far as possible for the sake of wielding power. For that rea-
son, they also prefer to have weak political superiors and a weak parliament, at
least to the extent that this does not negatively affect their interests.
In Weber’s estimate, the only bureaucrat whose expertise is greater than that
of the government official is the bureaucrat in private enterprise. In contrast to
the domain of government, here factual knowledge is an absolute necessity for
economic survival. It is no coincidence that secrets are generally safer on com-
pany books than on those of government organizations. If only for these rea-
sons, Weber considers the government’s possibilities to steer the economy to be
fairly limited: because of the superior knowledge of the interest groups, the
government’s policy measures are continually having unforeseen or undesired
consequences or having their effects undermined (1978: 994).

4.2 The Driving Forces behind

Bureaucratization

The development of modern forms of organization in all spheres of life

amounts, according to Weber, to the continual expansion and development of
bureaucracy. It is true, wrote Weber, that bureaucracy is not the only modern
form of organization, but together with the commercial enterprise it deter-
mines “the character of the present age and of the foreseeable future. The future
belongs to bureaucratization” (1918: 1401). Also, the modern state was able to
 Max Weber 41

develop mainly because of bureaucracy. Weber takes the creation of this state as
a typical example of rationalization. As he wrote in “Politik als Beruf,” a
monarch slowly but surely dispossessed all competing owners of the means to
govern, wage war, and operate financial organizations (1919a: 81– 83). This hap-
pened in precisely the same way that the capitalist enterprise develops: previ-
ously independent producers are hired for wages by employers and are thereby
separated from the means of production, which they initially owned them-
selves. The factory worker owns and sells only his labor. In the same manner, as
remarked earlier, no single government official personally owns the offices
where he works, or the documents, acts, and protocols that he produces and
collects, or the money that he pays out, or the machinery of war with which he
fights. Thus, along the way the modern state has taken away the political re-
sources of all previously autonomous power holders and concentrated those re-
sources in the hands of its leaders. In the end, the state controls in a bureau-
cratic manner from a single central point all means of political organization.
Consistent with this, the state has a monopoly on the legitimate use of physical
force. As Weber defined it, the modern state “is a human community that (suc-
cessfully) claims the monopoly of the legitimate use of physical force within a given
territory” (1919a: 78).25
As an explanation of the development of bureaucracies, spread out through
Weber’s work is a whole range of reasons, causes, and direct inducements. In his
view, the decisive reason is simply the technical superiority of the bureaucratic
administration. It is like comparing a machine with a hand tool. As Weber
wrote, “Precision, speed, unambiguity, knowledge of the files, continuity, dis-
cretion, unity, strict subordination, reduction of friction and of material and
personal costs—these are raised to the optimum point in the strictly bureau-
cratic administration. . . . As compared with all collegiate, honorific, and avo-
cational forms of administration, trained bureaucracy is superior on all these
points” (1978: 973 –74). In modern society, only bureaucracy is capable of ade-
quately satisfying the enormously increased need for efficient and effective ad-
ministration. The choice, according to Weber, “is only between bureaucracy
and dilettantism” (1978: 223).
Weber looked for the cause of the greater need for administration in a quan-
titative and qualitative expansion of administrative tasks. As he underscored
time and again, this applies not only to governments but also to enterprises,
parties, trade unions, pressure groups, associations, churches, universities, and
so forth. According to Weber, the sheer size of these organizations, which have
usually grown in the course of time, is associated with a larger amount of ad-
42 Chapter Two

ministrative tasks (1978: 969 –71). For instance, a large state needs a more ro-
bust administration to maintain its internal unity and coherence than a small
state would need. In the same vein, a popular party in a mass democracy can
only defend the interests of its constituents if it is organized in a bureaucratic
manner (see section 5.1 below). However, what Weber believes to be even more
important in this regard is the qualitative expansion of administrative tasks
(1978: 972–73). The growing complexity of society calls for more intervention
in and more coordination between a larger number of societal domains. The
increasing level of affluence stimulates the scope and range of the demand for
state services—the enormous expansion of the provisions for social welfare is a
case in point. A technical condition for performing more administrative tasks is
in this regard the presence of modern means of communication, such as the
telegraph and waterways, railways, and highways. Due in part to these means,
bureaucracies can operate in an effective, efficient, precise, and quick fashion.
At the same time, the development of this capacity has made it necessary
greatly to increase the administrative tasks of the government. This is because
only the government can control these means of communication, a control that
in turn was made possible in part by these same means.
Weber emphasized that it was mainly the capitalist market economy that
promoted bureaucratization (1978: 224). First of all, the large modern enter-
prises are themselves phenomenal examples of bureaucratic organizations, or-
ganizations that try to produce in as efficient a manner as possible and to re-
spond quickly, precisely, and firmly to changes in their environment. Besides,
enterprises expect the private and public organizations they deal with to re-
spond likewise. Thus, they demand that the affairs of public administration
will also be handled assiduously, unambiguously, promptly, with great speed,
and predictably (1978: 974). In other words, enterprises in which the work is ra-
tionally organized cannot operate adequately in an irrational, unpredictable
environment.26 That is precisely why bureaucracy is so well suited to capital-
ism. Bureaucratization makes it possible to perform administrative functions
on the basis of purely objective considerations, thus on the basis of calculable
rules that are applied without respect for persons. The high value given to this
objectivity and “calculability” typifies our modern rationalized culture, accord-
ing to Weber. Indeed, this is something that bureaucracy has in common with
the market and the motives of those who are active in it. “The peculiarity of
modern culture,” wrote Weber, “and specifically of its technical and economic
basis, demands this very ‘calculability’ of results. When fully developed, bu-
 Max Weber 43

reaucracy also stands, in a specific sense, under the principle of sine ira ac studio.
. . . This is appraised as its special virtue by capitalism” (1978: 975).
What is true of enterprises is also true of bureaucracies in general: they can-
not deal with incalculable and capricious behavior and events. Therefore, they
tend to subject an increasingly large part of their environment to bureaucratic
control. Once the process of bureaucratization has started, it keeps itself going.
For this reason, Weber perceives in bureaucracy a growing threat to individual
freedom, creativity, and even to humanity. The point is that a bureaucracy is re-
ally only efficient and effective when everything that is human—all feelings of
love, sympathy, aversion, hate, aggression, all personal creativity, creative urges,
and emotions—has been removed from its calculations and operations. More-
over, a bureaucracy tries to subject everyone it comes into contact with, both
within the organization and outside it, to its formal rationality.
A precondition and stimulus for the development of bureaucracy that Weber
mentioned later, in Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft, is part of the same effort to at-
tain objectivity and calculability: leveling social and economic inequalities. Ac-
cording to Weber, this is the manner in which the formation of modern mass
democracy is inevitably accompanied by the development of a government bu-
reaucracy. Indeed, the democratic requirement of equality before the law ne-
cessitates the abstractness, objectivity, and distancing that characterize it (1978:
983). Equality before the law does not tolerate any privileges, personal prefer-
ences, or subjective judgments from case to case. And democratization thus im-
plies the substitution of dignitaries by civil servants, of a tradition of dabblers
by paid professionals, impersonal experts.
This leads to a typical Weberian paradox, however: democratization calls for
bureaucratization but is at the same time in conflict with it. Weber stated that
the idea of a democracy is based on the conviction that all citizens have equal
rights. To that end, the development of closed status groups of functionaries
must be avoided and the authority of functionaries must be restricted as much
as possible in favor of the sphere of influence of “public opinion” (1978: 991).
Thus, positions are supposed to be open to everyone and functionaries are
bound to some extent to the citizens’ preferences. In this way, though, democ-
racy will inevitably come into conflict with the bureaucratic tendencies that the
democracy itself has induced. By allocating positions to all who pass the re-
quired examinations, regardless of their social background, a democracy does
in fact oust the traditional elites. But as the result of the emphasis on specialized
training, a privileged caste of bureaucrats might well arise, one that evades
44 Chapter Two

democratic control. Moreover, because of the diplomas and certificates that

they have obtained from colleges and universities, the members of this knowl-
edge caste demand the same privileges that the former dignitaries had: a salary
based on status instead of performance, a guaranteed career path, and a mo-
nopoly on socially and economically advantageous positions (1978: 1000). In
short, the dignitary proves to be ineradicable.

4.3 The Endless Persistence of an

Established Bureaucracy

Once a bureaucracy is fully developed, according to Weber it is then extremely

difficult to dismantle it (1978: 987). Acts that are rationally organized and mo-
tivated are superior in their effectiveness and efficiency. For this reason, all al-
ternative forms of collective action that are directed toward fighting the bu-
reaucracy will be inadequate. If those who are subjected to a bureaucratic
apparatus want to escape from this control, they can actually do nothing but set
up an organization of their own. Subsequently, the new one will increasingly
succumb to bureaucratization, which will put those involved back where they
started (1978: 224).
Enormous material and conceptual forces guarantee the continuity of exist-
ing bureaucracies, according to Weber. The individual bureaucrat is impris-
oned in a suit of armor. He is just a cog in an enormous machine, which he can-
not stop on his own. The formal rationality of the bureaucracy holds him
captive to the extent that it does not even occur to him to stop the machine—
he is so thoroughly trained in, and convinced of, his duty to make his own small
contribution to the smooth operation of the whole. He is a machine.27
Thus, little can be expected from the bureaucrat. But even those who are
controlled by the bureaucracy will not abolish it. If this exceedingly efficient or-
ganization were to disappear, the result would be chaos and misery, which no
one wants. This applies both to the bureaucracies of the state and to those of
private companies. A modern society can simply not get along without bureau-
cratic organization. As Weber asserted, “Increasingly the material fate of the
masses depends on the continuous and correct functioning of the ever more
bureaucratic organizations of private capitalism, and the idea of eliminating
them becomes more and more utopian. Increasingly, all order in public and
private organizations is dependent on the system of files and the discipline of
officialdom, that means, its habit of painstaking obedience within its wonted
sphere of action” (1978: 988). For this reason, Weber placed little value on argu-
ments calling for alternative—socialist, or cooperative—social orders. These
 Max Weber 45

would actually promote bureaucratization, even though the opposite is often

intended. And abolishing private capitalism, for instance, would only imply
that the top managers of the nationalized companies would become state bu-
reaucrats. The daily working conditions of the employees would remain un-
changed. In fact, their freedom would even diminish, “since every power strug-
gle with a state bureaucracy is hopeless and since there is no appeal to an agency
which as a matter of principle would be interested in limiting the employer’s
power, such as there is in the case of a private enterprise” (1918: 1402). The state
bureaucracy—which today still has to take the company bureaucracies into ac-
count and is even to some degree kept in balance by them—would then have
the kingdom and the power to itself.
According to Weber, reinforcement of the bureaucracy would likewise occur
with the introduction of corporatist structures. In his day, arguments in favor
of such structures were regularly heard, emanating from the irritation with the
raw struggle for power between and within political parties (1918: 1396– 97).
Weber pointed out, among other things, that these structures, given the free-
dom of association, would not put an end to the existence of interest groups
and political parties or to their attempts to influence decision-making on pol-
icy, jobs, and positions. The main effect is that such attempts will become less
visible. Moreover, a corporatist “parliament” would merely be a marketplace
for compromise between purely economic interests, without any political con-
cern with general interests (1918: 1397). The bureaucracy might be able to in-
crease its power by playing the economic interest groups against each other and
appeasing them with positions and favors. In Weber’s view, any public control
of public administration “would be vitiated, since the decisive moves and com-
promises of the interested groups would be made behind the closed doors of
the non-public associations and would be even less controllable than before”
(1918: 1397). We should recall that Weber wrote these words at the beginning of
the twentieth century.

5 DEMOCRACY IN MODERN SOCIETY

In short, looking at rationalization, Weber was hardly enthusiastic about what

he saw. His pessimism was prompted by the increasing need to create meaning
on one’s own, by the growth of the iron cage of the capitalist market system,
and most of all by the spread of more and more private and public bureaucra-
cies. The ubiquitous bureaucratic organization increasingly deprives people of
the freedom to make their own choices about their own existence and about
46 Chapter Two

how they live together. The continuously growing capitalist market does the
same. Meanwhile, because of secularization, people cannot fall back anymore
on a shared set of values, and they must choose sides for themselves in the re-
newed struggle among the old gods. How they choose sides cannot be univer-
sally justified. Weber seems to doubt whether people can bear this heavy bur-
den of having to define values themselves, which is the inevitable burden of
freedom.
What political conclusions should we now draw from these tendencies? And
how might we salvage a minimum amount of individual and political freedom
in a world that is becoming more and more bureaucratized? If government bu-
reaucracy in particular becomes increasingly indispensable and, as a result, its
power keeps growing, are there still any forces left that can effectively keep this
machine under control? Can parliamentary democracy offer an effective coun-
terweight to the combined power of the bureaucrats and the lack of direction in
their activities? What should be, generally speaking, the role of politics in an in-
creasingly bureaucratized and commercialized world? And what kind of con-
tent can democracy have in a large-scale, pluralistic, rationalized society?28
Weber’s answers to these questions are digressive, widely dispersed over his
work, and rather indirect. This is probably also because the conclusions that he
ultimately drew are not very reassuring about the prevailing ideas on democ-
racy. For instance, according to Weber, in the end only powerful visionary po-
litical leaders can provide bureaucracies with the value-rational content and di-
rection they need and can guarantee our positive political freedom. In the
inevitability, education, and control of these charismatic leaders, the modern
political party and the modern parliament play a prominent role. That is why
my discussion of Weber’s political vision will, building upon the previous sec-
tions, first consider the consequences of modernization for political parties and
parliamentary democracy.

5.1 The Bureaucratization

of the Political Party

The bureaucratization in political parties is, according to Weber, comparable to

that in private companies and public administrations. In the footsteps of
Roberto Michels, Weber observed that even in parties with strong democratic
constitutions it is inevitable that after a while the selection of the candidates
and the party platform will be left to paid functionaries.29 The voters only have
influence to the extent that those platforms are formulated and those candi-
dates are selected that increase the chances of gaining electoral support (1918:
 Max Weber 47

1396). There is no other way. Parties can arise when there is freedom of associa-
tion and a parliament. They are organizations for getting jobs and, to a lesser
extent, for realizing political ideals. As a result, a political power struggle among
parties is inevitable. Certainly in times of rationalized campaign techniques,
bureaucratically organized parties are more successful than the traditional,
nonpartisan electoral associations. That is why all parties develop a bureau-
cracy.
Electoral success in a large-scale democratic system with proportional repre-
sentation is, in other words, to a large degree dependent on modern mass pro-
paganda, professional party functionaries, internal discipline, and fundraising
(1978: 984; 1918: 1443 – 44). More and more, the party is therefore being tightly
organized and turned into a slick bureaucratic machine. The parties start their
own youth movements, set up trade unions and cooperatives, and establish
schools to train party functionaries, politicians, and agitators. The party budget
grows steadily as a result of all these activities, and so does the need to raise
funds in an effective and organized manner. The days of the unpaid amateur are
over for good.
The time is also over when elections were held on the basis of ideas formu-
lated by ideologists, ideas that were discussed in the press and at public meet-
ings in a civilized fashion. Also past is the time when ad hoc committees
proposed candidates who, once elected, formed separate parties in the repre-
sentative bodies, groups that changed composition on a regular basis. The party
functionary and the professional party politician are in ascendancy everywhere
(1918: 1445 – 47; 1919a: 102– 04). The bureaucratic hierarchy strengthens itself
in the same way. The members of Parliament are no longer expected to operate
independently. They are merely the straw men of their party and its leader. Pre-
sent-day members of Parliament, wrote Weber, “are normally nothing better
than well-disciplined ‘yes’ men” (1919a: 106). All the parliamentarian has to do
is vote and not commit treason against his party. He has to show up when the
whip calls him, and he then has to vote the way his political leader wants him
to.30 There is no point in passing moral judgment on this, as Weber wrote; it is
the inevitable result of the rationalization of party activities in times of mass
elections.
To illustrate the banality of the fight over jobs and the lack of value rational-
ity in a mass democracy, Weber eagerly referred to the United States. There, the
candidate who wins the elections replaces a large number of functionaries of
the federal bureaus with followers from his own political party. As a conse-
quence, according to Weber, political parties have come to occupy themselves
48 Chapter Two

even more than usual with chasing positions and functions. Ideas and ideolo-
gies hardly play a role anymore. “It means that quite unprincipled parties op-
pose one another; they are purely organizations of job hunters drafting their
changing platforms according to the chances of vote-grabbing, changing their
colors to a degree which, despite all analogies, is not yet to be found elsewhere.
The parties are simply and absolutely fashioned for the election campaign that
is most important for job patronage: the fight for the presidency and for the
governorships of the separate states” (1919a: 108). Consequently, the American
administration consists largely of dilettantes whose most important qualifica-
tion is that they have performed good services for their party. According to We-
ber, the United States can only afford this and the waste and corruption it en-
tails because of its enormous economic potential. Even so, that potential is not
unbounded. That is why in the meantime, in the United States too, dilettantes
are gradually being replaced by specially trained professional civil servants
(1919a: 111).

5.2 Leadership, Demagoguery,

and “Public Opinion”

Leadership, as I mentioned earlier, is central to Weber’s view of politics and

democracy. It is not, he writes, the “masses” who produce a leader from their
midst; rather, it is the political leader who recruits his constituency (1918: 1457).
Just as the independent entrepreneur looks for customers, on behalf of his party
the leader looks for as many voters as he can find. “He is a political capitalist en-
trepreneur who on his own account and at his own risk provides votes” (1919a:
109). He too goes bankrupt when his efforts are not successful enough. How-
ever, so long as he successfully mobilizes votes, power, and positions, the ordi-
nary members of the party will follow their leader, and understandably so, for
the sake of their own interests (1918: 1409). They cannot do otherwise. Obvi-
ously, the party has to operate like a machine if it is to be successful in obtain-
ing positions and attaining its ideals. Thus, a plebeian party leadership implies
the “intellectual proletarianization” of the followers (1919a: 113). It is not in-
tended that they demonstrate any independence of thought.
According to Weber, the introduction of universal suffrage has only resulted
in a new way of selecting leaders and a greater role for “public opinion,” mainly
formed by influential groups, in setting policy.31 Indeed, this is inevitable in a
large-scale society. It is exclusively in a small political community that policy
can be forged entirely “from the bottom up.” A modern democracy consists of
little more than the right of the masses freely to choose their own leaders, lead-
 Max Weber 49

ers who compete with each other for the votes of the electorate. After making
their choice, the people are supposed to leave the political stage until the next
election.32 Weber considers it absolutely naïve to think that in a liberal society
the demos would be able to exert a decisive influence on the practical adminis-
tration or even take part itself in government. According to him, important
political decisions will inevitably be made by a small number of individuals,
even in a democracy. For this reason, successful democracies have always made
major concessions to “the caesarist principle of selecting leaders” (1918: 1452).
And when democratic mass parties were faced with great responsibilities, “they
were obliged to submit more or less unconditionally to leaders who held the
confidence of the masses” (1918: 1453).
Weber considers demagoguery to be a natural and unavoidable phenome-
non in the battle among political leaders for electoral support. There are of
course limits, but, like it or not, being able to carry on demagoguery is simply
one of the basic skills of the strong leader in a mass democracy. Weber empha-
sized that the essence of politics is struggle, and the only ones who are prepared
for national leadership are those who have proved to be the strongest in every-
day political battles. In this power struggle, a struggle for survival, the capacity
to manipulate the masses is a necessary skill (1919: 1446, 1450; 1919a: 96, 107).33
Weber did not have a high regard for the political competence of the average
citizen, as demonstrated above, or consequently for the democratic idea that
the citizens’ preferences should be the decisive factors in public decision-mak-
ing. He considered the classic liberal discourse on democracy, based as it is on
individual rights, to be untenable in modern times. In a letter to Michels dat-
ing from 1908 he wrote, “Concepts such as ‘popular will,’ and genuine will of
the people do not exist for me any more. They are fictions” (cited by Mommsen
1989: 31). Time and again, Weber lashed out at people who do believe in this
“general will” and electoral competence. For instance, regarding public opin-
ion, elsewhere in Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft he writes in passing that this is
nothing more than “concerted action born of irrational ‘sentiments’ and usu-
ally staged or directed by party bosses or the press” (1978: 980). Indeed, he con-
sistently placed the words “public opinion” in quotation marks. What deeply
worried Weber is the presumed emotionality and shortsightedness of the
masses. It does not matter of which social strata the masses consist, a member
of the masses “thinks only in short-run terms. For it is, as every experience
teaches, always exposed to direct, purely emotional and irrational influence”
(1918: 1460).
Yet the answer may lie precisely in organization. The point is that the likeli-
50 Chapter Two

hood of responsible, carefully considered decision-making increases when fewer

decision-makers are involved and the responsibilities are clearly defined. Here,
according to Weber, lies the political value of rationally organized interest
groups and political parties. They prevent the irrational, wild masses—the
democracy of the street—from gaining control (1918: 1460). A good illustration,
in this regard, is the difference of opinion between Weber and his friend Michels
about the oligarchization of political parties. Michels considered this continu-
ously occurring tendency as the beginning of the end of democracy in general
and of democratic parties in particular. Weber was much less negative; oli-
garchization and bureaucratization were unavoidable and, thanks to these devel-
opments, political leaders could operate much more effectively. As we shall see,
these processes gave leaders a better chance of keeping the bureaucracy under
control and steering its activities in a value-rational direction. In this way, they
were in a better position to protect the innovation in and dynamic of society
from the threats posed by bureaucracy (cf. Mommsen 1989: 14–15, 100–03).

5.3 The Functions of Parliament

In view of the fact that in a modern mass democracy political leaders address
themselves directly to the electorate and also receive their mandate directly
from the electorate, one might wonder what role is left for Parliament to play.
Weber nonetheless saw a number of important functions for this organ. The
Weberian passages in question, which are more liberally inspired, are somewhat
inconsistent with his remarks on leadership and the plebiscite. First of all,
through parliaments political leaders obtain the consent of those who are gov-
erned by bureaucratic means. A minimal degree of consent on the part of the
citizens, wrote Weber, is a precondition for the stability of every regime, even
the most well organized one (1918: 1408). However, Parliament can only play
this legitimating role if it actually has powers and can take a meaningful part in
the decision-making concerning the direction of governmental policies. Again,
there are several preconditions for this. First, Parliament appoints the cabinet,
which has the trust of Parliament and will disband itself if that trust is lost. Sec-
ond, the leaders are accountable for their actions only to Parliament. And third,
policy has to conform to the broad guidelines that Parliament sets for it. If these
conditions are met, then, according to Weber, Parliament can engage in “posi-
tive politics” and we can speak of a “Volksstaat,” or People’s State. If not, one
has to speak of an “Obrigkeitsstaat,” an authoritarian state in which the bu-
reaucrats have a free hand, for the most part (1918: 1416).
In Parliament, the party leaders fight for power with every conceivable
 Max Weber 51

means. Only those with a strong power instinct and great leadership qualities
can win these battles and thereby get the chance to govern. The essence of pol-
itics, as Weber repeatedly emphasizes, “is struggle, the recruitment of allies and
of a voluntary following” (1918: 1414).34 The qualities that are needed to join in
this struggle are developed in a full-fledged parliament and in a party-political
struggle fought in public. The few political leaders who emerge victorious from
this struggle are blindly followed, so long as they are successful, by the great
masses of representatives. “This is the way it should be,” Weber reiterated. “Polit-
ical action is always determined by the ‘principle of small numbers’, that
means, the superior political maneuverability of small leading groups. In mass
states, this caesarist element is ineradicable” (1918: 1414).
Ultimately, it is up to these forceful political leaders to rein in the bureau-
crats. The latter will doubtlessly try to restrict such political interference as
much as possible. Therefore, Weber considers the right to conduct a parlia-
mentary inquiry essential. Of course, Parliament does not have the power to
oversee all acts of the bureaucracy, but it should use this right primarily as a
“whip.” The fear that it can fall at any moment must make the bureaucrat aware
of his subordinate position before he takes any action and ensure that any ac-
tion he takes is responsible (1918: 1418). The presence of this right of parliamen-
tary inquiry is an additional precondition for assigning the parliament a “posi-
tive” political role and to turn the parliament into a breeding ground for
political leaders. Indeed, the parliamentary committees, where this right will
usually be exercised, are where the potential political leader has to prove he is
not merely a demagogue. Here, he also has to show his ability to conduct poli-
tics on the basis of knowledge about the issues and with vision (1918: 1420).
This is demonstrated, according to Weber, by English practice, which he regu-
larly commended quite highly: many political leaders of stature have matured
in parliamentary committees.35
Weber considered the primary functions of Parliament to be, in short, giving
legitimacy to the government and its policy, and nurturing forceful political
leaders. At other places in his work, he added—somewhat less cynically—that
Parliament, in its relation to the Caesarian leader, should guarantee political
continuity and the preservation of civil rights. Moreover, Parliament provides
for the peaceful elimination of the “Caesarist dictator” who has lost the trust of
the masses (1918: 1452– 53). And finally, Weber mentioned as a function, though
most of the time implicitly and merely in passing, the development of political
compromises, a function that we should emphasize today. He did this in his
treatment of the referendum (1918: 1455 – 58). Except in extreme situations,
52 Chapter Two

such as having to decide on secession, Weber saw little benefit in this approach
to elections or legislation. A major technical shortcoming of the referendum is,
in his view, that it only allows the people to say yes or no and that there is no
room for compromise, which is usually both necessary and desirable in plural-
istic societies. “The referendum does not know the compromise, upon which
the majority of all laws is based in every mass state with strong regional, social,
religious and other cleavages” (1918: 1455). These indispensable compromises
can only be developed in a consultative body like a parliament.

5.4 The Charismatic Leader as

Counterweight to Bureaucratization

Weber considered a core issue with regard to “the basic fact of the irresistible ad-
vance of bureaucratization” (1918: 1403) to be, as we saw earlier, the value-ratio-
nal restrictions that are inherent in bureaucracies: they form strictly instrumen-
tal-rational systems and are by definition directionless. Nonetheless, they are
becoming more and more common in modern societies, thereby threatening to
suppress all that is human. The most important force in the modern constitu-
tional state that Weber ultimately considered capable of keeping the bureaucrats
under control and giving some meaning and direction to their activities is force-
ful, charismatic political leadership (1918: 1405–07). In his words, the politician
“must be the countervailing force against bureaucratic domination” (1918: 1417).
In this regard, Weber pointed out that the mentality and the task of the en-
trepreneur and the politician differ substantially from those of the official. The
true entrepreneur is characterized by his entrepreneurial spirit, the true politi-
cian by vision and leadership. In contrast, the official should not have any
greater ambition than to manage and administer. Naturally, he too must regu-
larly make decisions independently and demonstrate organizational qualities.
But the difference lies in their responsibility. A bureaucrat who is given an as-
signment that is wrong in his view can ask his superior to adjust it, but if the su-
perior sticks to his position, the subordinate will have to carry out the assign-
ment after all. His duty and even his honor imply that he will do so in a manner
that appears to be grounded in his deepest convictions. However, any political
leader who would take such a stance deserves only contempt. Certainly, wrote
Weber, politics consists of making compromises. But people do this on the
grounds of an assumption or view of their own. When the people do not give a
politician a mandate to follow his fundamental views, he has to resign. If he
does not, then he is, in Bismarck’s words, a wretched “limpet” (“Kleber”).
Thus, it is not the politician who should be above the parties; this task is desig-
 Max Weber 53

nated exclusively to the civil service: “‘To be above parties’—in truth, to re-
main outside the realm of the struggle for power—is the official’s role, while
this struggle for personal power, and the resulting personal responsibility, is the
lifeblood of the politician as well as of the entrepreneur” (1918: 1404).36
The true politician is thus, according to Weber, a visionary leader, one who
sets a course for us that brings us further than the instrumentally rational com-
pass of the bureaucrat. He can contradict the prevailing tendencies and pat-
terns because he also possesses charisma. Charisma is one of the three fre-
quently cited justifications of legitimate control Weber distinguishes, that is,
control that people voluntarily accept (1978: 31– 38, 215 –17; 1919a: 78 –79). In
reality, none of these “pure types” of control will be found in their pure form.
They merely help us to organize our thinking. The first of these is traditional
control, as exercised by a patriarch, for instance: the subjection is based on con-
formity and becoming accustomed to a long-lived tradition. The motivation
for people to accept this authority is either affective or traditional in nature (see
section 3.1 above). The second type is control on the basis of legality. A purely
bureaucratic system is a form of “formal legal control.” Its legitimacy rests com-
pletely on the assumption that all laws and rules have been made in a formally
correct fashion and are therefore legal. Thus, value-rational considerations play
no role in the assessment of and obedience to these laws and rules. And finally,
there is charismatic control. People entrust themselves fully to the leaders to
whom they attribute extraordinary qualities.
According to Weber, we know from experience that of all the various ways in
which people can be controlled, in the long term bureaucracy is by far the most
efficient, stringent, stable, and reliable one (1978: 223). It does have a short-
coming, though: its inability to react in a flexible manner to changes in the en-
vironment. A completely fossilized bureaucratic system that is no longer able to
solve the problems that it was originally established to deal with nonetheless
does not necessarily lose its legitimacy. In the meantime, the system may have
been in existence for so long that it is transformed from a legal into a traditional
form of control.
Flexibility is precisely the power of charismatic control. In addition, it is very
effective. The reason is that those who are dominated possess a strong inner
motivation to follow the visionary leader. Furthermore, this form of control is
extremely creative and innovative: the leader does not have to stay on the
beaten path. On the other hand, this form of control is fairly unstable, unpre-
dictable, and unreliable. Partly for that reason, according to Weber, it has a ten-
dency to turn into traditional control and subsequently into legal control.
54 Chapter Two

Thus, the charismatic leader also falls victim to routine, uniformity, and ratio-
nalization. Yet in the process room is created for a new charismatic leader.
Weber saw the true political leader in a parliamentary democracy primarily
as an example of charismatic control. For this leader, politics is a vocation. In
other words, the charismatic leader lives for (and not off ) his cause (1918: 1427,
1447–48; 1919a: 84 –86). The devotion of his disciples, followers, and party
supporters is directed to his person and his presumably exceptional capacities.
Leaders of this kind, wrote Weber, are naturally found at all times and places.
But today, it is the political leader who possesses a strong will to power and
great qualities as a demagogue who takes center stage. According to Weber, the
preconditions for this are, as demonstrated above, the development of mass
democracy and the rationalization of politics and the political party. From his
perspective, one could describe the present-day political situation as a “dicta-
torship resting on the exploitation of mass emotionality” (1919a: 107; cf. 1978:
266–71). One may regret this, but, as Weber wrote, there are actually only two
options: a “Führerdemokratie,” or leadership democracy, which gets its direc-
tion from a strong leader; or a directionless, drifting democracy, which is run by
a quarreling clique (1919a: 113).

5.5 The “Verantwortungsethik”

of the True Politician

Although Weber thus made a plea for vision, charisma, effectiveness, dema-
goguery, and leadership, he was certainly not in favor of the bigotry, rigidity,
and obsession that one might associate with these qualities. He emphasized
that although the true politician should have a passion for a particular cause, he
also has to be able to step back from himself and his ambitions and see these
from a wider perspective (1919a: 115 –17). He must constantly be able to con-
quer a much too human and rather trivial enemy: a vulgar vanity. In striving for
power, which is inextricably tied to politics, he always has to keep serving the
cause objectively. As soon as this pursuit of power comes from a personal need
to be at the center of things and to be important, the politician loses the objec-
tivity and responsibility he needs to achieve his goals. His actions will not lead
anywhere and will be meaningless. To Weber, the sudden inner collapse that is
so characteristic of the pure power-seeking politician demonstrates the weak-
ness and impotence of his soul.
In this regard, Weber strongly renounced those who allow themselves to be
led primarily by a “Gesinnungsethik,” or ethic of ultimate ends, and not by a
“Verantwortungsethik,” or ethic of responsibility (1919a: 120 –21; see section 2.3
 Max Weber 55

above).37 In the first case, one considers the realization of a certain ethical ideal
as a task that must be carried out, irrespective of the chance of succeeding and
regardless of the possible consequences for other values. The person in question
wants, in other words, to live up to certain values that he experiences as ab-
solute and that he will not subject to compromise. He even persists in carrying
out actions when the consequence is that the realization of other ultimate val-
ues will be even less probable. This is not his responsibility but that of others, or
of God. Such a person does only Good. In contrast, the person who lets himself
be led by a Verantwortungsethik continually feels compelled to weigh the possi-
ble consequences of his actions in light of the different values that he strives to
live up to. This is the ethic by which the true politician should primarily allow
himself to be led, according to Weber. The reason for this lies in a problem that
we keep running into in our lives and that I mentioned at the outset of this
chapter: the pluriformity of values.
This ethic should not be confused with opportunism. What concerns Weber
is the moral immaturity of the Weltanschauungspolitiker, who see only purity
and integrity in the unswerving pursuit of truths that they presume to be ab-
solute. He is moved immensely more profoundly “when a mature man . . . is
aware of a responsibility for the consequences of his conduct and really feels
such responsibility with heart and soul. He then acts by following an ethic of
responsibility and somewhere he reaches the point where he says: ‘Here I stand;
I can do no other.’ That is something genuinely human and moving” (1919a:
127). Thus, the two ethics complement each other, and only the person who
combines them is a true man—a man who is capable of pursuing politics as a
vocation. A sincere politician, asserted Weber, understands that the possible is
attained because time after time one has strived to achieve the impossible. He
keeps up a steadfast hope where others are discouraged and despair. But he also
puts his aims into perspective. This kind of political leader is rare in Weber’s
Germany, though. For this reason, Weber has little faith in the future: “Not
summer’s bloom lies ahead of us, but rather a polar night of icy darkness and
hardness” (1919a: 128).38

6 PRELIMINARY ASSESSMENT

Weber made a forceful plea for introducing a parliamentary democracy in post-

war Germany. Only thus did he see any hope for the development of a vigorous
political leadership that could provide a value-rational counterweight to the
ongoing marketization and, especially, bureaucratization of society. He did not
56 Chapter Two

embrace democracy because he believed in the potential of the citizen for self-
government or in the citizen’s political rights to exert an influence on decisions
in the public realm. Rarely will one find in Weber’s work any principled, philo-
sophical justifications of democracy or other political conceptions, although he
was certainly no relativist with respect to values. As a sociologist, Weber was an
unengaged observer who accepted democracy because it will inevitably become
established, in the same way as the disenchantment of culture is a given from
which we cannot escape. From other perspectives as well, Weber had few polit-
ical illusions. The masses are politically incompetent, so they have to be reined
in and given direction through organization. Their political preferences are by
and large the result of manipulation. The state bureaucracy controls the citi-
zens, and one of the main purposes of Parliament is to make this control ac-
ceptable to the citizens. At any rate, every effort at domination has to be given
at least a minimal justification for the sake of its stability. In a mass democracy,
a politician will inevitably have charismatic qualities, including the ability to
engage in demagoguery. Politics consists of a raw power struggle in which there
is no room for delicate souls. The true political leader possesses an insatiable
hunger for power and a range of qualities that help him increase his power.
Only under these conditions can he do the maximum to defend the material
and idealistic interests of his constituency. Political parties are hierarchical bu-
reaucracies that are led by professional politicians and are followed by passive
citizens. They constitute functional organizations that are primarily geared to
the mobilization of electoral support. Parliamentary politics consists of a power
struggle between parties whereby loyalty and unity is expected of all who are in-
volved, including the elected parliamentarians. Therefore, the parties dominate
in both Parliament and politics, and the parties are in turn controlled by their
leaders. One could call it an “elected dictatorship.” The leaders are nonetheless
kept somewhat under control by the necessity not to alienate too much the de-
mand side of the political market for votes, the electorate. The possibility of
voting out an inept or all too obstinate government ensures in this sense at least
a modicum of political responsiveness. The electoral market is, however, pri-
marily a supplier’s market. It is not the consumer who steers the activities of the
producer but to a large extent the producer who dictates consumer preferences.
Weber was even more despondent about the process of rationalization—the
main focus of his attention. The most important catalysts and expressions of
this are the capitalistic market economy and the bureaucracy. The market econ-
omy leads to the creation of more and more iron cages of formal rationality that
people have no choice but to adapt to. The instrumental rationality rules those
 Max Weber 57

who work in a bureaucracy and those who are controlled by a bureaucracy.

Moreover, increasingly many spheres of life are becoming bureaucratized and
thereby subjected to the rationality that characterizes a bureaucracy. The results
are uniformization, formalization, atrophy, and dehumanization. For the in-
significant individual, there is less and less room for value-rational action and
substantial-rational considerations. He is at the mercy of societal structures and
processes over which he has no influence whatsoever. This last point leads to an
inconsistency in Weber’s thinking, however. In this light, why would people be
concerned, as Weber was, about the capacity of the individual to provide for
meaning in a secularized world? Indeed, the necessity of making value-rational
choices decreases in proportion to the expansion of bureaucracy and the mar-
ket. Nobody notices, in other words, that secularization has made us homeless,
metaphysically speaking, and that in the meantime we should actually have to
define our own values.
Rationalization seems unstoppable. Weber felt that all indicators point in
the direction of more market and more bureaucracy. Even so, he was not a de-
terminist, a believer in historical necessities. In part for this reason, he rejected
the historical materialism of Marx and Engels. An extremely important reason
to study rationalization in depth is precisely to create a possibility for interven-
ing in this process. Weber’s political opinions are even to a large degree deter-
mined by his desire to bring the rationalization process under control and to
give it a meaningful, human direction. This applies not only to his ideas about
democracy, leadership, and political parties but also to his ideas about free en-
terprise and the welfare state. These ideas are certainly not free of inner conflict.
In this regard, Mommsen (1989) speaks of the “antinomic structure” of Weber’s
conceptual universe. We recognize in several of these tensions some of the im-
possible choices that are still confronting Western societies even today. They
also resurface in much of the work of the social and political theorists who were
active after Weber. I shall discuss a few of them.
The liberal thinkers of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries perceived an
expansion (or the chance for it) of freedom and democracy in the expansion of
capitalism. As we have seen, however, Weber was convinced that the develop-
ment of the capitalist economy poses a threat to freedom. Companies grow
more and more into large bureaucratic machines, against which individual
workers, as well as those organized in trade unions, will be increasingly power-
less. Weber emphasized time and again that the relation between employer and
employee is one of exploitation. The employee has no choice but to sell his la-
bor under the conditions and for the purposes that the employer has set. More-
58 Chapter Two

over, modern capitalist, industrial society leads increasingly to the emergence

of formal rational systems in which everyone is forced to make choices that he
or she might possibly refuse (or want to refuse) on value-rational grounds.
Everyone becomes forced to take part in a system that is based entirely on cal-
culation, a system that is completely geared to efficiency and effectiveness and
does not allow anyone to hold his or her own opinion about the goal, not to
mention about how to attain it. This whole system of formal rationality leads to
substantial irrationality: it reverses the end and the means, and it destroys the
fundamental humanistic, liberal values of self-determination and self-actual-
ization.
Weber was not very successful in his search for a way out. A socialization of
economic production, as proposed by socialism, would, he predicted, only ex-
acerbate the rationalization and bureaucratization and all the inhumane phe-
nomena associated with these processes. The same applies to the arguments in
favor of corporatist structures. For that reason, Weber favored the free market.
He was so afraid of rationalization and bureaucratization that he even wanted
to promote the working of the free market as much as possible. That would, he
hoped, serve to maximize competition, innovation, and dynamism in society,
and thereby maximize freedom. Obviously, the tension in his thought is that
the same capitalist market leads to more and more cages of formal rationality
(cf. Mommsen 1989: 36 – 40). On top of that, this market undermines the tra-
ditional values and norms that provide existence with a self-evident meaning.39
The same fear of bureaucratization, uniformization, and atrophy character-
izes Weber’s thinking on the welfare state. In the view of socialists this welfare
state could serve as a means to humanize the cold, indifferent rationality of cap-
italism, a coldness aptly analyzed by Weber. Weber, in his turn, was a propo-
nent of government interventions in the market only to the extent that these
would advance people’s opportunities to sustain themselves as independent op-
erators on the market. He had serious doubts about the effects of a social wel-
fare state. It might coddle the citizens so much and perhaps lull them into such
a peaceful sleep that they would give up the fight for survival.40 Weber sought
to keep this struggle to survive between individuals and among groups going as
much as possible for the sake of freedom and to promote society’s innovation
and dynamism. The importance of this was illustrated, according to Weber, by
the German landed aristocracy and a large proportion of the German citizenry
with their disastrous passivity, self-satisfaction, and mentality of enjoying a life
of leisure by living off their investments (cf. Mommsen 1989: 40, 118 –19).
Another inner conflict in Weber’s thinking that is pertinent to our argument
 Max Weber 59

is the tension between democracy and leadership. Parliaments exist, as we have

seen, to obtain the citizens’ approval for the policy being executed or, more cyn-
ically, for the control exercised by the bureaucracy. It is obvious that this ap-
proval rests on the impression that the parliament represents the preferences of
the electorate. Parties that make promises to the voters in their pursuit of votes
but subsequently do not live up to them do indeed appear in the long term to
become marginalized in the political struggle. Parties with programs that reflect
the preferences of the citizens inevitably seem to attract more votes.
Weber did not consider this a pleasant vision for the future. On the one hand,
rationalization has made it inevitable that the masses would enter the political
arena. Indeed, a consequence of the disenchantment of reality is that there are
no more generally accepted, in a sense objectively held, answers to the ques-
tions about the Good Life and the right social order. Individuals have no one to
depend on but themselves and would have to define their values independently.
There is no known reason why the values of one individual should count for
more than those of another. On the other hand, certain people, according to
Weber, simply have more of a calling, are better qualified, to lead than others.
The masses as a whole lack the necessary perspective, clarity of mind, and
knowledge. They are politically inept and certainly do not have the power to
rise above the everyday reality that is determined by bureaucratization and
marketization. That calls for leaders. Leadership requires legitimation, though.
Democratic elections serve this purpose. Thus, the politician is not the passive
follower of public opinion, revealed through elections; he is also the maker of
this public opinion. This can be put differently: the positive political freedom of
the citizens jointly to give direction to social processes can, from Weber’s per-
spective, only be realized by a charismatic leader. This leader, however, can only
be decisive and visionary when he is not so much following the preferences of
the public but forming them, and when he goes against the grain of these pref-
erences, if necessary, and takes responsibility himself. In order to realize positive
political freedom, it can thus happen that the political leader has to restrict the
negative freedom of the individual—his freedom to do that which lies in his ca-
pacity, unfettered by the government, in this case. After all, the visionary deci-
siveness of the political leader does not sit well with strong-minded citizens or
with the autonomous civil organizations in which they organize themselves in
an effort to defend their interests as forcefully as they can, if need be against the
will of the leader.
Obviously, Weber’s hope for the decisiveness of the visionary, charismatic
leader is somewhat distressing today, even if this decisiveness is tempered by a
60 Chapter Two

Verantwortungsethik, a parliament that is invested with the right of inquiry,

and the will to win the next election as well. Nonetheless, this does not mean
that Weber’s worries about the individual and societal consequences of ratio-
nalization are outdated. Karl Mannheim, whose ideas I consider in the next
chapter, was also preoccupied with this process and its individual, social, and
political implications. However, whereas Weber primarily observed a process of
more bureaucratization and thus uniformization and formalization, Mann-
heim mainly saw a constantly growing anarchy. He placed the responsibility
squarely on the unregulated free market. In that light, Mannheim wanted to
construct order. Nonetheless, at the same time he wanted to do justice to We-
ber’s admonitions against bureaucratization. In this tension we discover his
fundamental struggle.
Chapter 3 Karl Mannheim

After more than half a century, Mannheim’s diagnosis of the social

problems of his time is still, as we shall see, surprisingly up to date.
Many have been inspired by his analysis of modernization and its con-
sequences, and especially of the possibilities for citizens still to exert
influence on the development of their society. His work had this effect
not only in the years right after the Second World War but also during
other periods when many people apparently had the feeling that the
foundations of society had to be thought out anew. This applies to the
1960s but has also been true since the 1990s. Furthermore, there has
always been an interest in his sociology of knowledge, his research on
the social determinants of our thinking. This interest was particularly
strong when there were doubts about the prevailing philosophy of sci-
ence, as in our times.

1 PERSONAL AND INTELLECTUAL

BACKGROUND

Karl Mannheim (1893–1947) was born in Budapest, the only child of

a Hungarian-Jewish father and a German-Jewish mother.1 After fin-

61
62 Chapter Three

ishing secondary school at the gymnasium in the city of his birth, he studied for
a brief time in Berlin with the sociologist and philosopher Georg Simmel
(1858–1918). Shortly before the outbreak of the First World War, he returned to
Budapest. Here, his participation in the discussions of a group of young intel-
lectuals who had gathered around the philosopher and literary critic Georg
Lukács (1885–1971) was an important part of his development.2 Other partici-
pants in this circle were, among others, Zoltán Kodály, Arnold Hauser, Béla
Bartók, and Michael Polanyi. As a group, they showed a strong resemblance to
the Russian “intelligentsia” of the nineteenth century: a group of critical out-
siders without a clear social position who, though they had no particular inter-
est of their own in the matter, called for social, political, and ethical changes in
a society that was paralyzed by a stalemate among the dominant groups. A lec-
ture that Mannheim gave in 1918 has been preserved, and it reveals what this
standpoint meant to him in those years: a liberation of the human spirit from
its materialistic, positivistic, and scientistic chains and a spiritual and cultural
revival, inspired by Dostoevsky and Kierkegaard, among others (Coser 1977:
444).
The members of the group surrounding Lukács, who, though initially apo-
litical, abruptly joined the communist party, played a role as intellectual
spokesmen of the communist regime that installed itself after the Hungarian
revolution in 1919. When this regime fell after three months and the restoration
gained the upper hand, Mannheim was one of those who then had to leave the
country. Although he had never joined the party, he was associated with Lukács
and his politics. Moreover, to some extent thanks to the party, he had obtained
a position at the university. Mannheim left for Germany to continue his stud-
ies at Freiburg and Heidelberg. Influenced primarily by Max Weber’s brother
Alfred (1868 –1958)3 and Max Scheler (1874 –1928), his interest shifted from
philosophy to sociology. In 1927 he was appointed as professor in economics
and sociology at the University of Frankfurt.4 He taught there until 1933, when
he was fired because of his Jewish ancestry. In that same year he emigrated,
moving to England on the invitation of Harold Laski.
The political powerlessness and ultimate demise of the Weimar Republic in
particular made a deep impression on Mannheim, as it did on so many others.
His gloomy view of the future of the open, liberal society found its expression
in the book Mensch und Gesellschaft im Zeitalter des Umbaus, published (in the
Netherlands) in 1935. In his third homeland, and thanks to it, Mannheim saw
this future from a somewhat more optimistic angle. The vitality of the liberal
society appeared to be greater than the collapse of the fragile Central European
 Karl Mannheim 63

democracies suggested. After some necessary adaptations, this society would

certainly be able to survive. The mood and the content of Man and Society in an
Age of Reconstruction (1940), which was based on the abovementioned publica-
tion, bear witness to this regained feeling of optimism. This was also his own
opinion (1940: 3 –5). Mannheim himself, though, led a somewhat marginal ex-
istence in England. “Mannheim sees much in England,” wrote Piet Thoenes,
not entirely without justification, “but England does not see much in him”
(1971: 275). Initially, he was mainly considered an extremely erudite but indeed
very German scholar, a scholar who moreover held rather pretentious and un-
English ideas about social reconstruction, popular education, and socialism.
He was first an instructor at the London School of Economics and subse-
quently, until his untimely death in 1947, at the University of London. It was
not until 1945 that he was granted a professorship, and he owed this to the
efforts of a small circle of faithful progressive Christian supporters.
Mannheim’s interest shifted during his English years from the sociology of
knowledge to the sociology of planning and the sociology of education. Besides
these fields, Mannheim steadily developed more interest in religion and the
role that belief might and indeed must play in a planned society.5 The collec-
tion of essays dating from 1943, Diagnosis of Our Time, bears witness to these
changes. From the pure academic that he had been in his German years, he also
developed into an opinion maker who tried to reach a wider audience through
his fairly accessible publications and lectures. At a time when civilization itself
was under threat, Mannheim apparently felt the need to leave the ivory tower
of science (once again). This was one of the reasons why he became the editor
of a series he started, published by Kegan Paul and Oxford University Press, the
International Library of Sociology and Social Reconstruction.6
As Mannheim’s biography indicates, there were multiple intellectual influ-
ences on his thinking (cf. Coser 1977: 449 – 57). Perhaps the first one we should
mention is Georg W. F. Hegel (1770 –1831). In particular, Hegel’s idea that
thought develops in a dialectical relationship with events, continuously mov-
ing to a higher level, may be found in Mannheim, albeit in a revised form. In
addition, both the historical materialism of Karl Marx and the revolutionary,
action-oriented Marxism of Lukács made an impression on Mannheim. How-
ever, he was not prepared to accept the general Marxist claims to absolute va-
lidity. One reason was that, like Weber, he felt just as attracted to German his-
toricism (cf. chap. 2, section 2.1).
Two exponents of this direction were important to Mannheim: Wilhelm
Dilthey (1833–1911) and Ernst Troeltsch (1865 –1923). They asserted that all val-
64 Chapter Three

ues, opinions, and customs can only be understood and judged within the
framework of the specific culture in which they are manifest. Every culture con-
stitutes a unique entity, which we can only understand from an internal per-
spective and can only evaluate with the criteria that apply within it. Moreover,
Mannheim adopted a related notion from the Gestalt psychologists, the idea
that elements can only be understood in relation to the whole of which they
form a part.
Furthermore, neo-Kantians, such as Heinrich Rickert and Wilhelm Windel-
band, and Max Weber taught Mannheim that the method applied in the hu-
man and social sciences should be different from that applied in the natural sci-
ences. The reasons are that the observations and explanations in the human and
social sciences will inevitably involve values and that different goals are pursued
in these disciplines. In line with this, from the phenomenology of Edmund
Husserl (1859 –1938) Mannheim adopted the position that a subject could
never observe objects passively, always just “intentionally.” Observation is thus
an activity, the outcome of which is partly determined by characteristics of the
observer. Near the end of his life, during the years when he was concerned with
planning and reconstruction of society, Mannheim also came under the influ-
ence of English empiricism and the American pragmatism of George Herbert
Mead (1863 –1931) and John Dewey (1859 –1952). Presumably, one of the rea-
sons he felt drawn to these directions was their focus on practical action, on
finding solutions to concrete problems. Related to this, it might also have been
that he was getting less and less comfortable with the relativistic implications of
his original epistemology. Finally, in an effort to place history’s pathological
and destructive forces, Mannheim turned to Sigmund Freud (1856–1939) and
other psychoanalysts for support.

2 THE RECEPTION OF MANNHEIM

Because Mannheim was susceptible to so many divergent and often conflicting

intellectual traditions and rarely made a clear-cut choice among them, there are
many ambiguities and inconsistencies in his work. This is certainly true of Man
and Society in an Age of Reconstruction, on which the following discussion cen-
ters. His doubts manifest themselves not only in contradictory and vague, ram-
bling prose but also in the rather poor structure and composition of the book.
Mannheim does not keep to a straightforward line of argument. Sets of con-
cepts and theories that he introduces in one place are completely ignored in an-
other context, where they would seem to be very useful, and are substituted by
 Karl Mannheim 65

alternatives. Within the chapters and paragraphs, too, the train of thought
keeps slipping away, and Mannheim does not complete his wide-ranging argu-
ment.7 Van Doorn, himself not partial to German thinkers, passes the follow-
ing judgment: “Mannheim was no clear thinker. In his work he reveals his orig-
inal philosophical schooling that was moreover typically German in nature:
Weber and Rickert, Dilthey, Husserl, and Scheler—not really a way to learn to
put simplicity above all else” (1989: 34). With regard to Mensch und Gesellschaft
and Man and Society, Van Doorn remarks that these works demonstrate “along
with all the impressive mastery of the complicated material also the disadvan-
tages of his philosophical approach: obscure, ambivalent, pretentious. The
books are fully stowed with fascinating ideas that are nonetheless rarely if ever
‘thought through,’ they are touched upon, in passing, as it were, and then
dropped, leaving the reader wondering” (1989: 35).8 Even Mannheim’s biogra-
pher Henk Woldring, who is considerably more positive about Mannheim, has
to admit that his influence could have been greater if most of his publications
had not been impregnated with unclear and insufficiently explained ideas,
vague formulations, and contradictions (1986: 360).
Despite these shortcomings and the rest of the criticism that it is possible to
level at the work of Mannheim, it has undeniably had great influence. This has
often been implicit and indirect, however. Thus, it is not enough to count the
footnotes. Mannheim formulated important concepts and conceptions; in an
insightful manner he sketched long-running societal developments; and he
showed the choices that we can or must make in the context of these develop-
ments. Furthermore, Mannheim has inspired many in their practice of sociol-
ogy and their thinking on policy. In the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s, for instance,
numerous prominent Dutch sociologists gave their full endorsement to
Mannheim’s conception of Planning for Freedom and set themselves the task of
developing a sociology of intervention in which the sociologist was seen as a so-
cial engineer and sociological knowledge was in the service of social policy
(Gastelaars 1985: 185 –88; Jonker 1988: chap. 5; Woldring 1989: 37; Van El 1992).
In the Netherlands, Mannheim’s thinking was moreover significant in a politi-
cal sense, preeminently among social democrats and Christian democrats. Es-
pecially Joop den Uyl—leader of the social democratic party (1967–1986),
minister of economic affairs (1965–1966; 1981–1982), and prime minister
(1973–1977)—was, according to his biographer Paul Kalma, strongly inspired
by Mannheim’s thinking, although he “thereby not infrequently left out the
references to his source” (Kalma 1997: 527). Christian democrats and religious
socialists were inspired by Mannheim’s call for policy based on values and his
66 Chapter Three

appeal to the Christian religious tradition: a renaissance of the Christian values

was needed in order to prevent a human catastrophe like the Holocaust from
happening in the future (Banning 1953: 193 – 94; Van der Leeuw 1947).
Also noteworthy is that Mannheim was relatively popular in the Anglo-
Saxon academic world, a world that seems to be so far removed from him.9 Yet
current historical authors from that world, certainly those dealing with plural-
ism, make virtually no mention of him. Even so, his penetrating influence is
obvious in the work of Dahl and, though less so, in that of Lindblom.10 Gen-
erally speaking, Mannheim’s importance seems to vary with the degree to
which there is support for the idea that society’s basic principles need to be
thought through anew. This was obviously the case in the 1940s and in the
“long” decade of the 1960s.11 One of the works that was profoundly influenced
by him, to limit the discussion to the most recent period, was Amitai Etzioni’s
authoritative book The Active Society: A Theory of Societal and Political Processes
(1968). According to Van Houten and Bakker, this magnum opus, which is so
typical of the progressive intellectual climate of the 1960s, “in more than one
respect built upon the concepts of Mannheim, though he himself does not ex-
plicitly cite them” (1989: 2). Furthermore, Mannheim’s influence is even
stronger, if that is possible, though again this does not show up in the refer-
ences, on Charles A. Reich’s worldwide bestseller The Greening of America
(1970).12 Since the end of the second millennium, Mannheim seems to have
been drawing attention again (cf. Laeyendecker 1989: 9, 13 –14). For instance,
important elements of the work of Charles Taylor (1991) and Anthony Giddens
(1992, 1994) seem to be inspired by Mannheim.

3 SCIENCE AND SOCIETY

The work of Mannheim may be divided roughly into two parts: the sociology
of knowledge and what one might call the “sociology of planning.” Yet the two
are related. Mannheim’s standpoints on the sociology of knowledge underpin
his ideas about how and how much we can exert influence on the development
of our society and thereby underpin his ideas on planning. Clearly, the extent
to which we think we can intervene in social events depends on the knowledge
that we assume we possess about the forces that determine these events.
Mannheim developed the sociology of knowledge, to which I shall turn di-
rectly, mainly in the first half—that is, the German half—of his career. His
Ideology and Utopia: An Introduction to the Sociology of Knowledge (1936)—an
expanded version of his book Ideologie und Utopia, originally published in Ger-
 Karl Mannheim 67

man in 1929—is the main product of that period. In the postwar period, this
sociology of knowledge did not get as much attention within the social and po-
litical sciences, which were under the influence of behavioralism, then in as-
cendancy. But from the 1960s on, when behavioralism was increasingly criti-
cized, interest in it grew steadily.13 Mannheim and his Ideology and Utopia are
even seen as crucial sources of inspiration in the current “cultural studies” field.

3.1 The Sociology of Knowledge

The most important thing that we can know about a man is what he
takes for granted, and the most elemental and important facts about a
society are those that are seldom debated and generally regarded as
settled.
—Louis Wirth (1936: xxiii)

From Mannheim’s perspective, all human activities, and thus also those of the
mind, must be understood in their social and historical contexts. The ideas of
individuals are always strongly influenced, if not completely determined, by
the social position of those involved and the roles that they are expected to play
in this position, along with the other members of their group. In general,
thoughts are a means to sustain oneself under the conditions in which people
find themselves at any given moment. If these conditions change, then think-
ing should therefore change as well. As Mannheim wrote, it is thus “not men in
general who think, or even isolated individuals who do the thinking, but men
in certain groups who have developed a particular style of thought in an endless
series of responses to certain typical situations characterizing their common po-
sition” (1936: 3; cf. 1940: 206).
In this way, Mannheim generalized the Marxist criticism of ideology, a criti-
cism that Marx cum suis considered exclusively applicable to the ideas of the
bourgeoisie. Marx perceived an ideology, according to Mannheim, as “the phe-
nomenon of collective thinking, which proceeds according to interests and so-
cial and existential situations” (1936: 124; cf. 74 –77). Marx used this concept as
a weapon in his battle against the prevailing ideas and values of his era. He con-
sidered these to be mere expressions and defenses of bourgeois interests.
Nonetheless, we can generally apply the concept of ideology within sociology.
In this application the concept, wrote Mannheim, is not used in a pejorative
sense, “in the sense of insinuating a conscious political lie, but is intended to
designate the outlook inevitably associated with a given historical and social sit-
uation, and the Weltanschauung and style of thought bound up with it” (1936:
125). The most characteristic element of the concept of ideology, as Mannheim
68 Chapter Three

asserted in the same vein, “is the discovery that political thought is integrally
bound up with social life” (1936: 126). This is what he considered the essential
meaning of Marx’s frequently cited statement, “It is not the consciousness of
men that determines their existence but, on the contrary, their social existence
which determines their consciousness.”14
The general application of the concept of ideology marks the emergence of
the sociology of knowledge, the sociology that tries to understand thought in
the framework of the specific social-historical context in which it is developed.
According to Mannheim, one can also explain the creation of this discipline
from the perspective of the sociology of knowledge. In modern times, people
started to give some thought to thought itself because they became increasingly
aware of the existence of divergent views of reality, and the diversity among
these views was steadily increasing (1936: 6 – 9). These tendencies were brought
about by the erosion of stable and close-knit frameworks of interpretation, but-
tressed by tradition and religion, as well as by the growth of geographical and
social mobility. The emergence of the fields of epistemology, psychology, and
sociology may also be explained, according to Mannheim, by the growing
amazement at the enormous variety in worldviews, the desire to explain this va-
riety, and the longing to put an end to the uncertainty that accompanies it
(1936: 13).
In light of the sociology of knowledge, we today understand the “situational
determination” (Seinsgebundenheit) of ideas and see, as Mannheim put it, “that
there are spheres of thought in which it is impossible to conceive of absolute
truth existing independently of the values and position of the subject and unre-
lated to the social context” (1936: 79). People with divergent social positions
look at reality from different perspectives, thereby observing different “facts”
and arriving at different value judgments. No perspective whatsoever, as we
have learned to appreciate in modern times, is superior to another. Today, as
Mannheim wrote, “there are too many points of view of equal value and pres-
tige, each showing the relativity of the other, to permit us to take any position
and to regard it as impregnable and absolute. Only this socially disorganized in-
tellectual situation makes possible the insight, hidden until now by a relatively
stable social structure and the practicability of certain traditional norms, that
every point of view is particular to a social situation” (1936: 84 –85). In short, we
have to appreciate once and for all “that the meanings which make up our
world are simply an historically determined and continuously developing
structure in which man develops, and are in no sense absolute” (1936: 85).
 Karl Mannheim 69

3.2 Relativism or Relationism

Mannheim emphasized that the above position leads not to relativism but to
“relationism.” Knowledge that emanates from our experiences in a specific life
situation is, though not absolute or universal, still knowledge. And, he contin-
ued, “The norms arising out of such actual life situations do not exist in a social
vacuum, but are effective as real sanctions for conduct. Relationism signifies
merely that all of the elements of meaning in a given situation have reference to
one another and derive their significance from this reciprocal interrelationship
in a given frame of thought. Such a system of meanings is possible and valid
only in a given type of historical existence, to which, for a time, it furnishes ap-
propriate expression” (1936: 86). Thus, when the historical context changes, it
is then possible that the old system of norms will no longer fit in with the new
times and the need will arise to adapt the system or even to introduce a new one
(see section 6 below).
That which applies to norms applies also to knowledge in general: as we
noted earlier, knowledge is nothing more than a means to sustain oneself in a
specific historical situation. Therefore, one can say that a theory is “false,” ac-
cording to Mannheim, “if in a given practical situation it uses concepts and cat-
egories which, if taken seriously, would prevent man from adjusting himself at
that historical stage. Antiquated and inapplicable norms, modes of thought,
and theories are likely to degenerate into ideologies whose function it is to con-
ceal the actual meaning of conduct rather than to reveal it” (1936: 95). We may
deduce from this that not all ideas are ideological in character. Real knowledge
exists within a specific social-historical context. Within an ideology, existing re-
ality is represented, consciously or unconsciously, as different, usually better,
than it in fact is, the function of which is to justify this reality and allow it to
persist (1936: 194). Privileged groups use ideologies to retain their position in a
society that is constantly changing. Knowledge is thus ideological “when it fails
to take account of the new realities applying to a situation, and when it at-
tempts to conceal them by thinking of them in categories which are inappro-
priate” (1936: 96). This conception of ideology, Mannheim asserted, is both
evaluative and dynamic: “It is evaluative because it presupposes certain judg-
ments concerning the reality of ideas and structures of consciousness, and it is
dynamic because these judgments are always measured by a reality which is in
constant flux” (1936: 97).
This last statement brings to the fore Mannheim’s struggle with the relativis-
70 Chapter Three

tic conclusions that may be drawn from his sociology of knowledge. This strug-
gle seems to become steadily more beset with doubt in the course of the 1930s
and 1940s: the more atrocious the violations of his notions of humanity and the
stronger his desire to plan, the greater his need for solid justifications of values
and for reliable knowledge. Thus, on the one hand, Mannheim emphasized
time and again that all thought is socially and historically determined. On the
other hand, he believed he could make a distinction between ideology and true
knowledge. The middle roads that he took prove to be hard to negotiate. This
applies first of all to the pragmatic exit route he took above, whereby the “true”
ideas and theories are those that tie in best with, or are appropriate for, the re-
quirements of a specific historical constellation. However, judgments of this
“suitability” inevitably have a normative character. Indeed, it seems that
Mannheim was aware of this when, a few pages later, he called his conception
of ideology “evaluative,” and naming it thus, he undermined the force of his
earlier considerations on true knowledge.15 Nor does Mannheim’s “situational
ethics,” which is related to the above, help us much further in practice. Indeed,
as soon as we are confronted with “outsiders” who, rightly or not, defend their
stance with an appeal to ethics that have been developed in other situations, we
have no answer. However, confrontations like this are continuously becoming
more common—precisely in modern times, which are characterized by mobil-
ity and multiculturalism.16

3.3 Sozial Freischwebende Intelligenz and the

Possibilities for a Political Science

Mannheim saw another escape route, which he brought up when discussing

whether it is possible to build a political science on the model of the natural sci-
ences. In answering this question, he first distinguished between politics and
nonpolitics. The latter refers to “a rationalized sphere consisting of settled and
routinized procedures in dealing with situations that recur in an orderly fash-
ion” (1936: 114). Politics concerns the “irrational sphere” that surrounds this
sphere. The most important characteristic of modern culture is the tendency
“to include as much as possible in the realm of the rational and to bring it un-
der administrative control” (1936: 114). Nonetheless, most of our social life is
still, according to Mannheim, in the irrational sphere. He considered the two
most important sources of this irrationality to be “uncontrolled competition
and domination by force” (1936: 116). Now, the question is what kind of knowl-
edge we can derive from the behavior that takes place in this unstructured,
undirected, irrational domain.
 Karl Mannheim 71

In keeping with his neo-Kantian idealistic principles, Mannheim saw major

problems here (1936: 116, 166, 173). In the present discussion, the main one is
that the observer is never an outsider in the social struggle but always a partici-
pant. This involvement inevitably entails, according to Mannheim, a biased,
subjective view. To demonstrate this, he thoroughly and convincingly analyzed
what he considered to be the five dominant political views of his time: bureau-
cratic conservatism, conservative historicism, bourgeois liberal-democratic
thinking, socialism/communism, and fascism (1936: 117– 46). On that basis, he
concluded “that not only do fundamental orientations, evaluations, and the
content of ideas differ but that the manner of stating a problem, the sort of ap-
proach made, and even the categories in which experiences are subsumed, col-
lected, and ordered vary according to the social position of the observer” (1936:
147).
Does this imply that political science can only be practiced on the basis of a
specific political standpoint and therefore that only party-aligned schools of
thought have the right to exist? Mannheim did not think so. Within such
“party schools,” reality is perceived only from a single perspective, and this van-
tage point is by definition limited and one-sided. We only do justice to reality
by approaching it from several angles (1936: 81). We have to develop a “total vi-
sion” in which all possible perspectives are combined and we thereby have a
“horizon of vision” that is as wide as possible. (1936: 106). There is a distinct pos-
sibility “of an integration of many mutually complementary points of view into
a comprehensive whole” (1936: 149). Because of the fact that today religions,
traditions, or classes no longer determine what “the truth” is and instead a great
pluriformity of visions can coexist, it is possible for the first time in history to
develop a real political science, a science that unifies the alternative approaches
into a entity. But can different styles of thought fuse into a single synthesis?
Mannheim answers affirmatively: “The course of historical development shows
that such a synthesis is possible. . . . Styles of thought undergo uninterrupted
fusion and interpenetration” (1936: 152).
However, which interest, which group will this synthesis create? According
to Mannheim, history has also demonstrated that a “rather classless strata” is
the most likely candidate for this, one that is not too closely connected to the
social order. He calls the anchorless strata, in the words of Alfred Weber, the
“socially unattached intelligentsia” (sozial freischwebende Intelligenz) (1936:
155).17 What the intellectuals in question have in common, despite their differ-
ences, is their schooling. Participation in a shared educational heritage, as
Mannheim wrote, blurs differences in ancestry, status, occupation, and wealth,
72 Chapter Three

and it unifies people. Education exposes the individual to all of the contradic-
tory views that struggle for supremacy in society and makes it possible to sur-
mount these one-sided views. Moreover, the intensity of this exposure increases
to the degree that, as in modern times, intellectuals are recruited from increas-
ingly different social groups. In short, while it is true that the thinking of
groups in society is no more than the product of their specific social position,
when a group has no clear and fixed social position (or at least no longer has
one), then its thinking is relatively free and independent. Whether compelled
to do so or not, intellectuals have freed themselves from their original position
through their education and, in a continual mutual critique, have jointly freed
themselves from the majority of their ideological prejudices. In this way, they
are still in the best position to pass unbiased judgment.
A political science that is independent, situated not within political parties
but at the universities, is now being practiced by this freischwebende Intelligenz.
The research carried out by those involved concerns, among other things, how
attitudes, values, and ideas are related to class interests and explicate the points
of departure and the perspectives on which the observations and explanations
are based (1936: 162–63). The sources of our differences in opinion are then ex-
posed. “A new type of objectivity in the social sciences,” Mannheim asserted in
this train of thought, “is attainable not through the exclusion of evaluations but
through the critical awareness and control of them” (1936: 5). Furthermore, the
all-encompassing syntheses mentioned above are also developed within politi-
cal science. These syntheses supersede the existing individual perspectives,
always restrictive but “mutually complementary” (1936: 149, 152, 161). And fi-
nally, political scientists generate knowledge that is “nonevaluative,” “supraso-
cial,” and “suprahistorical” (1936: 186), an assertion that is no less remarkable in
light of the general thrust of his book. They generate that knowledge by con-
fronting the various existing views of reality with one another, thereby distilling
the evaluative, social, and historical elements from these views.18 As Mann-
heim stated categorically, there are “doubtless, areas of political-historical
knowledge in which there is an autonomous regularity which may be formu-
lated, in large measure, independently of one’s Weltanschauung and political
position” (1936: 186 – 87).19 However, he emphasized that it is where the real
political sphere begins that “the evaluative element cannot easily be separated
out, at least not in the same degree as is possible in formal sociological thinking
and other sorts of purely formalizing knowledge” (1936: 188).20 Indeed, politics
only exists in the irrational domain, and the special nature of political knowl-
edge, as Mannheim wrote, “arises out of the inseparability, in this realm, of
 Karl Mannheim 73

knowledge from interest and motivation. In politics the rational element is in-
herently intertwined with the irrational” (1936: 190). The trend, however, is
that this irrational domain is constantly decreasing in size, and more and more
activities take on an administrative character (1936: 188, 190).
As already noted, it seems that in the course of time Mannheim more and
more desperately sought ways not to have to draw any relativistic conclusions
from his sociology of knowledge. This is also illustrated by the above discus-
sion. In response to Mannheim’s ideas on sozial freischwebende Intelligenz,
Robert Merton compares these efforts by Mannheim to save himself from an
“extreme relativism” to Baron von Münchhausen’s pulling himself out of a
quagmire by his own hair (1968: 561). When all knowledge is socially con-
structed, why would there be any reason to assume that intellectuals would
stand on firmer ground than other groups in society? Lewis Coser arrives at a
similar assessment (1971: 435 –36). According to him, history shows that intel-
lectuals are not much less susceptible to the passions, temptations, and cor-
rupting influences of life than ordinary people. Thus, he considers it rather
naïve to pin all one’s hopes on this group.
In this connection, Mannheim’s epistemological assumption—namely, that
various perspectives are “mutually complementary” and that intellectuals can
unify them in one single synthesis—then seems doubtful, at least in the frame-
work of his own sociology of knowledge.21 This assumption conflicts with his
constantly repeated thesis that all thought is determined by the specific social
positions of those involved. Apparently, these positions, as well as the values
and ideas that are developed within them, are considerably less specific than
Mannheim suggested elsewhere. This nonetheless agrees with the expectation
he continuously reiterated—that our political and ethical differences of opin-
ion will subside over time. Yet it is strange that he looked for the cause of this in
an increase of our knowledge (1936: 190) and not, as would befit his sociology
of knowledge, in a uniformization of social conditions. At the same time, he
emphasized that the views and theories that groups have developed to make a
certain constellation manageable for themselves, and that we can integrate in
order to gain an overall vision of this constellation, can only be transferred from
one constellation to the other to the extent that the forces that have engendered
these constellations are comparable (1936: 176). If this is really the case, then
there can only be a growth in our knowledge when these forces demonstrate an
increasing continuity. Here, it seems that Mannheim implicitly assumed this to
be so: rationalization causes the political sphere to keep shrinking in favor of
administration and makes an end to history possible (see also sections 4.4 and
74 Chapter Three

5.8 below). Yet it is still unclear whether such an end of politics and of the exis-
tence of a pluriformity of visions of reality would concur with Mannheim’s
standpoints on an open, free, and democratic society and, especially, on
“knowledge.” The fact that we are moving together, under the influence of the
same social conditions, characterized by rationalization, toward a single realm
of thought does not by any means prove that this realm of thought is “true” or
“right” or even represents an “overall vision.”

3.4 Qualitative Research

and Interdisciplinarity

Mannheim’s standpoints on the development of an “overall vision,” of a “syn-

thesis” of complementary perspectives, and, especially, of objective, “suprahis-
torical knowledge” are also in conflict with the epistemological doubts about a
political science, which he raised in various places in Ideology and Utopia and in
Man and Society in an Age of Reconstruction. Stimulated by the success found in
the natural sciences, as he observed in the passages in question, people have
continuously narrowed their conception of science, perceiving it as a quest,
characterized by quantification, formalization, and systematization, for objec-
tive, general laws. Quantification is almost impossible in political life, however,
because here, unlike in nature, we are not dealing with “rigid, objective entities
but with tendencies and strivings in a constant state of flux” (1936: 116). Be-
sides, general laws would only be possible if the same forces were constantly
interacting in the same ways. In the domain of politics, however, “the constel-
lation of the interacting forces changes continuously . . . new forces are inces-
santly entering the system and forming unforeseen combinations” (1936:
116).22 Consequently, in the social sciences, according to Mannheim, one
should not be looking for general laws but should be occupied with “the wealth
of the unique, concrete phenomena and structures which are familiar to practi-
cal men of affairs but which are not attainable through the axioms of positivis-
tic science” (1936: 166). An “intellectualistic scientist,” as he later elucidates, al-
ways tries to abstract, to order, and to schematize, whereas the practical,
political actor is primarily looking for a concrete point of reference for his ac-
tions. This search leads him “to view things only in the context of the life-situ-
ations in which they occur.” A scientist, in contrast, uses his abstractions and
systems to unravel “the organic interconnection” (1936: 173 –74). Therefore,
“practical men of affairs” usually have more expertise than positivistic men of
science. Separate from the question of whether this is a correct assessment of
the possibilities of political science, it thus remains to be seen if these reserva-
 Karl Mannheim 75

tions are in conflict with the overall visions and syntheses that Mannheim ad-
vocates. Certainly when nonevaluative, suprasocial, and suprahistorical knowl-
edge is thus distilled, these kinds of knowledge will inevitably be brought about
by abstracting, by systematizing, and by formalizing.
What does in fact agree with Mannheim’s idealistic points of departure and
his calls for total visions is his preference for interdisciplinarity. In Man and So-
ciety, he makes a strong case for conducting research that goes beyond the
boundaries of the discipline and for abolishing the separation, which already
existed in his time, between empirical science and normative theory, between
practitioners of science who occupy themselves with the task of finding or es-
tablishing “the facts” and those who, whether or not on the basis of such facts,
are engaged in formulating social and political “theories” (1940: 27– 35, 158 – 65,
228 –36; cf. 1941b: 65 – 66). The empiricist who studies reality from only one
discipline and perceives phenomena in isolation from their surroundings is, ac-
cording to Mannheim, considerably less realistic than the interdisciplinary the-
oretician who attempts to make a single coherent whole out of all the isolated
observations—regardless of how accurate his observations may actually be. In-
deed, reality constitutes a coherent whole, a whole whose parts we can only un-
derstand in their relation to their context. What is more, the empirical method
is only applicable and useful with regard to objects and relations whose nature
and significance are immediately revealed by their appearance. This is not the
case with regard to “sociological facts,” which are largely formed by motives or
intentions; their significance has to be interpreted and, in Mannheim’s words,
“can only be discovered by reconstructing the whole social context of which
they form a part” (1940: 30).
The constantly growing complexity of society only increases the necessity of
interdisciplinarity, in Mannheim’s view. According to Mannheim, the idea that
there would be pure economics, sociology, philosophy, or psychology dates
back to the time when one could assume (and to some degree rightly so) the ex-
istence of separate, clearly distinguishable spheres in which people could per-
form activities that were exclusively economic, social, political, or psychologi-
cal in character. In modern times, however, when all these spheres affect each
other, this assumption is completely outdated (1940: 158 – 62, 228 – 36). Refer-
ring to this complexity, Mannheim offers a second explanation of the gap be-
tween theoreticians and practitioners, a gap already mentioned above. Just as
Lindblom (1979, 1990) was to do many years later, Mannheim observes that the
layman is often under the impression that after reaching a certain point, men of
science do not make any attempt whatsoever to answer the questions that really
76 Chapter Three

concern men of practice (1940: 164). The reason is, according to Mannheim,
that the sciences are still in a stage of “partial thinking.” This limited discipli-
nary thinking is of little use to those who seek to resolve today’s complex prob-
lems. With regard to the practical considerations that are tied to the real con-
flicts of social life, people are increasingly forced to approach their problems
through “interdependent thinking,” an approach that is not provided by pre-
sent-day sciences (1940: 164). Mannheim is willing to admit that many of those
who are engaged in science have attained a high level as regards the provision of
empirical descriptions and the formulation of pure theory within a specific and
limited domain. “But as regards the technique of synthetic observation an in-
telligent journalist or a leading man of affairs often states the problem in a
much more sophisticated way” (1940: 165).

3.5 The Elites: Their Lack of Social

Engagement and Their Decline

Despite the regular contributions of valuable work by academics, as mentioned

above, “the contemporary mania for what are called facts” and the current lack
of theoretical integration have a big general problem, according to Mannheim,
namely, that the issues that are preeminently social are left up to laymen (1940:
30, cf. 185). Within every society, there is a need for an answer to the issues in
question, no matter how wrong or inappropriate they might be. When profes-
sional social and political theoreticians no longer satisfy this need, the answer
will be provided, as it was in his time, by nonexperts, notably by literary essay-
ists, political dogmatists, and other “phraseologists.” In wording that recalls the
work of Weber, Mannheim wrote: “I am convinced that the meagreness of our
sociological knowledge in regard to essential issues can be traced to the fact that
the specialized social sciences have been absorbed in details and shut them off
from the essential problems, which were involuntarily thrust upon the other
professions. The solution of these vital questions fell into the hands of political
dogmatists and literary essayists, who . . . rarely have had the benefit of the tra-
dition and training that is needed for the responsible elaboration of scientific
facts” (1940: 31). As he went on to say, “Sociology will continue to ignore the es-
sential questions as long as specialists refuse to see their problems as a whole
and leave the synthesis to phraseologists. As long as scientific knowledge is scat-
tered among the different specialists no one is responsible for considering the
problem as a whole, and it passes into the hands of those who have a speculative
axe to grind” (1940: 32).23
This last point brings us back to the topic of uncommitted intellectuals.
 Karl Mannheim 77

They are not only important to Mannheim’s standpoints on science. Along

with other elites, they also play an important role in his ideas on culture and
politics. This upper layer of society preoccupied Mannheim throughout his ca-
reer. The task of the political, intellectual, organizational (managers and bu-
reaucrats), artistic, moral, and religious elites is “to inspire the life of culture
and to lend it form” (1940: 82). Ultimately, their members have to guarantee
that “truth” will prevail, along with social direction, orientation, and stability.
For this reason, Mannheim blamed the cultural and political crisis in the liberal
democracies primarily on the marginalization of their position and influence.
Besides the ivory towers they built for themselves, he named other causes for
this in Man and Society (1940: 86 –96).
First of all, according to Mannheim, the elites have grown so much in num-
ber and diversity that they have become diffuse. Obviously, when too many po-
tential guides are pointing in too many and too divergent directions, the differ-
ent influences will cancel each other out. As a result, chances arise for groups
who pretend to have unambiguous answers for urgent social issues. When these
groups actually do succeed in creating a form of political integration, according
to Mannheim, they can pursue their dictatorial ambitions without meeting
much opposition. This is possible because “all the élites from whom values,
tastes, and standards of judgment could emanate, have cancelled each other
out” (1940: 87; see also section 6.2 below).
Besides this, there is another cause, namely, a “democratization” of access to
the top layer of society. The problem here is not that in a popular democracy
the aristocratic principle of “ascription” is exchanged for that of “achievement.”
That would only be advantageous to the composition and the functioning of
the elites. According to Mannheim, the problem is that the latter principle is
denied by declaring everyone before the fact to be a member of the elite not on
merit but especially on the grounds of ethnicity or nationality (1940: 91). He
points out that the higher culture of the elites is traditionally of a cosmopolitan
nature. Just as in the economy, however, in the culture there is not only a ten-
dency toward internationalization but also a tendency toward regionalization
and nationalization. In a number of cases, the last of these has gained the upper
hand, according to Mannheim. Meanwhile, the old bearers of culture are
ashamed of their cultural and moral values—obtained with great difficulty
through the sublimation of urges and instincts—and have come to see these as
expressions of weakness and cowardice.
Mannheim names one last mechanism underlying the social decline of the
elites, and this one is less complicated: the democratization of the universities
78 Chapter Three

has simply led to an oversupply of highly educated people. As a consequence,

the social status, the reputation, and subsequently the credibility of the entire
elite have been greatly diminished. Moreover, the influx of people from lower
social strata has been so great that, according to Mannheim, the traditional cul-
tural upper crust has not been able to assimilate these masses (1940: 102). In-
stead, the intellectual and moral development of those who should have been
assimilated has become the standard by virtue of their sheer numbers.

4 SOME FUNDAMENTAL ASSUMPTIONS

AND CONCEPTS OF THE SOCIOLOGY
OF PLANNING

Mannheim developed his sociology of planning mainly in Man and Society in

an Age of Reconstruction (1940), Diagnosis of Our Time (1943), and the posthu-
mously published work Freedom, Power and Democratic Planning (1950). The
first of these, the most fundamental of the three, will be taken here as the point
of departure. The leitmotif of all these works is the claim that in modern times
it is no longer possible to base a stable and humane society on the principles of
“laissez-faire” and “muddling through,” and that planning has become an ab-
solute imperative. Before I go into this “planning for freedom,” I shall first con-
sider some of its underlying assumptions and basic concepts.

4.1 The Unbalanced Growth and Social

Distribution of Moral and
Technical Capacity

Mannheim asserts that Man and Society is based on three fundamental assump-
tions (1940: 41–44). First of all, he assumes that for the sake of a society’s stabil-
ity, the moral and the technical human capacities should develop at the same
pace. However, this development could be disproportionate in two ways.
Knowledge of technology and of the physical sciences can develop ahead of the
capacity for moral judgment and faster than insight into the dynamics of social
forces. Furthermore, the judging capacity that is needed to keep social and eco-
nomic problems under control can develop at different paces within the various
social groups and classes.
Second, Mannheim assumes that the rational and moral development of in-
dividuals and groups is determined by the social conditions in which they find
themselves. Because the conditions differ among the various groups, their
members develop different capacities. Thus, if people are not expected to show
 Karl Mannheim 79

independence and initiative, because they are permanently in a subordinate po-

sition, then they will not develop the capacities necessary for such behavior.
Third, Mannheim thinks that modern societies are much more vulnerable
than their predecessors to a disproportionate relation between and an unequal
social distribution of rational and moral capacities. He sees two causes for this.
Modern times are characterized first of all by a fundamental democratization: in-
dustrial society sets in motion those classes that previously had played only a
passive role in political life. In addition, there is a growing interdependence: in-
dividual activities are increasingly linked with each other in larger wholes
(1940: 44).
Let us first consider the entrance of the masses into the political arena. In
Mannheim’s view, industrialization leads to a society in which the masses are
constantly gaining energy and power and are increasingly demanding an ade-
quate defense of their interests. There is one problem, however, namely, that
the members of the strata in question have major shortcomings, both intellec-
tually and, especially, politically. So long as those involved do not play any pub-
lic role of consequence, as in earlier times, this poses no threat, but this changes
as soon as they enter the political arena. If today we often have the impression,
writes Mannheim, “that in times of crisis mass-psychoses rule the world, it is
not because in the past there was less irrationality, but rather because hitherto it
has found an outlet in narrower social circles and in private life; only today, as a
result of the general momentum brought about by industrial society, is it forc-
ing its way into the arena of public life and even at times dominating that
arena” (1940: 45). According to Mannheim, democracy has gradually changed
into what the philosopher Max Scheler called a Stimmungsdemokratie. This
provides scope not so much for rational considerations of conflicting interests
as for sudden emotional outbursts of the masses. So long as the rational capac-
ities of the members of the masses are not raised to a higher level, the democ-
racy will be unstable. Therefore, according to Mannheim, the elites will have to
make a choice: “Either one desires democracy, in which case one must attempt
to bring everyone to more or less similar levels of understanding, or one must
reverse the democratizing process” (1940: 46). We shall see that Mannheim will
more and more emphatically choose the first option.
The second cause of the greater vulnerability of modern societies that
Mannheim identifies is the significantly higher degree of social interdepen-
dence. The large number of social interactions and mutual interdependencies
has made these societies much less capable than past social orders were of ab-
sorbing irrational shocks. Mannheim draws a comparison within the transport
80 Chapter Three

system. Previously, when the chassis of a carriage collapsed, the rest of the traffic
could go around it and keep moving. Today, if a train derails, the entire net-
work comes to a standstill. For the economy, the increase of interdependence
worldwide means, for instance, that overproduction in one market is immedi-
ately felt in another. For politics, this means that when the masses run wild and
turn violent, they can bring down a whole society and even the entire interna-
tional community.24
In sum, if in the short term the development of our rational and moral ca-
pacities were not brought into equilibrium with that of our technical capaci-
ties, then Mannheim would foresee the collapse of our social order (1940: 50).
He had little hope of balance being spontaneously achieved. The experiences of
the past several decades demonstrate beyond a doubt that “the human mind,
when suddenly brought into unfavourable circumstances, can relapse quite di-
rectly into earlier stages of development” (1940: 51). Thus, for Mannheim, the
crucial question is, Which conditions must be created to develop the desired ra-
tional and moral capacities? Before we can discuss his answer to this question,
however, it is important to explain the meanings that Mannheim ascribed to
the concepts of rationality and morality.

4.2 Substantial and Functional Rationality

and Morality

First of all, Mannheim made a well-known but not always clear distinction be-
tween substantial rationality and functional rationality. According to him, sub-
stantial rationality is “an act of thought which reveals insight into the inter-rela-
tions of events in a given situation” (1940: 53). One may speak of substantial
irrationality when a thought is incorrect and thus does not provide insight into
the situation in question or when, all things considered, there is no thought, as
in the case of urges, inclinations, desires, and feelings. Elsewhere in his book,
Mannheim also emphasized the capacity for independent judgment that is in-
herent in substantial rationality: it is the capacity “to act intelligently in a given
situation on the basis of one’s own insight into the interrelations of events”
(1940: 58).
Mannheim would speak of functional rationality when a series of actions is
organized in such a way that it leads to a predefined goal. Each act performs a
specific function to that end. Moreover, this functional rationality is optimal
when the goal is achieved by using as few resources as possible (1940: 53). Thus,
the aim of a maximal result with minimal resources does not have to be reached
to be able to call the effort functional rational action. Crucial here is the aim.
 Karl Mannheim 81

Nor is it important whether or not the goal that someone is aiming for is indeed
a substantial rational one. What matters is the way in which people try to real-
ize a goal. Furthermore, whether or not an action is a functional rational one at
the macro level can only be established by determining its relation to the entire
complex of action of which it forms a part. The functional rationality of an act
performed by one actor can indeed be completely canceled out by an act per-
formed by another actor, which on its own accord does not necessarily have to
be less functionally rational in character. Finally, it is important to note that the
two forms of rationality in no way exclude each other: actions can be both sub-
stantially and functionally rational in character, and in principle the one does
not have to exist at the expense of the other (we saw the same condition in We-
ber’s descriptions of value rationality and instrumental rationality).
In general, one can nonetheless state, according to Mannheim, that the
number of spheres of life that have a functionally rational nature has constantly
grown. He considered the driving force behind this development to be indus-
trialization and the division of labor it entails (1940: 58). This process ensures
that more and more spheres of action come into being in which this limited ra-
tionality predominates, to which people unavoidably have to adapt.25 At the
same time, however, industrialization puts a brake on the development of sub-
stantial rationality, the capacity of the average individual to form an indepen-
dent judgment. Precisely the events of the 1930s have, according to Mannheim,
made clear how catastrophic the consequences of the spread of functional ratio-
nality are for its substantial counterpart. Functional rationalization, he wrote,
“is, in its very nature, bound to deprive the average individual of thought, in-
sight, and responsibility and to transfer these capacities to the individuals who
direct the process of rationalization” (1940: 58). According to Mannheim, every
time that someone enters into a functionally rationalized set of activities, he
gives up part of his individuality. From then on, others make decisions for him.
He subsequently becomes more and more accustomed to direction and less and
less makes an effort to interpret events independently.26 Instead, he steers by
the compass of other people. When the rationalized society ends up in turbu-
lent seas and this compass is useless, he is no longer able to set his own course.
Then he experiences society in the same way as primitive man experienced na-
ture: as unintelligible, unpredictable, and terrifying. Like a cornered creature,
he might then make desperate moves. Mannheim considered the most worri-
some of these to be the call for a strong leader and a total ideology that seems to
have the final word and an answer to all questions.
Besides rationality in the “intellectual” sphere—the subject of the above dis-
82 Chapter Three

cussion—Mannheim distinguished rationality in the “moral” sphere as well.27

The two forms develop in parallel in a society. Also, with respect to morality,
Mannheim subsequently distinguished between a substantial and a functional
variant. A functional morality consists of standards that, when put into practice,
ensure that society will run smoothly. A substantial morality consists of certain
concrete values, such as “dictates of faith and different kinds of feeling” (1940:
67).28 The basis of these values, as Mannheim explained, can be “totally irra-
tional,” but the fact is they do exist. Now, the more a society is functionally ra-
tionalized, the more, according to Mannheim, substantial morality is excluded
from the public sphere. Functional morality will then predominate. He saw
one expression of this in the spread of the ideal of tolerance. This ideal does not
spring from any deep conviction. It merely serves the function of excluding sub-
jective convictions from public discussion. In this way, social interactions can
run more smoothly. In Mannheim’s words, “The more modern mass-society is
functionally rationalized the more it tends to neutralize substantial morality or
to sidetrack it into the ‘private’ sphere. In public matters it seeks to confine it-
self to universal standards which have a purely functional significance. The idea
of tolerance is nothing more than the philosophical formulation of the ten-
dency to exclude all subjective or sectarian belief from public discussion, that is
to do away with substantial irrationality,29 retaining merely those customs
which facilitate the smooth working of social relations” (1940: 67; cf. 1941: 7).30

4.3 The Awareness of the Need for Planning

Mannheim saw roughly three (ideal-typical) stages in the historical develop-

ment of moralities, culminating in a general awareness that we have to plan our
environment. In this sketch, he did not explicitly return to his previous distinc-
tion between functional and substantial rationality. From the context, however,
it proves that both notions correspond to their counterparts in the area of
morals. His analysis is grounded in his standpoints on the sociology of knowl-
edge. In Man and Society, he asserted that the form and the content of our
thoughts vary with the situation in which and about which we think. A
thought is a more or less suitable instrument for performing specific functions
under certain conditions. Thus, its “truth” is ultimately dependent on its use-
fulness in a specific situation. As Mannheim wrote, there is “no thought ‘as
such’; a specific type of living creature thinks in a world with a specific type of
structure in order to fulfil certain specific life-functions” (1940: 149). If the con-
ditions change, then so do our ideas, at least if we want to adapt ourselves opti-
 Karl Mannheim 83

mally. This standpoint corresponds in part with that of the American pragma-
tists with whom Mannheim identified himself in his later work.
In the first stage that Mannheim distinguished, people have the morality of
the horde, which, following Emile Durkheim, he called “mechanical solidar-
ity.” Here, the individual is not yet conscious of existing as a separate being. He
is incapable of making independent judgments or of recognizing and assuming
personal responsibility. One blends completely into the group and also has an
identity that is identical to that of the group. The group has adapted as a whole
to the specific prevailing conditions and imposes this adaptation on each mem-
ber through tradition and force. Only in the second stage, according to Mann-
heim, do self-confident, responsible, and judicious people develop. This period
is characterized by mutual rivalry. People constantly need to adapt to their en-
vironment and to think ahead, since they could otherwise go down in the com-
petitive struggle.31 In this way, they develop a capacity to calculate risks, op-
tions, and chances from their own egocentric perspective. While this represents
progress with respect to the first stage, individuals nonetheless remain blind to
the relations between their personal activities and the course of events as a
whole. They only develop this insight in the last stage. Here, individuals be-
come parts of large groups—companies, trade unions, parties. The members
of these bodies have goals and interests in common, albeit in opposition to
other groups. Moreover, they have to act jointly to attain these goals. As a result
of this, the individual starts to learn, according to Mannheim, that it may
sometimes be to his own advantage to subordinate his immediate, short-term
interests to the interests of the collective. There is growing insight into the in-
terdependence of events and into the way the entire social mechanism operates.
And in this way, the members of society attain the highest level of morality.
They understand the need for planning. As Mannheim asserted, “The individ-
ual is beginning to realize that he must plan the whole of his society and not
merely parts of it; that, further, in the course of this planning, he must show a
certain concern for the fate of the whole” (1940: 70).
In his time, Mannheim saw people mostly as still in the second stage, and he
did not expect his generation to get beyond it. Only particularistic groups
make plans, trying thereby primarily to safeguard their limited group interest.
Nonetheless, this “biased planning” trains the individual to look ahead and to
make considered judgments, to take others’ welfare into account, and to as-
sume responsibility for the whole course of events in society (1940: 70). Thus,
the conditions are present for a growth toward a higher level of morality.32 Just
84 Chapter Three

as in the development of intellectual rationality, however, here too Mannheim

saw democratization as a possible threat. He pointed to the great differences in
the moralities that apply in the spheres of private life and politics. In the latter
sphere, particularly in international politics, there is a prevailing Machiavellian
mood, whereby no restrictions apply when it comes to seizing power and hold-
ing onto it. So long as politics was the prerogative of a small social elite, the con-
sequences of being aware of this could remain limited, according to Mann-
heim. The elites took recourse to irony and cynicism, sublimating their
discomfort with the conflict between the values proclaimed in the personal and
the political spheres. Yet as soon as “the mob” also discovered the secret that the
politics of the state are ultimately based on violence, robbery, and plunder, the
public morality might sink back to a primitive level: “If it becomes clear to the
broad masses that robbery is the historical origin as well as the present basis of
the state and of the relations between states, and that also through robberies
and plundering success and social status can be gained for entire groups, the
gradual educative influence of industrialization and a rise in the social scale will
have been in vain” (1940: 72).
Eighty pages later in his book, Mannheim returned to the development of
the awareness of the need for planning. This discussion is couched in his treat-
ment of the three fundamental stages in the history of “thought,” which, ac-
cording to him, may be distinguished as such (1940: 150 – 55). In sketching this
development, Mannheim did not use the pair of concepts that he had intro-
duced earlier, namely, functional and substantial rationality and morality, even
though using them would seem the obvious thing to do. Nor did he explicitly
draw any parallels with the developmental stages of the rationalities and moral-
ities treated above. Thus, he neglected to note that it is more worthwhile to en-
gage in planning today because we have learned that our actions have conse-
quences for others and because we have developed the moral conviction that we
should take this into account in our behavior, which we can only do by plan-
ning.
In the first stage that Mannheim distinguished, natural selection still regu-
lates all of the processes, and individuals discover, apparently by accident, the
reaction that best suits a certain stimulus. Thinking consists of remembering
this fitting reaction. In the second stage, in which we still find ourselves for the
most part, the individual sets himself a specific goal and figures out which in-
struments, which tools or institutions, are the most suitable to bring him closer
to reaching it. However, once the technical and institutional instruments in
question have been created, then these start to lead a life of their own, though
 Karl Mannheim 85

undesired and uncontrolled by the individual. Their interactions present the

individual with new situations to which he must adapt. In part, his environ-
ment is constantly imposing his goals upon him. Yet today we are able, and we
are also more and more forced, to be in the third stage—the stage of planning.
In this stage, we also regulate the interactions between the instruments that we
have created to attain certain goals. According to Mannheim, we may speak of
planning “when man and society advance from the deliberate invention of sin-
gle objects or institutions to the deliberate regulation and intelligent mastery of
the relationships between these objects. Formerly these relationships were sim-
ply governed by the random working of cause and effect, and regulated by con-
flict, competition, and the selection they bring in their train. The most decisive
change occurs when man awakes to the necessity of regulating these gaps be-
tween existing relationships and when, in response to this, new patterns of
thought arise” (1940: 152– 53). Thus, in the last stage, people not only acknowl-
edge the direct, limited consequences of pursuing their particular goals. They
moreover take into consideration the long-term consequences for the whole.
They are forced to do so by the new problems that the unregulated interactions
cause between the instruments that they have created to solve old problems. If
they design economic institutions, for instance, they now take into account the
consequences these might have for social, political, and cultural institutions
and their mutual interactions.
The necessity to plan is also growing for individual organizations. According
to Mannheim, their flexibility and capacity to adapt diminishes as these bodies
get bigger and are to a larger extent internally organized, as they are in a mod-
ern society (1940: 155 –63). For instance, in times of economic crisis or rapid
economic change, small enterprises are better able to survive than large ones.33
For Mannheim, generally speaking, the more thoroughly certain activities are
organized, the less suited they are to an unregulated environment. Conse-
quently, there is a growing need for planning in this environment. Once people
deliberately begin to organize activities, there is, in other words, no way back
(compare Weber’s explanation of the tendency toward bureaucratization). It is
the only way to resist the problems that are caused by the spontaneous interac-
tions between various domains and institutions of organized activities. Thus,
mass unemployment is created by the lack of planning for the interactions be-
tween individual economic actors. Moreover, Mannheim asserted that the
growing density of events (Dichtigkeit des Geschehens) makes it less and less
likely that a natural equilibrium will be achieved through competition and mu-
tual adaptation (compare section 4.1 above, where Mannheim treats the influ-
86 Chapter Three

ence of the increased social interdependence on stability). He illustrated this in

terms of traffic: so long as only two vehicles arrive at a crossing every five min-
utes, there will be sufficient room to maneuver for the drivers to get through the
intersection without colliding. But as soon as numerous cars approach the
crossing every second from different directions, a traffic officer becomes indis-
pensable. No one can adapt individually, and under these circumstances every-
one is better off by submitting to the officer’s plan (1940: 157).34

4.4 The Planning of Personalities

and the End of History

As Mannheim emphasized, planning does not mean that major social develop-
ments are created. These developments and their underlying impetus are actu-
ally taken as a strategic point of departure and are reconstructed (1940: 14, 190).
The planner assiduously follows the social developments and then intervenes
in them and reinforces them at points where their driving forces impact one an-
other. Moreover, he does this only at the precise moment when and where,
from that particular position, vital decisions can and must be made. As
Mannheim wrote, the essence of planning is that from central places people
penetrate deeper and deeper into domains that were previously connected with
each other only very indirectly, and they keep doing so until they control the
whole (1940: 191). Yet planning is distinguished from “administration” in the
sense that the former still takes places in a historical context. Political, strategic
decisions still have to be made about the direction in which people want to
guide current social developments. Nonetheless, according to Mannheim,
planning can turn into administration in the end and thus, in present-day par-
lance, “the end of history” is conceivable: “Planning is the reconstruction of an
historically developed society into a unity which is regulated more and more
perfectly by mankind from certain central positions. It is possible, of course,
that the age of planning will be followed by one of mere administration. It is
also possible that at a later stage all that we now call history, namely the unfore-
seeable, fateful dominance of uncontrolled social forces, will come to an end”
(1940: 193).
The scope of the planning that Mannheim envisions is ambitious: ulti-
mately, it also proves to encompass the formation of personality. As indicated
earlier, he saw human beings as the product of their circumstances. By chang-
ing the particular technical, cultural, political, economic, and social circum-
stances, one can thus also change human nature—of course, within the con-
 Karl Mannheim 87

straints of some biologically determined preconditions (1940: 121–28, 202– 05).

In his opinion, there is every reason to make such a change. We live in a time
when the education of individuals can no longer be left to coincidence and ar-
bitrary situations. Here too, diligent planning is called for. In order to straighten
out the current unbalanced growth and social distribution of moral and tech-
nical capacities—a situation that is extremely threatening to social stability—
we have to create the social conditions that cultivate the necessary rational and
moral capacities among all citizens (see section 4.1 above).35
In connection with this last point, in the more or less concurrent emergence
of pragmatism, behaviorism, and psychoanalysis, Mannheim saw evidence of
the objective necessity for the planning of personalities. In his view, these di-
rections have also arisen primarily because the social constellation called for
them. To illustrate this, and to refine his standpoint further, Mannheim exten-
sively discussed behaviorism, among other topics (1940: 205 –22). His critique
of this direction says a great deal. According to him, this psychological field is
clearly focused on planning, on discovering laws to serve the purposes of con-
trol, yet it only studies those human behaviors that can be observed. It de-
liberately leaves everything that ultimately motivates these behaviors out of
the picture. If the intention is really to change man and society, then, from
Mannheim’s perspective, one will have to do more than recognize and control
externalities: one will have to penetrate the human psyche. To do so obviously
requires a different scientific method, a “verstehende” method (1940: 217). Un-
derstandably, Mannheim therefore welcomed the development of psycho-
analysis. According to him, the presence of the will to plan is abundantly clear
in this direction as well. This is apparent in the effort to regulate those parts of
a person’s psychological life that have been the most obscure until now and
were experienced as uncontrollable natural forces: “the adaptation and the mal-
formations of the unconscious” (1940: 219). Yet psychoanalysis is inadequate
because it only considers the individual and his problems and not the social en-
vironment that produced this individual. According to Mannheim, the repre-
sentatives of this field do not understand that we can only solve many of the
mental problems when we have transformed the whole social constellation. So-
ciologists and psychologists have to combine their insights in this endeavor.
Our knowledge in this field is still far from perfect, but in Mannheim’s opinion
we have come so far in the meantime that we can imagine “how to plan the best
possible types by deliberately reorganizing the various groups of social factors”
(1940: 222).
88 Chapter Three

5 PLANNING FOR FREEDOM

The last part of Man and Society bears the title with which people nowadays
usually associate Mannheim: Planning for Freedom. The essays that preceded it
served as an introduction to this part. Here too, though, Mannheim rarely re-
ferred to the notions and conceptions that he had introduced earlier, and he
made hardly any effort to build upon previous lines of argumentation. The in-
dividual essays and the associative whole are valuable nonetheless. First of all,
Mannheim examined the dissemination of functionalistic thinking and its
shortcomings. This ties in, in principle, with his explanations of the develop-
ment of our morality and of our thinking about planning. His primary aim
here was to elucidate our ambivalent attitude toward planning: on the one hand,
we plan more and more in a continually increasing number of spheres of life,
while on the other hand planning evokes a certain fear in us, a fear that we shall
lose our freedom. All things considered, this forms the leitmotif of the whole
part under the heading “planning for freedom.”

5.1 Our Ambivalent Attitude toward

Planning and the Functionalistic
Manner of Thinking

The possibilities for people to get a grip on their environment have continu-
ously expanded, as Mannheim observed. As a result, people lose their tradi-
tional, passive, or fatalistic attitude whereby they experience events as being
completely beyond their influence. Slowly but surely, this attitude makes way
for a functionalistic, technical attitude. The modern individual who is edu-
cated with this attitude no longer sees anything as a goal in itself, according to
Mannheim, but rather sees everything as an instrument for something else. In
the same way, the modern individual will never ask about the essence of some-
thing but always about how it can be produced (1940: 241).
The eighteenth-century Romantics were the first to resist the ascendancy of
functionalist thought. They warned, and rightly so, according to Mannheim,
that it makes a difference if one applies such thinking to nonliving material ob-
jects or to living beings. In the latter case, the consequence is inhumanity: per-
sonal, meaningful relationships are translated into cold mechanical categories.
Therefore, the Romantics championed the value of the traditional, organic way
of thinking, whereby people accepted things simply as they presented them-
selves.36 In the same way we should, in their opinion, accept moral and reli-
gious or spiritual experiences as given standards that do not require any further
 Karl Mannheim 89

explanation or legitimation. Unlike the perception within the functional ap-

proach, these standards are thus not taken as products of society that we can
change with the assistance of science and by way of politics (1940: 242).
In Mannheim’s view, the criticism that the Romantics and their disciples
have made of the functionalist attitude is still applicable.37 The critique helps
us to perceive its limitations and to understand the dangers posed by a society
in which it predominates. However, the critics in question fall short of the
mark, in his assessment, because they do not recognize how indispensable the
functionalist approach has become to our present-day society and how liberat-
ing and enriching it can be. In more and more spheres of life, people have cast
off the attitude in which they passively undergo events, and instead, often with
very good reason and results, they actively and deliberately intervene in these
events. In other words, people have come to plan and thereby have continu-
ously increased their freedom.

5.2 Concentration of Power through

Application of Social Techniques

Functionalist or technical thinking first developed, as the word itself suggests,

in technology. Afterward, it was applied more and more to man and his social
relations. Ultimately, the development of our organizational methods comes
down to translating technical conceptions into forms of human cooperation.
Accordingly, individuals are seen as parts of machines, and organizations are
seen as machines. Education and training make the actions and reactions of in-
dividuals calculable and predictable to some extent, thereby allowing them to
be inserted in an organization. In this machine, all actions are coordinated ac-
cording to a principle of efficiency (1940: 244). From this perspective, any so-
cial organization may be seen as a specific social technique to generate a certain
kind of human behavior. Mannheim describes all social techniques together as
“practices and agencies which have as their ultimate aim the moulding of hu-
man behaviour and of social relationships” (1940: 247). In this connection, one
can think of habits, conventions, divisions of labor, bureaucracies, and armies,
but also of propaganda practices and the institutions behind them.
Mannheim identified the development of increasingly sophisticated social
techniques as one of the three most important driving forces of the great social
changes of his time (1940: 250 –52).38 Thanks to these modern techniques, hu-
man behavior can be controlled considerably more efficiently nowadays than in
the past. In that light, their main characteristic is that they induce a centraliza-
tion of power. In the days when the only weapons were guns, as Mannheim elu-
90 Chapter Three

cidated in his essay “Diagnosis of Our Time” (1941), it took a thousand men to
subject a thousand others. Today that can be accomplished with a single bomb.
An identical development has occurred in the domain of government. Tele-
phone, radio, expressways, railroads, the scientific management of large orga-
nizations, the new techniques developed for use in education and social ser-
vices, and the manipulation and formation of public opinion—all of these
promote the centralization of power.
The growing range of possibilities for decisions to be made by persons in a
small number of key positions makes planning not only conceivable but also
unavoidable, according to Mannheim (1941a: 3). In his view, the final explana-
tion for the emergence of totalitarian states in the interbellum period is the
continual spread of new social techniques: while the leaders of the democracies
involved deferred using them, the antidemocrates made optimal use of the
new techniques. The same threatens to occur, according to Mannheim, in the
democracies that still exist. Here too, some individuals and groups may come
to the fore seeking to use the modern techniques for their own benefit. This
process is accelerated by disasters like wars, hyperinflation, and mass unem-
ployment. That is why the existing democracies have no choice but to make
deliberate use of the available social techniques and options for planning. In
“Diagnosis of Our Time,” Mannheim calls this option “The Third Way: A
Militant Democracy.”

5.3 The Creation of Indispensable Social

Consensus with Social Techniques

When Mannheim referred to social techniques in this section of Man and Soci-
ety, it seems he was thinking mainly of modern means of mass communication,
such as radio and film. He was opposed to the tendency to dismiss the applica-
tion of techniques of this kind in totalitarian societies completely as reprehen-
sible tools of repression and propaganda. In a mass society, where a large por-
tion of the population have had hardly any chance to advance themselves, we
cannot permit ourselves to take an “aristocratic” standpoint like this, in his
view. Modern social techniques are a vital necessity if large-scale industrialized
societies are to survive—societies that are constantly under threat of disinte-
gration and in which the traditional integrative institutions, such as home,
church, and school, have lost all influence (1940: 260).
Mannheim acknowledged the dangers that these techniques could pose:
they could lead to a soulless uniformity. However, just as in the case of ongoing
rationalization, there is no longer any way back. Because people could build
 Karl Mannheim 91

upon the shared values that they had inherited from the traditional medieval
culture, in the liberal era they could permit themselves to stand up for individ-
ual freedom and nothing else. Yet according to Mannheim, the community
culture has been lost because of this unbridled liberalism. Chaos is threatening,
and in its wake may come a call for a strong authority to instate order. There-
fore, we shall have to create a new normative consensus by applying the avail-
able social techniques. This is a lesson the democracies should learn from the
totalitarian states. Old values that we lost in the era of unlimited competition
will have to be rediscovered in the process (1940: 264). Against this backdrop of
shared values, we can subsequently create room for individuality, creativity, di-
versity, and innovation. Mannheim considered the most appropriate place for
this to be the small group, where everyone gets to know his responsibilities
without getting lost in the anonymity of the masses.39

5.4 Some Techniques of Social Control

Besides propaganda there are many other techniques of social control, both di-
rect and indirect, that can provide the consensus, integration, and stability that
a society requires. According to Mannheim, societies may be distinguished pri-
marily by their use of different combinations of these techniques. Some of
them can make an important contribution to a kind of planning that does not
undermine individual freedom.
Direct social control consists of intervention from the immediate surround-
ings—the father, the neighbor, the chieftain, a fellow villager (140: 269). This
form is dominant in primitive societies. Control is exercised by an identifiable
person, but this person is only the vehicle of the culture of which he is an expo-
nent. Mannheim points to habits as a product of this form of social control.
They ensure a minimum of consensus among the members of a community
(1940: 278 – 80). From the very beginning, people are conditioned in this sense,
and they are therefore hardly aware, if at all, of alternative ways of thinking and
acting. Habits are thus rarely exposed to rational or emotional assessment.40
The ways in which they are acquired vary from using violence to rewarding de-
sired behavior. Mannheim emphasized that numerous seemingly natural be-
haviors are learned by the latter means. The urge to compete illustrates this, in
his view. In our society, people are rewarded time after time when then they win
and are punished when they lose. The competitive impulse is thereby con-
stantly being reinforced.
Social control can also consist of a more subtle form of influence that is less
visible and direct. With reference to Durkheim, Mannheim wrote that such in-
92 Chapter Three

fluence is found in a developed society with a relatively more elaborate division

of labor (1940: 269). This division of labor makes individuals more dependent
on others and on society and creates new kinds of control, which are exercised
without a person or an institution being directly responsible for it. In general
terms, Mannheim speaks of indirect social control “when it is a question of in-
fluencing the action, outlook, and habits of the individual by conscious or un-
conscious control of the natural, social, or cultural surroundings” (1940: 275).
Here, influence is not exercised by any concrete individuals. Rather, it is the in-
visible pressure emanating from the situation that induces the average individ-
ual to do what is expected of him, seemingly entirely of his own accord. In
short, he seems to choose but actually has no choice.41
Mannheim distinguished various indirect techniques of social control (1940:
285 –311). According to him, control can first of all take shape by way of tradi-
tional institutions (rituals and ceremonies), customs, and conventions. This
occurs in communities, such as the family, the tribe, and the village.42 These
communities are never planned, and they influence the existence of the mem-
bers in every respect. People acquire their membership by birthright and not by
making a conscious choice. Reciprocal social control maintains the prevailing
norms and customs. According to Mannheim, industrialization is increasingly
eroding the pivotal role this indirect form of control once played: this process is
what started the dissolution of traditional communities (1940: 291).
A second technique of indirect control is the rationalization of behavior by
an extensive rational system of rules and regulations. These are used in associa-
tions, such as companies and government bureaucracies. Associations or, when
they are rationalized to a greater extent, organizations are deliberately created by
people to work together in an orderly fashion to achieve a certain goal. They
touch only a limited part of the lives of their members, and membership is vol-
untary, such that individuals can take leave of it at any time they so desire.
There are written statutes and rules, and there are authorities who watch to see
that these are actually obeyed. Mannheim sees administrations in the private
and public sector as the most important current example of organizations. Typ-
ically, they serve as a vehicle for achieving externally set goals. In this sense, they
are apolitical and can only come into being once the external political conflict
over values and goals has been fought out. The longer the goals and the corre-
sponding means have been in force, the sooner the disputes about them will di-
minish and goals and means will be laid down in hard and fast rules. This re-
duces the size of the political sphere, the sphere where battles are fought over
 Karl Mannheim 93

values and goals. Overall, according to Mannheim, this sphere keeps shrinking
because new associations and organizations are constantly being set up in mod-
ern societies, and small associations and organizations are being merged into
larger groups (1940: 294).
Third, human behavior can be controlled by means of “field structures.” These
fit in somewhere between concrete groups and huge organizations. Mannheim
took the world of trade as an example. Here, a field structure consists of a unique
network covering multiple groups and spanning many countries, whereby the
network consists of the interdependent activities that characterize the field in
question. One might think of economic exchange, transport, business trips, cor-
respondence, bookkeeping, speculative investment, and so forth. For instance,
under the influence of this field, during the Middle Ages a pattern of economic
thought and action developed among traders, one that clearly deviated from
that of the other members of their community. In a field structure, control con-
sists of a combination of spontaneous mutual adaptations among the actors who
are present in the field and a deliberate effort to establish the rules of the game.
The latter activity may or may not be performed by a central authority.
To Mannheim, the fields can serve as a useful alternative to laissez-faire and
full-fledged planning, a kind of middle road (1940: 298 – 99). Within a planned
society, there may be fields in which competition and adaptation are preemi-
nent and in which the central authority then only intervenes strategically to
change the rules of the game when the results would be harmful to society or
would be in conflict with the democratically established central plan. Such a so-
lution, wrote Mannheim, “would stimulate the creative impulses of acting in-
dividuals without leaving every social activity in a state of chaos” (1940: 299).
Finally, according to Mannheim, we can control people by way of social
mechanisms, such as competition, division of labor, and distribution of power
(1940: 306–11). These mechanisms partly overlap with the field structures. Com-
petition is perhaps the most widespread social mechanism. Generally, it is only
considered to be applicable to the economy but, as Mannheim emphasized, it
can be effective in every conceivable sphere of social life, from the military to mar-
riage. At the same time, it can be deliberately called into service. For instance,
the head of a bureaucracy or a university might decide to introduce a form of
reward based on achievement in order to increase the “productivity” of the in-
stitution. The concomitant increase in competition among the staff has major
consequences for the behavior of the persons involved: it changes their attitude
toward their work, their colleagues, their clients, their employer, and so on.
94 Chapter Three

5.5 The Pros and Cons of Various Possible

Techniques of Control

The above overview of possible methods of social control demonstrates once

again, according to Mannheim, that we should not take the methods that we
use today for granted, as they are neither necessary nor inalterable. Moreover,
this overview releases us from the idea that there are only rigid techniques of
control and that control must necessarily lead to uniformity. For Mannheim,
progress in the development of techniques of control consists primarily of
“making it less mechanical” and “compensating for its inhuman detachment”
(1940: 311). Every society applies techniques of social control, but so far the
choice has been determined by the “accumulation of circumstances.” Some-
where in society, the switches were pulled at certain periods, but as a rule this
was done indiscriminately, unconsciously, and without a view to consequences
for society and individuals, which in some cases have been far reaching. Today,
however, we are in a position to choose, according to Mannheim. For the sake of
freedom, diversity, and humanity, we can consciously plan which techniques
are to be used in which spheres.
Mannheim treated the criteria by which we must give shape to this planning
but did so only in very general terms. First, he observed and welcomed the fact
that, over time, less and less use is made of direct forms of control and more and
more use of indirect influence. Ideally, an individual is induced to develop per-
manent or sustainable behaviors and attitudes by society’s patterns, structures,
relations, and mechanisms. This is far more preferable than the application of
techniques of direct control, such as intimidation, suggestion, making emo-
tional appeals, agitation, or even education. These provide no more than tem-
porary solutions for certain behavioral problems and leave much less room for
individual autonomy. A modern society, as Mannheim posited with reference
to John Dewey, allows its citizens to learn by experience and adjustment instead
of by shock methods (1940: 312).
Further, Mannheim restricted his treatment of indirect influence largely to
the pros and cons of bureaucratization and centralization.43 As he wrote, al-
though centralized decision-making is highly effective and efficient, it may be
detrimental to such values as individuality and diversity. Therefore, in certain
situations, as specified by the central plan, he considered it legitimate to make
room for relatively autonomous domains, where people can act upon their own
preferences and ideas without frustrating the planning process that is being
conducted by persons in key positions. However, decentralization is not the
 Karl Mannheim 95

only answer to the dangers of uniformization and dehumanization. It is also

possible to humanize the hierarchical bureaucratic organization. Yet Mann-
heim, just like Weber, emphasized that this can only be done in full cognizance
of the fact that stripping the bureaucracy of all emotion is part of the price that
we must pay for its efficiency and objectivity (1940: 321–22). We must never
forget that the impersonal bureaucracy often provided a well-chosen answer to
inefficiency, arbitrariness, patronage, nepotism, and individual misuse of power.
Nonetheless, there are possibilities for limiting the extent of detachment in bu-
reaucracies. This is demonstrated, in his view, by the client-friendly character
often seen in company bureaucracies.44 Likewise, in Mannheim’s opinion, this
is demonstrated by the emergence of the social worker. On the one hand, he is
an old-fashioned bureaucrat who performs administrative tasks, but on the
other hand he is their help and stay, who puts a new organized form of charity
into practice. The modern social worker “adds a touch of emotion and vitality
to ordinary intercourse without becoming personally committed or attached”
(1940: 324). According to Mannheim, the arrival of the social worker proves
how elastic organized activities can be and how other mentalities can be incor-
porated in a bureaucratic organization. Mannheim proposes various ways to
promote this, one of which is to combine the functions that are now performed
by several individuals in the job of a single person. In addition, he advocates re-
cruiting and training more individuals who are capable of combining a per-
sonal involvement with a professional objectivity and who, apart from this,
“will do only work which has a purpose” (1940: 324).45
In short, according to Mannheim, those who sound the alarm about the
spread of bureaucracy do not realize that any organization has to adapt to the
constraints of the times. Besides, they forget that bureaucracies are indispens-
able in a modern industrialized society. The aim of old-fashioned liberals to re-
place all bureaucracies by processes of mutual control is, in Mannheim’s view,
outdated. Their aim of a social system based on contracts among free individu-
als is not only unworkable in the present but also, because of the social charac-
ter of nearly every transition at present, leads to a situation whereby private
interests are constantly damaging the general interest (1940: 325). Yet in Mann-
heim’s assessment, the current antagonism between administration and com-
petition will steadily diminish. Eventually, there will be an amalgamation, the
precise composition of which will depend on the specific social problem that
has to be resolved. The most important question that remains for Mannheim is
which of the two guiding principles—planning and competition—will form
the framework that incorporates the other one (1940: 326). On the one hand,
96 Chapter Three

the planned society can form the framework within which we can apply the
mechanism of competition, at least in some places. On the other hand, the ba-
sic relations are determined by conflict and competition, and within that con-
text the administration is no more than an enclave. On the grounds of the
above arguments, it should be clear that Mannheim chose the former option.
Mannheim did not devote many words to the question of how the planning
he advocates would take shape in practice. In a few dispersed passages, he un-
veiled little more than its general contours. And in doing so, most of the time
he restricted himself to a discussion of the economic sphere. On this topic he
wrote, among other things, that the freedom of the consumers and the entre-
preneurs in a planned economy is subordinate to the stabilization of the eco-
nomic cycle (1940: 348). He considered the impossibility of predicting the
constantly changing consumer preferences to be one of the main causes of im-
balances in the economy. Therefore, “a comparative uniformity of taste” should
be created. Mannheim did not think it would be much of a sacrifice to have to
give up the enormous diversity in the present supply of consumer goods. In-
deed, “This unbridled craving for variety is not ingrained in human nature but
is the product of the constant stimulation aroused by anarchic competition”
(1940: 348). With regard to the allocation of the means of production, Mann-
heim thus proves to be fairly unimpressed by the market. The decisions on pro-
duction are now mainly left up to the consumers, who have been manipulated
by advertising. So far as he is concerned, it would be better to leave such deci-
sions to committees of experts, who base their decisions in part on scientific
surveys conducted among members of the population. This naturally has con-
sequences for the position of capitalists. Mannheim wanted to separate the
right to an income derived from capital from the right to dispose of capital at
one’s discretion (1940: 350 – 51). The capitalists may retain their claims to assets,
their social prestige, relatively higher incomes, and their managerial and orga-
nizational positions, but not their economic decision-making power. This
power should be invested in the planners.46

5.6 Controlling the Planners by Way

of Parliamentary Democracy

Once the choice has been made in favor of planning, the next critical question
is who is to plan the planners. In other words, can the principle of planning be
reconciled with freedom and democracy? (1940: 326, cf. 74 –75) Not surpris-
ingly, Mannheim answers this question in the affirmative. He expects the exist-
ing parliamentary democracy to be able to provide for the desired democratic
 Karl Mannheim 97

control without many problems. At most, a few minor adjustments may be

needed.
Today’s parliamentary system, as Mannheim states, performs various gov-
erning functions (1940: 332– 5). First of all, it keeps those in power from abus-
ing their positions and turning into dictators. Second, the parliament is a
means to guide conflicts of interest toward peaceful resolution. Heads are no
longer chopped off but counted. Third, it binds the diverse adversarial groups
in society to the outcome of the parliamentary deliberations and ballots. It does
so because the electorate, by actively voting government into office, also articu-
lates the desire and willingness to reach consensus and to continue the funda-
mental relations underpinning society. If the electorate were not willing to
make compromises, then, according to Mannheim, it would not bother to vote
either. Fourth, the parliamentary system ensures the selection and rotation of
the political elites. The body of elected representatives as a whole can remove
those leaders who do not take “topical needs” sufficiently into account. And fi-
nally, relegating important problems to a parliament or to other bodies of ex-
pertise can, according to Mannheim, ensure that political decision-making will
not be dominated by mass psychology at times of crisis (1940: 335).
Mannheim was convinced that all these mechanisms of control inherent in a
parliamentary democracy will also be available in a planned society. They could
protect the planned society from degenerating into a totalitarian regime just as
they do in a liberal society. The concentration of power is not the essential
problem for Mannheim. What is essential is how to guarantee the democratic
control of power and the rotation of the power holders. As soon as this problem
has been peacefully resolved, all wrong policies can be corrected by replacing
the elected representatives of the people. As Mannheim declared, “The only
way in which a planned society differs from that of the nineteenth century is
that more and more spheres of social life, and ultimately each and all of them,
are subjected to state control. But if a few controls can be held in check by par-
liamentary sovereignty, so can many. It is a question of recasting the machinery,
rather than of replacing it altogether” (1940: 340).

5.7 Is Planning Possible in a Divided

Pluriform Democracy?

The above avowal does not detract from the fact that, as Mannheim also be-
lieved, there are still “some social and technical problems” that need to be re-
solved. If one were to translate the methods of control used by the existing par-
liamentary democracy into a form to be used in a planned society, one would
98 Chapter Three

first have to consider whether planning is consistent with the democratic for-
mulation of policy aims. Mannheim asserted that within the modern, frag-
mented, and individualized society, it is almost impossible to find fundamental
aims that enjoy broad support: “Our age is far too individualistic and far too
strongly differentiated into groups and sects, each aiming at absolutism, to be
reduced to a single common denominator” (1940: 345). Therefore, according to
him, people in a liberal society by and large do not set collective goals, and in-
stead of formulating substantive principles they prefer to make empty, formal
rules. The prevailing morality is functional. In the same vein, freedom is de-
fined primarily in a negative manner: it means nonintervention by the state.
“No answer is given,” Mannheim disapprovingly wrote, “to the simple ques-
tion: ‘freedom for what?’” (1940: 346).
The philosophical problem that all values and goals seem relative and the so-
cial problem that there is no consensus on these values and goals obviously make
the task of planning difficult. Indeed, planning is based on the assumption that
the planners know which goals they want to achieve and that these goals enjoy
broad support in society. In practice, though, these problems can be overcome,
as Mannheim emphasized. When a society is in a state of crisis, the general con-
sensus on fundamental values that is desired as a basis for planning actually does
prove to be present. This is true, for instance, in wartime or in periods of mass
unemployment (1940: 347). Nonetheless, Mannheim also considered it neces-
sary to reinforce social unity through schooling and propaganda. According to
him, there are several basic virtues—cooperation, brotherhood, and decency—
that are vitally important to the functioning and the stability of a society and
that for this reason should be disseminated with all available educational re-
sources.47 Through education, “the psychological anarchy of liberal capitalism”
must be destroyed, a capitalism wherein culture is based on the artificial cultiva-
tion of certain exaggerated attitudes, such as the “mania for competition” that is
propelled by self-centeredness and neurotic anxiety (1940: 352–53).
In the same vein, Mannheim opposed the “plebiscitary element” in democ-
racy (cf. section 4.1 above). Of all its elements, this one had, in his view, con-
tributed most to the downfall of a number of democracies in the 1930s. It was
and is reasonable to hold a referendum in small communities whose members
are active and cooperative citizens. This is no longer the case, however, in a mass
society where people have degenerated into easily manipulated, irresponsible
spectators. As Mannheim wrote, “A modern plebiscite treats the individual as a
spectator, whereas in the smaller democratic groups he was an active and co-
 Karl Mannheim 99

operative member of the commune. The spectator is known to be completely

irresponsible; he is simply there to see the show, and has no intention of weigh-
ing the facts or grasping the implications of the spectacle. The plebiscite has
lost its original function; it no longer appeals to individuals in concrete groups,
or draws their attention to concrete problems, but is addressed to members of
an indefinite and emotional mass” (1940: 357). Therefore, the plebiscite is no
longer the expression of the considered general will of the people “but is rather
the result of skilful agitation and a powerful propaganda machine” (1940: 357).
In defiance of the Enlightenment thinkers and their present-day followers,
modern democracies should draw two lessons from this, according to Mann-
heim. First, emotions are of great importance in integrating a mass society. And
second, the desired emotional integration cannot be achieved with the tech-
niques that were used in small communities. This calls for new educational
techniques, including propaganda. These must make use of the emotions to in-
still the minimal amount of social integration that is necessary. Moreover, ac-
cording to Mannheim, the emotions must be used to pave the way for the de-
velopment of the rational and moral faculties (see also section 6.1 below). Only
after the wild masses have more or less returned to reason can the referendum
again take on a “true function” in the democratic societies, a function that does
not frustrate the planners but stimulates them (1940: 359).

5.8 Planning Means More Technical and

Less Political Decision-Making

Notwithstanding this necessity for education, Mannheim observed that the

plebiscite is steadily gaining importance in modern society. More and more,
the preferences and opinions of the people play a role in decision-making. Ac-
cording to him, this conflicts with the growing importance of organizations
and the rationalization and objectification this entails (1940: 360, cf. 46). In
fact, the emotions of the masses constantly threaten to undermine the attempts
at calculation. This worried Mannheim. According to him, while it is impor-
tant to a democracy that the people have the possibility of expressing their pref-
erences for policy, the government should not take such statements as anything
more than an indication and should never implement them in their rough
form. Elections should exclusively determine the direction in which policy
should have to develop. Establishing how the policy aims should be achieved is
a technical issue. The electorate and its representatives should leave this to the
experts. In this way, the political, emotional element can be suppressed as much
100 Chapter Three

as possible, which Mannheim considered essential for any planning, since “the
continuous flash of emotions and group valuations hinders the execution of the
plan” (1940: 360).
The shrinkage of the political sphere is nothing new; it is a process that has
already been going on for centuries, according to Mannheim. Even hygiene was
once a political issue. Traditional superstition obstructed the avoidance of in-
fection and the rational treatment of disease. Yet as soon as it could be scientif-
ically demonstrated how infections and diseases come about, only the norma-
tive question remained, namely, whether saving lives is worthwhile. It was easy
to reach consensus on this, so politics disappeared from this domain (1940:
363).48 The same will also happen with respect to the economy and employ-
ment policy, for instance. More and more of the matters that we used to con-
sider political in character we shall see in the future, according to Mannheim,
as purely technical issues that can be resolved by impersonal experts. Ulti-
mately, this process of political marginalization will mean the end of political
history.

5.9 Planning Makes a Higher Collective

Form of Freedom Possible

The last question that Mannheim asked himself in Man and Society is whether
planning can be reconciled with individual freedom (1940: 369). This question
had already come up, though indirectly and highly dispersed throughout the
work. Is an ideally planned society not a prison, and does the continual devel-
opment of social techniques not lead to the complete subjugation of the indi-
vidual? An answer to this, as Mannheim emphasized in general terms, requires
a proper understanding of the notion of freedom. It is pointless to define free-
dom as an abstraction: this is only feasible within a specific context.
Freedom in a personal relationship, as Mannheim wrote first of all, consists
of having the possibility of not giving in to what the other wants. Reaching a
compromise leaves this freedom intact, so long as this compromise has the ap-
proval of those involved. Mannheim considered this perception of freedom to
be meaningful in the sphere of personal life, but according to him it is impossi-
ble to translate it to a society. In this context, it would be nonsense to demand
that everyone must be able to exert his will and must personally agree with the
whole collective policy. A group can only undertake organized action if its
members obey the rules they have established together. In the end, the differ-
ence between a free organization and an authoritarian one in this regard lies in
the way in which general decisions and rules are made. If decision-making is
 Karl Mannheim 101

democratic and there is at least a modicum of a private domain where every in-
dividual can follow his own will without intervention from the outside, then
there is also individual freedom. An organization, in contrast, would be au-
thoritarian, wrote Mannheim, “if it made continuous efforts to regulate every
sphere of action, allowing individual members no say in the aim and organiza-
tion of its activities, while its officials were not elected but dictatorially ap-
pointed from above” (1940: 371, cf. 375).
According to Mannheim, we can also approach the problem of freedom in
the context of the development of social techniques, a development that he had
described earlier (see section 4.6 above—incidentally, this is one of the few
times that he referred to earlier explanations). In the first stage, freedom con-
sists of the possibility to react immediately to stimuli from the environment.
Someone is unfree when his surroundings prevent him from realizing his di-
rectly experienced wishes. In the second phase, people not only react to their
environment but also set goals for themselves. Their freedom consists of the
possibility to control their own surroundings and achieve their own aims by ap-
plying more and more techniques. Nonetheless, these techniques generate two
new forms of dependence, thereby undermining the person’s freedom (1940:
373). First of all, progress in techniques goes hand in hand with a further divi-
sion of labor and increasing organization. Yet organizations always imply social
coercion: the members have to adapt to their rationality. Second, as we have
seen above, the consequences of techniques, and certainly their unplanned in-
teractions, are far reaching, unintended, and unforeseen. For us, these conse-
quences make the course of events just as unpredictable and uncontrollable as
nature was in the past. Therefore, so long as we do not understand and control
these techniques and their interactions in their totality, according to Mann-
heim we shall not be free.
Thus, Mannheim advocates intervening in the third stage to regulate the
long-term consequences of the social techniques as well as the blind interac-
tions between them. It is no longer necessary to undergo them in the same pas-
sive manner as we once let our lives be dictated by the forces of nature. Today,
the enormous improvements in our social techniques, Mannheim reiterated,
allow persons in key positions to influence social affairs through planning
(1940: 376). In order to make use of this new opportunity for freedom, though,
we must be willing to give up some of the forms of freedom we obtained at ear-
lier stages (1940: 377). In particular, according to Mannheim, we can no longer
allow groups and individuals to pursue their own private goals without taking
into account the consequences for society as a whole. For the sake of our col-
102 Chapter Three

lective freedom, we have to sacrifice our particular freedom. But then we

should accept the consequence that we have to regulate the whole social net-
work. This means we have “to regulate all social relationships so as to secure the
collective freedom of the group in accordance with a democratically recognized
plan. From now on men will find a higher form of freedom in allowing many
aspects of their individual lives to be determined by the social order laid down
by the group, provided that it is an order which they themselves have chosen”
(1940: 377). Important freedoms from earlier stages, such as the freedom of
speech and of association, are retained for this planned order, as Mannheim im-
mediately emphasized. Indeed, they constitute a “guarantee against exagger-
ated dogmatism in planning” (1940: 379).

6 MANNHEIM’S DIAGNOSIS OF OUR

ETHICAL SITUATION

Three years after Man and Society came out, Mannheim published Diagnosis of
Our Time: Wartime Essays of a Sociologist (1943). There is much overlap between
the themes covered in this collection of essays and those in Man and Society, but
Mannheim presented some of these with an extra urgency in the later work.
This is particularly true for the need, which he perceived, to reach a social con-
sensus on a number of fundamental values and goals as well as for the political
task of promoting such consensus through socialization and education. In the
following, I shall briefly touch upon a number of the key points in Mannheim’s
diagnosis. I want to emphasize these points here not only because they are rele-
vant to our question about the consequences of modernization for positive po-
litical freedom but also because they pertain to discussions currently going on
in society at large about a cluster of related themes, such as citizenship, social
cohesion, communitarianism, multiculturalism, and the “clash of civilizations.”

6.1 The Complete Absence of Social

Consensus on Values and the
Causes Thereof

In “The Crisis in Valuation” (1942), Mannheim observed that a normative con-

sensus had largely disappeared from modern society. We no longer share any
principles about the Good Life, or about the Good Society in which that life
could be lived. Moreover, we no longer agree on the norms that should regulate
our daily interactions. As a result of this difference of opinion, and the uncer-
tainty that comes with it, we do not know what we are raising and teaching the
 Karl Mannheim 103

youth to become, either. Do we have to train people to be pragmatic rational-

ists who judge each matter on its own merits? Or do we have to pass on to them
the traditional values and norms that are expressed and embodied in religion?
Should we educate people to become specialists in a narrow field or to be
broadly cultivated personalities with a philosophical background? We are also
uncertain about the place of work and leisure in our lives. Do people work to
earn a living, or do they work for personal development and to attain a re-
spectable position in the community? In the latter case, different criteria apply
to the kind of job and the way it is organized. What kind of expectations do we
have of free time? Do we use it to actualize ourselves as human beings, or do we
fill it up with enjoyment and entertainment?49 According to Mannheim, there
is no longer anything we do not have differences of opinion on, even the ques-
tion of whether this is regrettable or not. Is the greater degree of conformity
that was common in the past preferable to the modern emphasis on choice? We
do not know.
What has this chaos in the domain of normative evaluations produced?
Norms and values, as Mannheim asserted, guarantee that social interactions
will run smoothly (1942: 15 –17). They function, as it were, as stoplights and
traffic signs. Every social constellation has its own traffic rules, and social
changes often make old rules obsolete. Our norms and values must then be re-
defined. This is now, in Mannheim’s view, the task for our times: our society has
changed fundamentally, but we have not devoted any attention to the pattern
of values that is required to make the newly formed society operate smoothly.50
Uncertainty is the result.
The changes that our society has undergone are diverse. The first of these
that Mannheim noted is the rapid and uncontrolled transformation from a
community in which the dominant frameworks are formed by primary groups
(family, friends, neighborhood) to a society in which people are part of large-
scale relationships (1942: 17–18). There should have been a gradual transition
from primary virtues to derived group ideals, but according to him this transi-
tion has not been successful enough. He emphasized that it is fairly easy to
demonstrate the primary, strongly emotional-laden virtues of love, brother-
hood, and mutual help at the individual level. The fact is, people are personally
acquainted with the object of these virtues. But this is not true at the collective
level. Therefore, they have to be properly transferred to this level. For instance,
people should learn that in a large-scale democracy these virtues imply, among
other things, that everyone has equal political rights. However, according to
Mannheim, our upbringing and education are still directed toward the aim of
104 Chapter Three

functioning in primary groups. From his perspective, it is thus not very sur-
prising that nowadays the virtues that we take for granted in our immediate
surroundings prove too difficult for people to put into practice in a more gen-
eral setting.51
While the point of the above discussion is that old norms and values have to
be translated to apply to a new situation, in other cases norms and values have
become completely outdated and thus have to be replaced. Mannheim consid-
ered this to apply preeminently to property rights. Referring to The Acquisitive
Society (1921) by R. H. Tawney, he stated that at one time these rights were in-
tended to protect small independent farmers and craftsmen. In a time of large-
scale industrial production techniques, these “rights” are not fitting, both liter-
ally and figuratively speaking. Here, the principle of private ownership of the
means of production implies the right of the few to exploit the many. A rein-
terpretation of the old value system no longer suffices here: a complete reforma-
tion is needed to give the original intention of social justice a new practical sig-
nificance (1942: 19).
Mannheim saw a second important cause of the present moral confusion in
the fact that people have come into increasing contact with different patterns of
values through modern means of communication and the growth of social mo-
bility. In the past, when groups with different values met, and even merged,
they had the time to assimilate and sublimate these values. In the process, the
conflict of values was slowly resolved. Conflicting values could not survive in
the form of antagonistic stimuli. Today, however, according to Mannheim,
there is no time for these processes of mediation, assimilation, and standardiza-
tion. Consequently, people no longer know how they should respond to stim-
uli. Uncertainty and anxiety are the result, and there is a danger that people will
start to look for someone to impose a dictatorial order on the chaos.
Mannheim saw a third source of confusion in the emergence of multiple
moral authorities (1942: 21; cf. section 3.3 above). In earlier times, the only au-
thorities were ecclesiastical and political leaders and there was significant over-
lap between the values that each group preached. Today, there are multiple reli-
gious movements and all kinds of political philosophies. Their exponents point
in all different directions and thereby neutralize each other’s influence. In addi-
tion, the ways in which they legitimate their values are nowadays highly diverse
in character. Previously, people pointed to divine revelation or to tradition: as it
was in the beginning it is now and ever shall be, and that is the way things
should be too. After having briefly believed in universal reason, today people le-
gitimate values by referring to their efficiency or utility, the inspiration of the
 Karl Mannheim 105

leader, the survival of the fittest (be it a class, race, or nation), and so forth. Any-
thing goes. Since a generally accepted value system no longer exists, and the
moral authorities are divided and locally based, the legitimation of values is ar-
bitrary.
According to Mannheim, the manufacture of social consensus has not be-
come easier, either. This is because values are more complex today than they
were in the past and because, as a result of the rationalization of culture, they
have to be accompanied by extensive arguments if people are to accept them.
The norm that one should love one’s neighbor was simply God’s command-
ment or was part of a centuries-old tradition. Yet the idea that a democracy is
preferable to a dictatorship requires a probing argumentation, even though the
preference is ultimately based on an irrational decision. Mannheim applauded
this Copernican revolution, a shift away from the mindless acceptance of values
toward conscious and deliberate evaluation. In his opinion, however, it can
only lead to real progress when it is accompanied by other social changes, par-
ticularly in the way we raise and educate our children. People who are condi-
tioned to accept values blindly are hardly capable of dealing with values of
which the underlying principles can and must be couched in arguments (1942:
23). In order to cultivate a citizen who supports democratic society on rational
grounds, we therefore have to reeducate the whole person. This calls for an
enormous reorientation of our educational system, a task we have hardly em-
barked upon.
In Mannheim’s judgment, then, in a new educational system, we primarily
have to cultivate people’s intellectual capacities. Befitting this would be the ca-
pacity to bear the burden of skepticism and not to break out in panic as soon as
old habits and thoughts prove to have lost their utility. At the same time, how-
ever, he argued that if we were to reach the conclusion that it is not feasible (at
present) to elevate the masses to this level of intellectual development, we
should have the courage to take this into account in our educational strategy. In
this case, wrote Mannheim, in certain domains we should tolerate and promote
values that make a direct appeal to human emotions. We should then concen-
trate our efforts to develop people’s rational capacities in the spheres in which
they have the greatest chance of success at this time (1924: 23 –24; cf. section 5.3
above). Nonetheless, the point of departure is that we cannot on the one hand
create a new moral order that is based on a rational judgment and evaluation of
values while on the other hand maintaining an educational system “which in its
essential techniques works through the creation of inhibitions and tries to pre-
vent the growth of judgment” (1942: 24). The best way is to steer a middle
106 Chapter Three

course, which here Mannheim perceived as a slow adaptation of the educa-

tional system whereby both the irrational and the rational are given a place. The
Catholic Church may serve as an example: it inculcates its values in the popu-
lace by way of images and rituals, and it invites cultivated individuals to accept
these same truths by way of theological arguments.

6.2 The Third Way in the Ethical Field:

A Militant Democracy

In short, our laissez-faire society has fallen into a moral crisis, according to
Mannheim. It lacks the “sound background” of generally accepted values and of
everything that lends “intellectual consistency” to a social system (1942: 24). We
are threatened by disintegration and instability when we no longer have stan-
dards by which to gauge each other’s behavior and respond accordingly. As a re-
sult of a lack of clarity, we cannot give unequivocal answers when these answers
are urgently needed. It leads to indecision where decisiveness is called for. At the
individual level, neuroses lie in wait because we have more and more difficulty
making choices within the chaos of conflicting and irreconcilable standards and
values. No one can expect a human being “to live in complete uncertainty and
with unlimited choice. Neither the human body nor the human mind can bear
endless variety. There must be a sphere where basic conformity and continuity
prevail” (1942: 25; cf. 14–15). We must therefore give our democratic society a di-
rection again—but not in a totalitarian way. Here too, asserted Mannheim,
there is a “third way” between the total disintegration that laissez-faire brings to
bear and the leveling and disciplining effect of totalitarianism.
This third way is based on a number of general assumptions. First of all,
Mannheim thought that democracies should abandon their complete lack of
interest in values and no longer be afraid to adopt unambiguous normative
standpoints (1941b: 67; 1942: 26). Laissez-faire liberalism has completely ne-
glected to live up to its task in this area, according to Mannheim. Its exponents
left everything to the free play of social forces and confused neutrality with tol-
erance. However, neither tolerance nor objectivity implies that we cannot de-
fend that in which we believe or that we have to refrain from entering into dis-
cussion on the fundamental values and goals in our lives. This misplaced
aloofness has even induced us not to stand up for our democratic values, aims,
and institutions, with all the consequences this has had. This absolutely must
change: if our democracy is to survive, it must become “militant” (1941a: 7).
It is not only liberalism that has failed in this respect. The same is true, in
Mannheim’s view, of the world of the university. As a result of academic over-
 Karl Mannheim 107

specialization, scientists no longer formulate answers to the great overarching

questions. As a consequence, dilettantes and propagandists have free play in
this field (1941b: 66; see section 3.2 above). Furthermore, the pursuit of “objec-
tivity” has generated an intellectual climate in which every attempt to distin-
guish between essential and insignificant issues is discouraged from the outset.
The present-day academic devotes his attention mainly to details and trivial
topics and ridicules anyone who wants to occupy himself with the big issues
(1941b: 67). The product of this approach to thinking and teaching is ulti-
mately someone incapable of thinking independently about the big issues or of
resisting the doctrines and propaganda with which he is ceaselessly bombarded.
The militant democracy can never win the war of ideas that it has to fight
against the totalitarian ideologies that threaten it, according to Mannheim, so
long as this cowardliness persists.52 Certainly academic education now, more
than ever, should educate individuals who are able to make independent and
informed assessments of the important issues that are facing our society.
Mannheim considered it misplaced to be afraid of upsetting the shaky con-
sensus that exists in our democracies by opening up discussion on fundamental
topics (1941b: 69). The only way to build consensus on basic values and aims is
to discuss these values and aims openly. In this regard, it is nonetheless evident
to Mannheim that a democracy can only function when politicians and citizens
alike are convinced that it is meaningful to engage in this discussion and that
one should not let any differences of opinion on details stand in the way of nec-
essary collective action. This democratic culture and self-discipline have to be
widespread. As Mannheim wrote, it is only when, in the course of daily social
contacts, a custom of discussion leads to a reconciliation of opposing stand-
points and a custom of cooperation to a mutual assimilation of one another’s
values that there is any chance of Parliament formulating a constructive collec-
tive policy (1942: 27).53 What is at stake here is more than reaching political
agreement. Consensus, he wrote, “is common life” (1942: 27). In order to make
it possible, Mannheim incidentally considered social justice to be absolutely
imperative. An excessive degree of inequality in income, assets, educational op-
portunity, employment, and nutrition undermines consensus and thereby
democracy too (1941a: 6).

6.3 Religion and the Substance of a Shared,

Unifying Goal

The necessity of a shared, unifying goal opens up opportunities for religion, as

Mannheim wrote in one of his later essays. In a modern society, people have to
108 Chapter Three

make many more trade-offs between their particular interests and the collective
interest than they did in the past. The more complex a society is, the more con-
sequences a choice in one domain will have on those in other domains, and the
more long-term effects these choices will have. Almost daily, therefore, people
have to weigh their particular, short-term interests against their responsibility
for the whole. Mannheim considered only those who have been educated “at
the religious level” to be capable of doing this: only they can appreciate and
make the sacrifices for the sake of the common good that are asked of them to-
day (1943: 102). An egocentric Gesinnungsethik, as Mannheim later added, was
only appropriate in a time when people could hardly see the wider implications
of their behavior and did not plan in any way whatsoever. In a modern society,
however, where everything is connected to everything else and these connec-
tions can in principle be understood and predicted by the individual as well,
this ethic must (and will) make way for a Verantwortungsethik (1943: 112).
In order to take advantage of the modern opportunities for religion, it will
not be enough, according to Mannheim, for representatives of the Christian
tradition to breathe new life into the existing ecclesiastical institutions. They
will have to return to their original sources of religious experience (1943: 106).
A religious revival cannot, and thus must not, be planned. It is an open, creative
process and should grow from the bottom up. As Mannheim emphasized,
planning for freedom incidentally runs counter to all attempts by any central
authority whatsoever to impose any deep spiritual conviction on anyone. The
consensus on values will have to be reached primarily by way of “discussions
and convincing arguments.” Moreover, this consensus will not have to extend
any further than strictly necessary. As Mannheim wrote, we merely have to es-
tablish a system of basic values—such values such as decency, mutual help,
honesty, and social justice—whereas the “higher forms” of thought, art, litera-
ture, and so on, can remain as free as they were in liberal philosophy (1943: 110).
The members of the militant democracy, as Mannheim wrote two years earlier,
should have the courage to agree on a number of fundamental values that are
characteristic of Western civilization. But the purpose is not to force people to
accept a complete, all-encompassing pattern of values. The democracy he ad-
vocated is only militant “in the defence of the agreed right procedure of social
change and those basic virtues—such as brotherly love, mutual help, decency,
social justice, freedom, respect for the person, etc.—which are the basis of the
peaceful functioning of a social order” (1941a: 7).
 Karl Mannheim 109

7 PRELIMINARY ASSESSMENT

Weber and Mannheim thought along the same lines in some respects but dif-
fered in others. What they have in common, of course, is the strong emphasis
on the modernization process. Both were of the opinion that instrumental or
functional thinking is on the rise in our society and that there is less and less
room for value, or substantial rationality. Our actions are to an increasing ex-
tent relegated to organizations based on rational principles, and these organiza-
tions force us to adapt to their functional rationality. The point is that the ma-
chine must operate rationally, efficiently, and smoothly. Upon the machine
itself, people are less and less in a position to reflect. The capacity to do so, the
ability critically to ponder upon the whole, is what Mannheim called substan-
tial rationality and morality, or simply “social consciousness.” This form of ra-
tionality is undermined by industrialization and, according to him, urgently
needs to be stimulated. In his work we can already discern the same anxiety that
Herbert Marcuse (1964) was later to articulate: the inability of the “one-dimen-
sional man,” who is completely adapted to the system, still to think outside the
framework of this system. Only those who do not (yet) fit into this system—
Weber’s charismatic political leader, Mannheim’s intelligentsia, Marcuse’s stu-
dents—still have a chance to subject the system to fundamental scrutiny and
to give content to our positive political freedom.
Mannheim was somewhat vague and ambivalent about the development of
a social consciousness and, related to that, the inevitability of rationalization.
In Man and Society, he initially asserted, in accordance with his previously elab-
orated sociology of science, that under the pressure of circumstance people de-
velop, in a sort of dialectical process, a deeper and broader insight into the in-
terconnectedness of things. In the last stage, people have become part of large
entities, such as companies, trade unions, and parties, the members of which
(must) act together to promote their values and interests. The individual then
begins to realize that it may be advantageous to him if from time to time he sub-
ordinates his particular short-term interests to the interests of the collective.
Slowly the citizens gain insight into the interdependence of events and in the
way the entire social mechanism operates, and thereby into the need for plan-
ning. Similarly, in the history of thought, we now find ourselves in a phase in
which all kinds of institutions that we had created in the past to resolve indi-
vidual problems interact with each other in unforeseen, spontaneous ways. The
interactions in question present us with new and much bigger problems that
we can only resolve by subjecting them to planning too. Since our ideas vary
110 Chapter Three

with the situation in which and about which we are thinking, we start thinking
at the level of planning. The suggestion is thus that such thinking develops nat-
urally under the pressure of the shift in circumstances.
At other places in his work, it seems that Mannheim was not entirely sure of
that. There, he expressed the opinion that we actively have to disseminate this
social consciousness by all kinds of educational approaches. This corresponds
more closely with his earlier explanations of how our capacity for substantial ra-
tionality and morality is undermined by industrialization (section 4.3 above), a
trend that completely contradicts the growing awareness of the need for plan-
ning, as described above. When the functionally rational organization of more
and more human activities actually does in effect frustrate the development of
our social consciousness, we should also ask ourselves whether educational pro-
grams would be able to counteract this trend sufficiently. The promotion of
substantial rationality probably requires an entirely different organization of
human activity in our society.
Another similarity in the work of Weber and Mannheim, besides their em-
phasis on modernization, is the way they looked at the masses and the elites.
Both had their reservations about ordinary people taking a place on the politi-
cal stage, even though they both understood that this is unavoidable. The out-
come is that politics has come more under the influence of irrationality and
that a “Stimmungsdemokratie” has arisen. Yet Weber and Mannheim held
different opinions on the possibilities to change this. Weber wanted to keep a
rein on the masses through organization and charismatic political leaders. He
did not seem to expect much help from education in responsible citizenship,
whether at home or at school. Mannheim, in contrast, saw this as a fruitful op-
tion, especially in his later work. In this regard, he was concerned not only with
substantial rationality, that is, with a critical perception of the coherence of so-
cial events. He was also concerned with reaching normative consensus, which
he considered imperative if democracy is to survive. Conversely, Weber gave
the impression that he wanted to keep normative questions out of the political
domain as much as possible, an approach that Mannheim explicitly rejected
because in that case it would be impossible to achieve the social consensus that
is necessary to keep a democracy militant and to be able to make the transition
to social planning.
Weber and Mannheim also held different views on this planning. According
to Weber, people are increasingly imprisoned in their self-made cages of func-
tional rationality. Mannheim endorsed this, though he added that people have
become prisoners not only of the institutions in question but also of the unreg-
 Karl Mannheim 111

ulated interactions that take place among these institutions. That is why we
also have to make these interactions the object of deliberate regulation. Yet such
planning is precisely what Weber rejected. The machine would then get even
bigger and even harder for the individual to control. Thus, he wanted to leave
the market as unregulated as possible to ensure the maximum amount of free-
dom, innovation, and dynamism. Here, the internal tension in Weber’s thought
was that precisely this market propels the unavoidable development of instru-
mental rationality.
Another difference in this regard is that Mannheim proves to be less afraid of
bureaucracy than Weber was. Weber associated this organization mainly with
dehumanization and atrophy. Mannheim saw this as water under the bridge:
today, there are many new possibilities to make bureaucracy human and cus-
tomer friendly and to keep it that way. Moreover, and even more important,
planning should not necessarily be equated with hierarchy and bureaucracy.
There are many other, indirect techniques of control. These can generate the
desired amount of regulation without leading to the uniformity and coercion
that Weber was so afraid of. Mannheim’s theoretical analysis of these tech-
niques of control broke new ground and has inspired many (see, for example,
Dahl and Lindblom 1953). Nonetheless, he barely touched upon the questions
of how we are to put the planning into practice and, in so doing, which con-
crete issues we would have to take into consideration. This partly explains why
his thoughts on this topic are so superficial.54 For instance, when writing about
economic planning, his ideas prove to concern mainly hierarchical, bureau-
cratic techniques. He took this narrow focus despite his professed preference
for indirect techniques, a preference that could have led him to argue in favor
of a Keynesian macroeconomic politics or a socialist market economy, a subject
on which there was an extensive literature in the 1930s. (I examine this more
closely in my treatment of Schumpeter in the next chapter.)
Mannheim’s analysis of the issue of controlling the planners is weak too. As
he observed, almost as an aside, at the beginning of Man and Society, the in-
creased opportunities for social planning raise the question, “Who plans those
who are to do the planning?” (1940: 74 –75). His answer is not very convincing.
His greatest shortcomings are precisely in this area of political theory. Mann-
heim did not think primarily in terms of political structures and processes that
might make it possible to control power but rather primarily in terms of groups
who to a greater or lesser degree are intellectually and morally equipped to ex-
ercise power. So far as he was concerned, the struggle for power is between
primitive and responsible groups, and we can only strive to allow the latter to
112 Chapter Three

win. In any event (as in Weber’s outlook), the real victors will be a small minor-
ity, “for the masses always take the form which the creative minorities control-
ling societies choose to give them” (1940: 75). Mannheim expanded a bit more
on the control of these “creative minorities” when he considered the functions
of Parliament (see section 5.6 above). He considered the existing means of con-
trol available to this body to be more than adequate. And despite the enormous
increase in social planning, a trend that he both observed and advocated, he did
not think that these opportunities have to be expanded or that additional
means of democratic control have to be created. In view of the dogma of min-
isterial responsibility, which had already become untenable in his time, his op-
timism in this regard would seem rather naïve.
This naiveté is in part explained by Mannheim’s scientism: like Marx and
Engels, he thought that political issues were increasingly being transformed
into technical questions and that in the process politics would be constantly di-
minishing. It is even quite possible, wrote Mannheim, that planning will even-
tually turn into pure administration and that history will thereby come to an
end. Here, we again sense the influence of Hegel: despite a few temporary set-
backs and the incidental need to intervene oneself in the course of events, we
are moving slowly but surely to a higher plane. This scientistic expectation of
the end of history clearly diverges from Weber’s stance on the role that science
might play in politics. As we have seen, Weber was of the opinion that there are
multiple conflicting values, that science by definition cannot choose among
them, and that the scientist therefore can only speak as a citizen in politics, not
as an expert. Political differences of opinion are unavoidable and will never dis-
appear, except in very small-scale and homogeneous communities. Nonethe-
less, Mannheim’s standpoints on the end of politics are not only inconsistent
with Weber’s. They also conflict with his own observation that in modern, frag-
mented, and individualized society, it is almost impossible to find fundamental
goals that are widely accepted (see section 5.7 above). Furthermore, they con-
flict with his concurrent argument in favor of a policy of values as a means to
change this situation and in that way to make a joint plan possible (section 6.3
above). And they conflict with the relativistic (albeit increasingly nuanced) im-
plications of his sociology of knowledge (section 3 above). If it were indeed im-
possible “to conceive of absolute truth existing independently of the values and
position of the subject and unrelated to the social context” (1936: 79), how
would the expert ever be able to take over the role of the politician?
Mannheim’s limited insights in political theory are also manifest in the area
of individual and political freedom. Unlike Weber, he did devote attention to
 Karl Mannheim 113

the positive political freedom of citizens jointly to give direction to their soci-
ety. Weber was preoccupied with the negative freedom of individuals, and he
saw that more and more bureaucratic organizations were slowly but surely
crushing this freedom to bits. Positive political freedom, organized political ac-
tion taken by citizens who have unified themselves around the content of a po-
litical program, was almost inconceivable to him. The freedom of the society,
its vitality and dynamism, ultimately can only be saved by the charismatic po-
litical leader, not by the electorate. Mannheim saw a somewhat greater political
role for the citizens, though he forgot about their negative freedom, their free-
dom to do or be that which is in their capacity without intervention by others
or by the state. Free organizations are characterized, according to him, by the
way in which collective decisions are made. If decision-making is democratic
and there is at least a minimum amount of private domain, then one can also
say that individual freedom exists (section 5.9 above). This is a tenuous posi-
tion. Freedom at the individual level and freedom at the political level must be
adequately discriminated (cf. Berlin 1958). Whether or not a government has
been democratically chosen is a completely separate issue from the question of
the extent to which it intervenes in the private domain of individuals. Therefore,
the negative freedom of the individual might be much greater under autocratic
rule than in a democracy. A person can give up part of his or her individual neg-
ative freedom in order to enjoy greater positive freedom in the political sphere.
But the fact that one gets something back for this does not detract from the lim-
itation of one’s negative freedom.
 Chapter 4 Joseph Schumpeter

Joseph Alois Schumpeter (1883 –1950) is one of the greatest social sci-
entists of the twentieth century. Only Max Weber and his renowned
rival John Maynard Keynes might compete with him. At least, this is
opinion of the Harvard economist Gottfried Haberler (1994: xiv).
Many others are no less enthusiastic in their praise. According to
Robert Heilbroner, Schumpeter’s Capitalism, Socialism and Democ-
racy (1942), the book around which the following discussion revolves,
is one of the most provocative books ever written on the future of cap-
italism (1980: 312), and Richard Swedberg considers it to be one of the
greatest classics in the literature of twentieth-century social science
(1994: ix).1 According to David Held, the book had “exceptional” in-
fluence on the development of democratic theory (1987: 164). Carole
Pateman (1970) even argues that the entire postwar debate on democ-
racy has taken place within the framework that Schumpeter laid out.
As Lindblom put it, “Schumpeter was God” in American political sci-
ence during the 1940s and 1950s. Looking back, Lindblom sees him as
the first to approach political democracy in terms of how it actually
worked and not in terms of how it was supposed to work—previously

114
 Joseph Schumpeter 115

the usual way of formulating the question in American political science.2 Of

course, as Lindblom admits, Weber and other German social and political the-
orists had already formulated comparable notions on politics and democracy in
earlier work. But their influence was initially channeled through Schumpeter.
Like Weber, Schumpeter perceived democracy primarily as a method to elect
a stable government and to guarantee a minimum of responsiveness. He did
not consider the electorate to be capable of much more than casting a vote pe-
riodically. He thought it would be just as well if the citizens did not engage in
any more political activity than that. For this reason, Schumpeter, writing in
Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy, rejected what he saw as “classic” demo-
cratic theory. In its stead, he tried to work out a doctrine that is, in his eyes,
more realistic, one that is not normatively grounded but empirically grounded.
The inspiration for this alternative appears to come mainly from economics:
democracy forms a market where demand (exercised by the citizens) meets sup-
ply (provided by politicians) and where the “invisible hand” ensures optimal re-
turn. However, in Schumpeter’s view, the market mechanism certainly does
not imply consumer sovereignty, as the classical economists argued. And ac-
cording to him that is just as well.
Many have elaborated upon Schumpeter’s conception of democracy, in the
view of Pateman (1970), Daudt (1972: 199), Parry (1976: 143), Coe and Wilber
(1985: 56), Held (1987), Huntington (1991: 5 –7), and Shapiro and Hacker-
Cordón (1999: 4), among others. In their reading, pluralistic theoreticians in
particular have built upon his work; these authors include Dahl, Lindblom,
Truman, Almond, Verba, Polsby, Downs, Lipset, Sartori, Berelson, Plamenatz,
Eckstein, Lazarsfeld, and McPhee. Pateman writes that Schumpeter’s influence
is strong even among the critics of this intellectual tradition, authors who ad-
vocate a democratic system that offers great opportunities for broad political
participation (1970: 5). In fact, they present an alternative “classical” theory, as
Schumpeter defined it. That is why, in Pateman’s view, one can say that he set
the parameters for the entire postwar democratic debate. His notion of classical
democratic theory and his characterization of the “democratic method” and
the place of political participation within it “have all become almost universally
accepted in recent writing on democratic theory” (1970: 5).3
Schumpeter’s ideas about democracy, which are usually the focus of atten-
tion, are not the only reason to examine his work here, and not even the most
important one. Even more important is the fact that Capitalism, Socialism and
Democracy provides a perspective on social developments in the long term.
Moreover, it offers a fundamental analysis of the social, political, and economic
116 Chapter Four

constellation as it was in the mid-twentieth century. Both this perspective and

this analysis are highly relevant to an understanding of our times. His work
shares this quality with the work of Weber and Mannheim. What Schumpeter
has in common with these two authors is the theme central to his approach,
namely, the modernization of society. The most important thesis of Capitalism,
Socialism and Democracy in this context is that the capitalist free-market system
is slowly but surely breaking down as a result of its own success and will be suc-
ceeded by a socialist planned economy. Yet Schumpeter was convinced that this
socialist system will not be any more or any less democratic than its capitalist
predecessor. He was also certain that economically socialism can and will per-
form perfectly well. Both of these standpoints are fundamentally different from
those propagated by the majority of his conservative political supporters, in his
own day as well as in ours.

1 PERSONAL BACKGROUND

Schumpeter was a flamboyant, high-living romantic, with many ups and downs
in the course of his life (cf. Stolper 1994: 6– 8; Swedberg 1994: ix–xiv; Shionoya
1997: 13ff.; März 1991: 147ff.). As Robert Heilbroner writes, “No one ever knew
quite what to make of this small, dark, aristocratic man with a taste for dra-
matic prose and theatrical gestures” (1980: 311). In later life, as many a bio-
graphical sketch recounts, he supposedly declared that as a young man he had
set himself three goals in life: he wanted to be an excellent horseman, a great
lover, and an eminent economist. Two of these goals, as he allegedly assured his
conversation partner, had indeed been reached.
Initially, it did not look that promising. Schumpeter was born in Triesch
(Třešt), a small German-speaking town in Czech Moravia, not far from the
Austrian border. It was 1883, the same year that Karl Marx died and John May-
nard Keynes, who was to be Schumpeter’s great rival, was born. His father, the
twelfth generation of Schumpeters in Triesch, was a textile manufacturer, and
he died when his son was four years old. His mother, who was the daughter of
a physician, remarried; her new husband, thirty-three years her senior, was lieu-
tenant-general of the Imperial Army in Vienna. The marriage was not happy
and ended in separation. Shionoya suggests that the main reason she married
the general was to be able to raise her beloved son in an aristocratic environ-
ment. According to Shionoya, Schumpeter’s successful entry into the highest
class could partly explain “his tendency to show off and his extreme self-con-
sciousness” (1997: 15).
 Joseph Schumpeter 117

Schumpeter attended secondary school in Vienna at the Theresianum Gym-

nasium, an elite school for children whose parents were members of the aris-
tocracy and the higher echelons of the state bureaucracy. He went on to study
at the University of Vienna, first law and then economics. He studied under
Friedrich von Böhm-Bawerk, Eugen von Wieser, and other members of the
Austrian School, at the time a prominent group of economists. By then, he was
already showing strong interest in sociology, history, and philosophy. After
graduating, he left in 1907 with his first wife—who was said to be the incredi-
bly beautiful daughter of an English priest—for Cairo, where they spent two
years. There, he worked as a lawyer and economic adviser to the Egyptian
princess, acquired a small fortune, and wrote a dissertation, his “Habilitation-
schrift.” This was followed by an appointment at the former University of
Czernovitz, an outpost within the Habsburg Empire where the regime as a rule
sent the “Young Turks” it wished to banish. Schumpeter did not go unnoticed
here, challenging the local librarian to a duel, for instance. With his daring de-
meanor, he hoped to gain more ample access for his students to the library. Sub-
sequently, in 1911, Schumpeter received an appointment as professor at the
University of Graz. In that same year, he published Die Theorie der wirtschaft-
lichen Entwicklung, which established his international reputation. The eco-
nomic importance that he ascribed to the forceful entrepreneur throughout his
work is already found in this book.
So far, Schumpeter’s life had been for the most part sunny, but starting in his
thirtieth year or thereabouts he was confronted with one disappointment after
another. As a great admirer of England—an admiration that he shared with
Weber and Mannheim—he was first of all intensely saddened by the First
World War. Moreover, one sad outcome of this war was the break-up of his
beloved dual monarchy. His birthplace became part of a new country, Czecho-
slovakia, with which he had little affinity. The political and commercial activi-
ties in which he engaged in the newly constructed country of Austria ended up
in a fiasco. Nor was his life any better in the personal sphere.
As a young man, Schumpeter had great political ambitions and hoped one
day to obtain a high position in government. His dream came true in 1919 when
the social democrats asked him to become the minister of finance in a coalition
government with the Christian democrats. In view of his undisguised conser-
vatism, this request was rather surprising. His friendship with a former fellow
student Otto Bauer might have played a role in it. Bauer was one of the most
important Austrian Marxists and minister of foreign affairs in the cabinet in
question under Prime Minister Renner. After just seven months in office, how-
118 Chapter Four

ever, Schumpeter was forced to resign. In part, this was due to his involvement
in a counterrevolutionary conspiracy in Hungary (Stolper 1994: 18 –20). It is
amusing to note that Mannheim and Schumpeter indirectly crossed paths here:
Mannheim, in turn, was involved in the group of Marxist-oriented revolution-
aries that Schumpeter was conspiring against.4
Schumpeter was again dismissed from office in 1924, when he lost his job as
president of the Biedermann Bank in Vienna, which had been his next posi-
tion. He had been offered the job because he had been certified to work as a
banker, in appreciation for his service to the state, a certification that the Bie-
dermann Bank itself was lacking. Schumpeter was not hired to get involved
with policy, so he occupied himself with private investments and speculative
dealings. At first he was quite successful in this, but in 1924 the tide turned and
he went bankrupt. He was paying off debts until well into the 1930s. These and
other affairs lent Schumpeter a doubtful reputation, which gave Biedermann
Bank a reason to let him go (Swedberg 1994: xi). Schumpeter wanted to return
to university life, but he was not offered a professorate in Austria. Therefore, in
1925, he accepted a position with little prestige at the University of Bonn. How-
ever, because of his rapidly growing international prestige, he was able to leave
for the United States in 1932. There, until his death in 1950, he was a professor
at Harvard University.
Schumpeter remained somewhat controversial, even in his new homeland.
He despised President Franklin Roosevelt and his policy, and he ceaselessly let
this be known in distinctly undiplomatic language. He was afraid that Roo-
sevelt, after getting the United States into the war, would tighten his grip on the
economy and never let go again. He also believed that the New Deal had
amounted to a scandalous expropriation of the bourgeois class. “The present
distribution of disposable incomes,” he grumbled in 1942, “compares well with
the one actually prevailing in Russia” (1942: 381). He also thought it was in-
comprehensible that Roosevelt, like other American policymakers, was preoc-
cupied with Hitler and did not realize, as Schumpeter did, that Stalin was just
as dangerous. The destruction of Germany was only increasing the threat posed
by Stalin. Directly after the war, he made a passionate plea to declare war on
Stalin. In his view, the way Stalin was abusing human rights was worse than
what had drawn the United States into war against Germany (1946a: 401). Over
the years, Schumpeter’s verbal attacks on Roosevelt and his policy were so bla-
tant that the FBI even conducted an investigation into his presumed German
sympathies. The probe did not turn up even a single piece of evidence in that
regard, however (Swedberg 1994: xiv).
 Joseph Schumpeter 119

In the personal sphere, Schumpeter was not always fortunate either, as I

noted earlier. His first marriage ended on the rocks after just a few months in
1907. His second wife—Anna Reisinger, the love of his life—died in child-
birth in 1925, a year after their marriage. Their son was stillborn. Then his
mother, to whom he was extremely attached, died a few months later. Schum-
peter was unable to perform work of any substance for a long time—just like
Max Weber. In fact, he never fully recovered from these blows. Those close to
him saw him change from a charming, high-spirited optimist into a moody,
unsociable cynic (Stolper 1994: 7).
Given this course of events, it is not surprising that almost every page that
Schumpeter wrote reveals him to be a man who took delight in disagreeing
with others. And he often did so in a rather underhanded manner. He had no
compunction whatsoever about cloaking his attacks in false modesty. During
the 1940s, Schumpeter not only was God in the eyes of his colleagues but acted
like him too.5 Even Stolper, who takes a very sympathetic stance toward his for-
mer teacher, admits that “Schumpeter never had any doubt that he was an orig-
inal and superior thinker” (1994: 15). Yet he immediately adds that Schumpeter
never felt too good to acknowledge his equals or superiors. He had deep respect
for Keynes, even though he felt that the enormous public appreciation for his
General Theory was grossly exaggerated.6 He was not entirely devoid of self-crit-
icism. At the end of his life, as we read in his diary, Schumpeter came to take an
increasingly critical view of himself: among other things, he considered himself
to be conceited, a snob, and a worthless person (Swedberg 1994: xiv). His
achievements in horsemanship have, incidentally, gone largely unnoticed.

2 STANDPOINTS ON SCIENCE, ECONOMICS,

AND HISTORY

In order to understand Schumpeter’s ideas on modernization and the future of

Western society and democracy, it is useful first to consider his standpoints on
science, economics, and history. This brief overview also says a little more
about his intellectual background.

2.1 Positivism, Historicism, and General

Social Science

Schumpeter’s thinking developed under a wide range of influences, often con-

flicting ones, that he attempted to subsume under a single heading in his own
work (cf. Shionoya 1997: 24 –30; Stolper 1994: 23 – 40). Both in this ambition
120 Chapter Four

and in the standpoints he eventually adopted, he showed strong resemblances

to Weber and Mannheim. One primary source of inspiration was, first of all,
German historicism: events can only be understood in their broad historical
context, they are unique, and therefore they cannot be captured in general laws
and theories. This seems to be the inspiration for Schumpeter’s conviction that
we have to place economic phenomena and developments in a historical frame-
work, and that it is the economic processes of change that deserve to be at the
center of our attention (see section 2.2 below).
Positivism exerted a countervailing force, as did the logical positivists of the
Wiener Kreis. Scientific statements must ultimately be derived from testable
empirical hypotheses, and the objective must be to build a science of society
that is free of metaphysics and ethics on the model of the natural sciences.
Schumpeter’s interest in and arguments in favor of the highly mathematical,
Anglo-Saxon, neoclassical approach to economics and his great respect for
Keynes and Tinbergen bear witness to this influence. However, the variables
that he himself considered important for interpreting economic developments
are too numerous, too diverse, and too ambiguous to permit an adequate trans-
lation of his ideas into mathematical models. Nonetheless, he did hold a posi-
tivistic conviction, namely, that the study of all these variables can be brought
under a single general social science. The ultimate end of all scientific endeav-
ors is clear thinking, according to Schumpeter, and to that end all sciences can
use the concepts and procedures that have been developed in the field of ap-
plied mathematics (Stolper 1994: 24 –25). In this sense, science can be value free
(Wertfrei ).
Schumpeter set forth these standpoints on science in various places, includ-
ing his posthumously published History of Economic Analysis (1954), an unfin-
ished magnum opus exceeding twelve hundred pages that he had worked on
with utmost devotion for the last nine years of his life. It was edited by his third
wife, the economist Elisabeth Boody Firuski, whom he had married in 1937. In
this book, Schumpeter sketched the development of economic thought since
the time of the ancient Greeks, a sketch for which he made use, in accordance
with his scientific standpoints, of historical, biographical, sociological, and
philosophical facts and perspectives. Shionoya considers the result to be as yet
unsurpassed in the literature on the history of economics (1997: 23). Unfortu-
nately, Schumpeter never completely worked out the passages on epistemology.
Several of these were only available in the form of handwritten notes, and these
prove to be quite inconsistent.7
In a manner reminiscent of Weber, Schumpeter emphasized the primacy of
 Joseph Schumpeter 121

vision in science. Before we can start doing any analytical work, he wrote, we
first have to distinguish a set of phenomena that we want to investigate. More-
over, we must know “intuitively” how they are related or, in other words, what
we believe their essential features to be (1954: 561– 62). A “vision,” as Heil-
broner observes, always has subjective elements. It therefore comes as no sur-
prise that, elsewhere in his book, Schumpeter points out the relationship be-
tween ideology and vision. All our analytical work, he writes, “begins with
material provided by our vision of things, and this vision is ideological almost
by definition. It embodies the picture of things as we see them, and wherever
there is any possible motive for wishing to see them in a given rather than an-
other light, the way in which we see things can hardly be distinguished from the
way in which we wish to see them” (1954: 42).
This notwithstanding, Schumpeter believed that ideologies have relatively
little influence on our observations and explanations in the science of econom-
ics. First of all, there are numerous phenomena that do not move us at all in an
emotional sense and that we all therefore observe in a similar way. In addition,
according to Schumpeter, when we perform a scientific analysis we apply pro-
cedural rules that are free of any ideological influence. These rules, which he
unfortunately did not specify further, “tend to crush out ideologically condi-
tioned error from the visions from which we start” (1954: 43). Through their ap-
plication, the researcher, or a colleague, will continually discover new facts,
which will either confirm or refute his currently held ideology. When this col-
lective process of scientific testing has lasted long enough, the original ideology
will be purged of “errors,” even though we naturally have no guarantee that no
new ideologies will have developed in the meantime (1954: 44). In accordance
with this, Schumpeter was a firm believer in scientific progress. As he at-
tempted to demonstrate in his History of Economic Analysis, ultimately the his-
tory of economic thought amounts to a continual accumulation of knowledge.
Theories do not stand on their own but build upon each other and comple-
ment one another. Just as in the natural sciences, in this manner we jointly as-
pire to higher and higher levels of truth, a process in which the field of eco-
nomics differs from philosophy.

2.2 Economic Thought

Although he attached great importance to other disciplines, Schumpeter was

first and foremost an economist, and any contributions he made to the other
social sciences are thus basically derived from this background. We shall see this
when we discuss Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy in greater depth. By way
122 Chapter Four

of introduction, it suffices at this point to make a few general remarks. Schum-

peter’s economic thought is characterized first by his conviction that the econ-
omy is part of a social system and that the only fruitful way to study it is by plac-
ing it within this framework (Stolper 1968: 68–69; 1994: 26–32). In this sense,
Schumpeter was a forerunner of the institutionalists. He shared their perspective
that we can only understand economic actions, institutions, and processes in the
broad context of a historically determined society. Thus, a present-day institu-
tionalist will certainly applaud the fact that when explaining long-term eco-
nomic developments, Schumpeter devoted most of his attention to such factors
as the rationalist philosophy of life, technological innovations, the mentality of
the bourgeois entrepreneur, and the presence of institutions like trade unions,
interest groups, oligopoloid enterprises, and, not to be left out, the state.
Schumpeter also placed strong emphasis on economic processes. He continu-
ally pointed out that all of reality, including economic and the political reality,
is always in flux. It is ceaselessly changing in an evolutionary manner into
something new. Therefore, the economy has to be perceived not merely from a
static but also from a dynamic angle, according to Schumpeter, something that
the majority of his colleagues neglected to do. Static theories describe the ten-
dency toward economic stability, which we can observe at various points in his-
tory. Dynamic theories, in contrast, are concerned with disruptions of this sta-
bility. When policymakers want to pursue an economic policy to counteract
the fluctuations in the business cycle, or to promote economic growth, says
Schumpeter, static theories are useless for this reason. This is the core of his crit-
icism of the theoretical economists who formulate policy recommendations.
Theoretical economic analysis calls for mathematical abstraction, but accord-
ing to Schumpeter, policy analysis can only take place in a concrete historical
context.8
Imbalances are caused by entrepreneurs who make innovations in produc-
tion methods, techniques, or goods (see section 3.3 below). Their “creative de-
struction” leads to economic cycles. Schumpeter considered these to be essen-
tial to economic progress. On the basis of empirical research, he distinguished
three cycles: one of roughly three years; one of eight to eleven years; and a long
“Kondratieff ” cycle. The last two are the most important ones. They are
caused, respectively, by individual innovations, such as weaving looms, electro-
motors, radios, and refrigerators, in the case of the first, and by fundamental in-
novations that change the entire economic structure, such as steam engines,
railroads, and electrification.9 In Schumpeter’s assessment, his theory of cre-
ative destruction adequately describes capitalism from the eighteenth century
 Joseph Schumpeter 123

to the beginning of the twentieth. After that, it has slowly but surely lost its
credibility. The reasons for its demise are the steady replacement of capitalist
entrepreneurs by bureaucrats and the increasing importance of government in-
terventions and planning. These developments are central to the discussion in
Socialism, Capitalism and Democracy.

2.3 Marx and the Economic Interpretation

of History

Schumpeter had already shown a strong interest in socialism during his student
years. Just like Weber and Mannheim, he had a deep respect for Marx.10 He felt
particularly attracted to him because of Marx’s conviction that social systems
like capitalism possess an inner logic that transforms them from the inside out
into another system. In the same vein, Schumpeter considers Marx’s economic
interpretation of history as “doubtless one of the greatest individual achieve-
ments of sociology to this day” (1942: 10). The theory, often misinterpreted,
consists in his view of two propositions: “(I) The forms or conditions of pro-
duction are the fundamental determinant of social structures which in turn
breed attitudes, actions and civilizations. . . . (II) The forms of production have
a logic of their own; that is to say, they change according to necessities inherent
in them so as to produce their successors merely by their own working” (1942:
12). These forms of production are thus, in the opinion of Marx, the ultimate
driving forces of economic change and, as a consequence of such change, all
other social changes. According to Schumpeter, there is no doubt that both
propositions contain an important element of truth and are very important as
working hypotheses. What he considers misplaced is the criticism lodged by
those who point to the importance of ethical or religious factors, for instance,
or who, like Eduard Bernstein, emphasize that people have the freedom to
choose. Naturally, as Schumpeter wrote, “men ‘choose’ their course of action
which is not directly enforced by the objective data of the environment; but
they choose from standpoints, views and propensities that do not form another
set of independent data but are themselves molded by the objective set” (1942:
12; cf. 130).
Nonetheless, Schumpeter thought that Marx’s theory should be qualified on
a few points. Some of these are relevant to our purposes. First of all, he could
not help pointing out that there are social structures and patterns of values that,
once established, sometimes survive for centuries, regardless of the changing
economic circumstances. Marx was incapable of explaining this on the grounds
of his theory. Schumpeter the conservative also had little respect for the em-
124 Chapter Four

phasis that Marx placed on the sociological importance of classes. Certainly,

classical economists were completely wrong, only seeing atomistic individuals in
an amorphous society (1942: 14). But what Marx grossly exaggerated is the im-
portance of the economic definition of class boundaries and of the class struggle
as the driving force of history: the relation between the two classes that Marx
differentiated is defined as a rule by cooperation (1942: 19). Not surprisingly,
Schumpeter considered two of Marx’s other ideas equally untenable: that the
position of the proletariat within capitalism will get increasingly worse; and that
the proletariat will eventually rise up against this in revolution. In fact, it proves
that their position keeps improving and that they increasingly have a stake in the
present system (1942: 310). However, this system is steadily developing in a so-
cialistic direction. Slowly but surely, capitalism is socializing all life, economic
and otherwise. The proletariat has no special role to play in this process.
Finally, Schumpeter distanced himself from Marx’s denial of the roles that
talent, intelligence, and thrift have played in the emergence of the capitalist
bourgeois class: “Supernormal intelligence and energy account for industrial
success and in particular for the founding of industrial positions in nine cases
out of ten” (1942: 16). Moreover, the room that it offers to the talented is one of
the great achievements of capitalist civilization: “Capitalism provides, to a
much greater extent than most of us believe, the ladders for talent to climb”
(1942: 188). One may disagree about the nature of these social ladders and about
how high they reach, but according to Schumpeter one cannot deny that they
are there.

2.4 Schumpeter’s Definition of

Conservatism

Schumpeter’s conception of conservatism is closely related to the points made

above. As stated there, he was convinced that, in the end, everything is subject
to change and that it is therefore pointless to cling to the past or grasp at the
present. One can do little more than try to guide the inevitable changes along a
human course. Schumpeter saw the normative core of conservative ideology in
respect of the individual and his rights. Therefore, implicit in his definition of
this ideology is the task to ensure that the cost of the developments, which are
to a large extent unavoidable, will be as low as possible in terms of human val-
ues. In this spirit, during a lecture entitled “An Economic Interpretation of Our
Time” (1941), he made the following assertion: “Mark the line of my argument.
While I said that the fundamental lines [of development] are probably in-
eluctable and while I said, second, that much in the way in which the ever pres-
 Joseph Schumpeter 125

ent change comes about depends on individuals and groups, abilities and con-
ditions, I said, third, that no more can be achieved by individual or group coali-
tions than to perform transitions with a minimum loss of human values. The
latter, the bringing about of transitions from your social structure to other so-
cial structures with a minimum loss of human values, that is how I should de-
fine conservatism” (cited in Stolper 1994: 35).

3 THE DECLINE OF CAPITALISM

The book Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy is pivotal to Schumpeter’s oeu-

vre. He saw this book as a summary and a synthesis of the work on economic
and political theory that he had done in the course of the preceding forty years
(1942: xiii). It contains five parts and an equal number of topics. While these are
related to each other, they also form separate, independent analyses. The first
part gives extensive treatment to Marx’s teachings, a doctrine Schumpeter did
not subscribe to but deeply admired, as we have seen. Just like Marx, Schum-
peter believed that capitalism would turn into socialism, but for very different
reasons, as the second part reveals. The third part asks whether a socialist sys-
tem of centrally organized production can operate efficiently. “Of course it
can,” is his answer (1942: 167). The market does not have to be completely elim-
inated, and a somewhat advanced modern bureaucracy is easily capable of mak-
ing the necessary decisions flexibly, informed, and accurately. Schumpeter an-
swered the next question, whether a socialist system like this can be democratic
at the same time, in the fourth part. There, he criticized what he considered to
be the generally accepted definitions of democracy and worked out an alterna-
tive definition. This part is the one that is cited most frequently by far in the po-
litical science literature. Conceivably, people will only read these passages.
Schumpeter concluded his book with an analysis of the history and the future
of Western socialist parties. That analysis is less relevant to our purposes.
The second part, which is where I begin here, concerns the extent to which
the capitalist system can survive.11 This was not an unusual topic in the 1930s
and 1940s. Many people questioned its survival in the face of the economic cri-
sis, the political radicalization in and the decline of several democracies, and
the ensuing world war.12 Nor was Schumpeter’s answer out of character: “No.
I do not think it can” (1942: 61). As we saw earlier, Mannheim drew a similar
conclusion. More striking (to some people more shocking) is that an arch-con-
servative like Schumpeter would consider the establishment of socialism to be
unavoidable. Also more striking are the reasons he gave. Unlike the Marxists,
126 Chapter Four

Schumpeter thought that capitalism would go into decline not because the
economy breaks down but because its success undermines its own social condi-
tions. This success, he continues, “‘inevitably’ creates conditions in which [cap-
italism] will not be able to live and which strongly point to socialism as the heir
apparent” (1942: 61). In the following subsections, we shall examine what con-
stitutes this economic success of capitalism, how it comes about, and how it
contributes to its eventual demise.

3.1 Capitalism Is a Great Economic Success

The animosity toward the capitalistic system, as Schumpeter wrote in 1942, has
since become so great that it is hard for many people to evaluate its achieve-
ments objectively (1942: 63). However, these achievements have not been
equaled at any time in history. Schumpeter calculated that between 1878 and
1928, economic output in the United States grew on average by 2 percent per
annum and that if this trend were to continue for another fifty years, the total
output in 1978 would be nearly three times as high as in 1928. In the same pe-
riod, the average real income per capita would more or less double. In reality,
the level of affluence will rise much more rapidly because in the course of time
the quality of the goods produced improves and we can therefore buy better
items for the same price. The improvement will be especially strong in the rela-
tive affluence of the lower strata. That is because the price of mass-produced
goods, items inherent in the capitalistic economy and ones everybody uses,
drops much more, relatively speaking, than the price of the luxury goods and
services, which can rarely be produced industrially, that are consumed by the
more affluent groups. From an economic perspective, therefore, only one con-
clusion is feasible: if capitalism’s performance between 1878 and 1928 were re-
peated over the next fifty years, everything that by current standards was called
“poverty” would be history by 1978, except for “pathological cases,” of course
(1942: 66). Even for these pathological cases, however, there is hope, since cap-
italism brings us more and more social legislation. A large share of the legisla-
tion that is already in place, according to Schumpeter, was brought about on
the initiative of the capitalist stratum. Moreover, that legislation has become
affordable because of the expansion of capitalism.13 Therefore, it may be ex-
pected that in the course of five decades, “all the desiderata that have so far been
espoused by any social reformers—practically without exception, including
even the greater part of the cranks—either would be fulfilled automatically or
could be fulfilled without significant interference with the capitalist process”
(1942: 69).
 Joseph Schumpeter 127

3.2 The Economic Success of Capitalism

Is No Coincidence

To what extent can we explain the enormous achievements of the capitalist sys-
tem from 1878 to 1928 in terms of the characteristics of this system, and to what
extent might we expect this system to repeat its performance? Were the circum-
stances unique, and does it come down to sheer coincidence? Schumpeter did
not think so. First of all, he pointed out that capitalism constitutes an extremely
effective social selection system: by fairly objective and simple means, it guar-
antees that the brightest and best will rise to the top and take up the most im-
portant economic positions (1942: 73). The fact is that individual success in
capitalist society is to a very high degree due to personal qualities and efforts.
The main beacons and parameters of the society and of the success that people
can attain within it are, moreover, of an economic nature. This success is mea-
sured by purely quantitative standards—that is, in monetary terms. Earning
money means climbing up the social ladder; losing money means slipping
down it. The small minority who win, according to Schumpeter, can count on
“spectacular prizes” that are often completely disproportionate to the reward
that would be necessary to entice the persons in question to perform at that
level. But because every enterprising person expects eventually to rake in these
prizes as well, he is driven to make his utmost effort to use his capacities. All in
all, the capitalist game makes an extremely effective appeal to one’s talent, dili-
gence, and industriousness. According to Schumpeter, it appeals to and creates
a system of motives that is unsurpassed in its power and simplicity.
The fact that capitalism is propelled mainly by the desire for personal gain
does not hinder its maximum social outcome. On the contrary; before Schum-
peter, classical economists, such as Adam Smith and, later, Alfred Marshall and
Knut Wicksell, made their mark by demonstrating just this point. Nonetheless,
according to Schumpeter, they too lightly assumed a direct and unambivalent
relation between individual profit seeking and social outcome. In the reasoning
of the classical economists, firms that are unable independently to influence the
market price of their products or means of production will keep increasing
their output until the cost of making an additional unit is equal to the price that
they can get for this item on the market. Then they demonstrated that the total
output of all firms taken together in a situation of perfect competition forms
the “socially desirable” production: all factors of production are fully utilized,
and output is at its highest level.
The problem with this classical representation is, according to Schumpeter,
128 Chapter Four

that a situation of perfect competition seldom if ever occurs in practice (1942:

79 –80). The assumptions underlying the classical model are thus unrealistic,
implying that the conclusions that are drawn on the basis of this model are also
rarely correct. Instead of an open and beneficial competition between multiple
suppliers, the average market will more likely have a small and shrinking num-
ber of suppliers who are not so much seeking to serve the market as to control it.
This might involve deliberately overproducing and dumping goods in order to
bankrupt the competition, taking over rival firms, and making agreements
with competitors to keep the market price artificially high and the output low.
Consequently, there is absolutely no guarantee that the system will sponta-
neously grow toward a state of economic equilibrium, an equilibrium whereby
all means of production are used to their maximum and as efficiently as possi-
ble and whereby there is no unemployment.

3.3 The Process of Creative Destruction

Is the Engine of Economic Progress

The image that the classical economists sketch of the causes of economic
growth is not realistic either, according to Schumpeter. In their view, this
growth could occur thanks to the fact that competition is continuously forcing
firms to cut back on costs and make production more efficient. In Schumpeter’s
opinion, this coercion is not all that strong, since, as we have seen, there is rarely
an open market. As he emphasized, it is not the relatively small firms, which are
constantly engaged in a competitive struggle, that ensure economic growth.
This is accomplished by the large monopolistic and oligopoloid corporations.
The effects that have a negative impact on total output, which people generally
ascribe to these corporations, only come to light when the economy is analyzed
at a specific moment. As Marx rightly emphasized, capitalism should nonethe-
less be considered an evolutionary process. By definition, capitalism implies
economic development, as Schumpeter wrote. Its performance has to be mea-
sured over a period of decades or even centuries. Moreover, the actions and vi-
cissitudes of individual firms or even of individual branches of industry can
only be appreciated against the backdrop of this development. Monopolistic
and oligopoloid practices then take on an entirely new meaning.
The fundamental impulse that puts the capitalistic engine in motion and
keeps it running consists, according to Schumpeter, of new consumer goods,
new production methods, new markets, and new forms of industrial organiza-
tion. In what he labels a “process of creative destruction,” these innovations in-
cessantly revolutionize the economic structure from within. He considers this
 Joseph Schumpeter 129

process to be “the essential fact about capitalism. It is what capitalism consists

in and what every capitalist concern has got to live in” (1942: 83). From this per-
spective, we shall have to consider the phenomenon of competition in a funda-
mentally different way. His colleagues thought that firms compete with each
other on the basis of their product’s price, quality, or reputation, as built up by
advertising. However, this form of competition is, according to Schumpeter, of
little importance in the harsh reality of capitalism. The kind of competition he
was talking about is competition “which commands a decisive cost or quality
advantage and which strikes not at the margins of the profits and the outputs of
existing firms but at their foundations and their very lives. This kind of compe-
tition is as much more effective than the other as a bombardment is in compar-
ison with forcing a door, and so much more important that it becomes a matter
of comparative indifference whether competition in the ordinary sense func-
tions more or less promptly; the powerful lever that in the long run expands
output and brings down prices is in any case made of other stuff ” (1942: 85).

3.4 Monopolistic Practices Are Often

Beneficial to the Economy

In light of the process of creative destruction, attempts to limit competition

also take on a different meaning. These attempts, which are as a rule challenged
by economists and politicians, actually promote economic progress, in Schum-
peter’s view. He considered it nothing short of economically correct behavior to
reduce as far as possible the level of risk that every investment entails. The en-
trepreneur protects his investment by applying for patents, through secrecy, or
by contractually binding clients to himself for a long period. If all of this proves
unfeasible, he can keep prices at such a high level that he can earn back the in-
vestment faster than would be economically necessary. He can also deliberately
create overcapacity so that he can immediately force any new entrants out of
the market. But he might just as well arrange to operate as a cartel.14 If the gov-
ernment were effectively to combat these practices, Schumpeter thought there
would be a good chance that the investment would not take place. This would
seriously frustrate the process of creative destruction and with it the process of
economic growth.15 According to him, we must accept that large-scale oligop-
oloid companies form the most powerful engine of economic progress. This is
not in spite of but to a large degree through the market strategies that seem so
restrictive in the short term and in individual cases. As he continues, “In this re-
spect, perfect competition is not only impossible but inferior, and has no title
to being set up as a model of ideal efficiency. It is hence a mistake to base the
130 Chapter Four

theory of government regulation of industry on the principle that big business

should be made to work as the respective industry would work in perfect com-
petition” (1942: 106).

3.5 The Capitalistic Economy Can Also

Keep Growing in the Future

Can we expect the economic achievements of capitalism in the fifty years after
1928 to be comparable to those made in the half century that preceded this pe-
riod? In light of the Great Depression and the subsequent slow economic re-
covery, many economists were fairly pessimistic about this expectation in the
1930s and 1940s. They thought that investment opportunities would slowly but
surely dry up, thereby making economic growth unlikely in the future. The
main reasons they identified are, according to Schumpeter, the following: satu-
ration of the market; population decline; shortage of new territory; less likeli-
hood of technological innovation; and the situation that future investment op-
portunities are mostly in the public sphere instead of the private sphere. As
might have been expected, Schumpeter was not impressed by their arguments.
The chance that people would feel that all their needs had been satisfied
seemed negligible for the coming five decades.16 A declining population is ac-
companied by the release of money that people can spend in ways other than
on children. Incidentally, having fewer children than previously is to a large ex-
tent the result of this desire. Schumpeter blamed the prevalent pessimism—
the widely held idea that the most significant technological inventions have al-
ready been made and that in the future only marginal technical improvements
will offer investment opportunities—wholly on a lack of imagination. “Tech-
nological possibilities are an uncharted sea,” he wrote, and what the future may
bring in the way of new discoveries is unpredictable (1942: 118). Fertile soil can
be gradually used up, but the domain of yet undiscovered techniques is bound-
less. Finally, rising affluence increases the demand for public amenities, such as
attractive cities, parks, and health care. This explains why we shall invest more
and more in the public sector in the future. In addition, a growing share of
manufacturing activities can be more successfully managed by the public sec-
tor. This applies, for instance, to communications, the energy sector, and in-
surance. However, investments remain the key issue; economically, it does not
matter in which sector we invest (1942: 120).
 Joseph Schumpeter 131

3.6 Capitalistic Civilization and the

Rationalization Process

Why, then, did Schumpeter expect the decline of capitalism? The answer lies in
the nature of capitalistic culture. Like Weber and Mannheim, Schumpeter also
acknowledges that capitalism constitutes not only an economic order but also a
system of norms, values, goals, and expectations. This culture forms the foun-
dation for the capitalist economy but is at the same time a product of it. If the
culture is undermined, the economic structure is jeopardized. According to
Schumpeter, in his time we could see this happening before our eyes.
What are the defining features of capitalistic civilization? Schumpeter, who
incidentally did not bother to refer to Weber, Mannheim, or other sociologists
anywhere in his writing, placed the accent mainly on its rationalistic character.
He substantiated this by comparing a modern complex society with a small-
scale, undifferentiated, primitive society. In the latter, the individual is imbued
with much more strictly collective ideas than is a member of a modern society.
Moreover, in primitive society, decisions are based primarily on nonlogical,
magical considerations. In Schumpeter’s view, a rationalistic civilization, in
contrast, means the presence of “a slow though incessant widening of the sector
of social life within which individuals or groups go about dealing with a given
situation, first, by trying to make the best of it more or less—never wholly—
according to their own lights; second, by doing so on assumptions which satisfy
two conditions: that their number be a minimum and that every one of them
be amenable to expression in terms of potential experience” (1942: 122).
Schumpeter emphasized that a civilization is seldom fully rationalized. In some
domains, prerational, primitive impulses can remain dominant. As we shall see
below, just like Mannheim, he too considered politics to be an important ex-
ample of this.
Another feature of a rationalistic civilization that Schumpeter pointed out
was also to play a key role in the way he elaborated his argument: when rational
analysis has become enough of a habit, it turns itself against the ideas and val-
ues that form the skeleton of the present society. The reason is that nothing is
sacred anymore. Everything is seen from a rational and critical perspective.
Why should kings, popes, superiors, and property exist? The fact that people
raise this kind of question, as Schumpeter warned, is not necessarily proof that
their civilization has reached a higher level. The rationalistic critic can open up
to discussion, with surgical precision, the small but indispensable building
blocks of a civilization and keep examining them just as long as it takes him to
132 Chapter Four

undermine the whole structure, albeit unintentionally. He lacks the wider per-
spective that would allow him to understand the difference between the facing
stone and the cornerstone. Here, the simple “magical” understanding that so-
called primitive people have of how things form part of a whole might be con-
siderably more sensible and wiser, according to Schumpeter.17
Where does the rational attitude come from? Schumpeter’s answer is not the
most convincing part of his discussion, though he did make several astute ob-
servations. According to Schumpeter, the rational attitude was conceived in the
sphere of economic necessity: “It is the everyday economic task to which we as
a race owe our elementary training in rational thought and behavior—I have
no hesitation in saying that all logic is derived from the pattern of the economic
decision” (1942: 122–23). The reason is that preeminently in the sphere of eco-
nomics the effect of a certain action becomes immediately and unambiguously
clear. Moreover, this effect can as a rule be quantitatively measured. In other
spheres (the conduct of war, love, the weather, the conscience), one can end-
lessly mumble magic formulas (“Supply and Demand,” or “Planning and Con-
trol,” as Schumpeter suggested) without it ever becoming clear how this will in-
fluence the outcome. This is not true in economics. Hunger is not eliminated
by reciting formulas. For this reason, this is the domain where the rational habit
will develop first, a habit that will subsequently spread to other domains:
“Once hammered in, the rational habit spreads under the pedagogic influence
of favorable experiences to the other spheres and there also opens eyes for that
amazing thing, the Fact” (1942: 123).
Just like the profit motive and defending one’s own interest, this process of
rationalization takes place outside the context of the political economy. It de-
velops in the capitalistic order as well as in other orders. However, according to
Schumpeter, capitalism propels rational thought in two important and related
ways. In the first place, it does this by elevating money, which is not in itself a
capitalist invention, to the unit of accounting and to a means of performing
cost-benefit calculations (cf. Weber in section 3.1 above). In this manner, every-
thing is assigned a price expressed in quantitative units, and the calculation of
cost and benefit can give a strong impetus to the logic of enterprise. Once this
logic or attitude has come into its own in the economic sphere, it begins its tri-
umphal march through the other spheres of life. Schumpeter even ascribed the
development of the sciences from the fifteenth century onward to this process.
However, capitalism engendered not only the rational scientific attitude. It
also provided the necessary people and resources. Unlike previous orders, it
offered talented persons the opportunity to climb upward on the social ladder.
 Joseph Schumpeter 133

It was precisely these enterprising individuals, more than anyone else, who pos-
sessed and displayed the rational attitude. Their success served to recruit even
more of society’s most astute minds, with the result that the capitalist machine,
along with its rationality, kept running without interruption. Ultimately, ratio-
nal thinking spreads throughout the whole culture: “Not only the modern
mechanized plant and the volume of the output that pours forth from it, not
only modern technology and economic organization, but all the features and
achievements of modern civilization are, directly or indirectly, the product of
the capitalist process” (1942: 125). The latter point applies throughout, from air-
planes and automobiles all the way to television sets and refrigerators. It is also
true of the modern hospital. This is not only because capitalism generates the
necessary resources for the hospital but also because it produces the mentality
and the rationality underlying the actions that are performed there. It applies to
the arts, literature, the present-day lifestyle, and even to feminism, which
Schumpeter saw as “an essentially capitalist phenomenon” (1942: 127). And it
applies to everything related to “individualist democracy”: the wide scope of
personal freedom that everyone can enjoy, the deep sympathy for people’s real
or faked suffering, and the relatively wide range of opportunities to exercise
democratic influence.18
Schumpeter also considered the extensive system of social provisions to be a
product of capitalism, as we saw earlier. Capitalism generated the necessary
economic resources for the pertinent legislation and also the motivation: “The
capitalist process rationalizes behavior and ideas and by so doing chases from
our minds, along with metaphysical belief, mystic and romantic ideas of all
sorts. Thus it reshapes not only our methods of attaining our ends but also
these ultimate ends themselves” (1942: 127). Our inherited, prerational sense of
duty is thus translated within capitalism into utilitarian ideas on how to im-
prove the fate of mankind. And metaphysical ideas about poverty, suffering,
and property lose their clarity, loftiness, and reality value when viewed with a
rational eye.
The capitalistic, rationalistic culture is also antiheroic. Success in business
comes not from rattling sabers and rearing steeds but from diligently and pa-
tiently pouring over tables and lists. The bourgeois class is fundamentally paci-
fistic in nature, not only for this reason but also because of its utilitarian atti-
tude. The members of the bourgeoisie want to be left in peace and allowed
gradually to build up their capital. They want the same moral strictures to ap-
ply in international relations as they uphold in their private lives. Therefore,
modern pacifism and internationalism are also, according to Schumpeter,
134 Chapter Four

products of capitalism. Indeed, the more capitalistic the structure and attitude
of a nation, “the more pacifist—and the more prone to count the costs of
war—we observe it to be” (1942: 129).
In review, from Schumpeter’s perspective, we must acknowledge that capi-
talism has made enormous economic and cultural achievements. In his opin-
ion, it would thus be highly laudable if this civilization were to keep up its fruit-
ful work. At the same time, as he noted, he realized that this is a personal
standpoint for which he cannot provide scientific support: one can agree com-
pletely with his description of capitalist civilization and nonetheless disparage
it. Fortunately, normative judgments of the performance of capitalism are irrel-
evant, “for mankind is not free to choose.” As we saw in our earlier discussion
of Schumpeter’s standpoint on science, he explained this want of freedom as
follows: “Things economic and social move by their own momentum and the
ensuing situations compel individuals and groups to behave in certain ways
whatever they may wish to do—not indeed by destroying their freedom of
choice but by shaping the choosing mentalities and by narrowing the list of
possibilities from which to choose. If this is the quintessence of Marxism then
we all of us have got to be Marxists” (1942: 130). Thus, one cannot predict on
the basis of capitalism’s impressive past performance whether people will
choose to prolong this system or not. According to Schumpeter, the future even
looks rather bleak for capitalism.

3.7 Capitalism Destroys Its Own

Institutional Framework

In Schumpeter’s opinion, various factors underlie the future downfall of the

capitalist system. The first of these consists of the gradual erosion of the insti-
tutional framework that protects capitalism.
Paradoxically, the erosion set in already with the social marginalization of the
aristocratic strata. The mystical aura surrounding these medieval power holders
and their cultivated lordly attitudes and lifestyle made them rulers of men. This
was self-evident not only to themselves but to their subjects as well. How differ-
ent is rational bourgeois man! He is, according to Schumpeter, devoid of any
heroic or mystical element, and outside his office he is rarely capable of fasci-
nating anyone, let alone making a lasting impression (1942: 138). Knowing this,
for a long time the bourgeois left politics to his aristocratic predecessors. The
ascendancy of capitalistic industrial society did, of course, destroy the aristoc-
racy’s agrarian power base, but the prestige of the aristocratic rulers was so great
that for a long time their social position remained largely unimpaired. Accord-
 Joseph Schumpeter 135

ing to Schumpeter, the aristocracy guarded a social structure that was perfectly
suited as a setting where the bourgeoisie could thrive. Nevertheless, as the
power base of the aristocracy gradually eroded, the bourgeoisie lost its patron
and protector.19 Its members do not have the capacity either to lead the coun-
try or to defend the interests of their own class. In other words, the bourgeoisie
needs a master. However, the capitalistic process wears this master out or, as in
the United States, never gave him a chance to develop (1942: 139).
Furthermore, capitalism marginalizes not only the position of the aristoc-
racy but, eventually, also that of the bourgeoisie. First of all, the role that the
old-fashioned visionary entrepreneur played in economic innovation becomes
increasingly redundant. Originally, his creative and destructive activities,
viewed from a long-term perspective, led to continuous economic growth. Yet
at a time of gigantic, completely bureaucratized corporations, this role is in-
creasingly taken over by teams of specially trained experts on the payroll who
routinely and in a predicable manner deliver the required innovation. Any ro-
mantic vestiges of the former commercial spirit of adventure thereby disappear
in modern times. Moreover, people become increasingly accustomed to con-
tinuous economic changes, and consequently it takes less and less effort to carry
through these changes. Nor does making these changes require the former en-
trepreneur’s personality and force of argument any longer. Because capitalism
rationalizes the entrepreneur, turning him into an inconsequential wage earner,
the bourgeoisie also loses its function and at the same time its position in soci-
ety. Indeed, the bourgeoisie is largely dependent upon the entrepreneur for its
income and prestige. In short, the more capitalism develops, the more it de-
stroys the social stratum that has made this civilization great (1942: 134).
Along with the loss of his social function, bourgeois man is also confronted
with a declining significance and vitality of many of the institutions and atti-
tudes that characterize the bourgeois world. This applies in particular, accord-
ing to Schumpeter, to private property and free contracting. Because the small
and medium-sized firms are swallowed up by gigantic bureaucratic corpora-
tions, the small proprietors who managed and owned these companies also dis-
appear. This has already had far-reaching consequences at the polls. Even more
important, though, is how the whole foundation under the social significance
of private property and free contracting is thereby eroded. It is so important be-
cause “its most vital, most concrete, most meaningful types disappear from the
moral horizon of the people” (1942: 141). Gone are the entrepreneurs who in-
vested their own assets, ran the company themselves, and were prepared to go
to any lengths to defend the interests of the company. They have since been re-
136 Chapter Four

placed by salaried managers and by small and institutional shareholders. None

of these individuals and institutions identify themselves with the company like
an owner does. For them, it is merely a source of income.
A similar change in meaning concerns the idea of freedom of contracting. As
Schumpeter explained, the authentic contract was concluded between two par-
ties, both of whom had an indefinite number of alternatives. How different is
the “stereotyped, unindividual, impersonal and bureaucratized contract of to-
day.” Its former character has disappeared completely in a time when giant con-
cerns are only “dealing with other giant concerns or impersonal masses of
workmen or consumers” (1942: 141).
In this way, according to Schumpeter, the capitalistic process increasingly
undermines those institutions that articulate the needs and functions of private
enterprise. The consequence of the gradual disappearance of these institutions
from society’s awareness is obvious: when no one really feels that he owns any-
thing anymore, and when truly free contracting becomes more and more of a
fiction, who then will still feel called upon to stand up for these buttresses of the
bourgeois capitalist order? And in the same vein, who will be left to defend this
order?

3.8 Capitalism Makes More

and More Enemies

In short, the bourgeoisie is unable to legitimate and defend either itself or its
capitalist system. This incapacity is only truly manifest when it comes under
fire from other groups in civil society. The intellectuals in particular play a
detrimental role in this.

3.8.1 people are unable to evaluate capitalism rationally

The criticism of capitalism is growing despite its enormous cultural and eco-
nomic achievements. As Schumpeter emphasized, it does not help the bour-
geoisie to rest on these laurels. They are completely irrelevant from a political
perspective. It is a fallacy to think “that political attack arises primarily from
grievance and that it can be turned by justification. Political criticism cannot be
met effectively by rational argument” (1942: 144). While it is true that capital-
ism has promoted the development of a rational, critical spirit, the irrational
motivations and impulses have nonetheless remained intact. These have even
gained a free hand, now that the capitalist spirit of rationalism has desacralized
everything we had in our civilization in the way of traditional, organic concep-
tual frameworks (cf. section 3.6 above). As Schumpeter wrote, “Capitalist ra-
 Joseph Schumpeter 137

tionality does not do away with sub- or super-rational impulses. It merely

makes them get out of hand by removing the restraint of sacred or semi-sacred
tradition. In a civilization that lacks the means and even the will to discipline
and to guide them, they will revolt. And once they revolt it matters little that,
in a rationalist culture, their manifestations will in general be rationalized
somehow” (1942: 144).
Furthermore, Schumpeter considered the defense of capitalism to be extra-
ordinarily difficult, because people generally lack the knowledge, the analytical
capacity, and the patience to think about things in the long term. As we saw in
the discussion above, according to him it is only on the grounds of this long
term that one can present a convincing argument in support of capitalism.
Moreover, this argument asks the currently unemployed and other less affluent
groups to ignore their personal fate. And politicians would be expected to sup-
press the inclination to attract votes by appealing to today’s feelings of discon-
tent. This is asking too much, of course. Schumpeter thought that the capital-
ist system was on weak footing because its rationalistic character hinders people
from developing an emotional bond with this system. It is not a royal house.
This problem keeps getting bigger because, from time to time, every human
being has to deal with disappointments and setbacks, and he is inclined to
blame them on the world outside. In this way, this system becomes easy prey for
anyone who might want to vent his frustrations, which are, in essence, strictly
personal in nature.
The growing animosity toward capitalism only becomes politically relevant,
however, when it is translated into fairly coherent demands. There must be
some group within the society that has some interest in stimulating the ani-
mosity, to organize and lead it, and to give it direction. According to Schum-
peter, the masses are not capable of doing this on their own: “The mass of the
people never develops definite opinions on its own initiative. Still less is it able
to articulate them and to turn them into consistent attitudes and actions. All it
can do is to follow or refuse to follow such group leadership as may offer itself”
(1942: 145). Which group is eligible to play this destructive role? A unique fea-
ture of capitalism is, according to Schumpeter, that it brings forth, teaches, and
subsidizes a group that has a vested interest in social unrest. Its members are the
intellectuals.

3.8.2 intellectuals and their subversive activities

Just like Weber, Schumpeter had little affinity with intellectuals, or with the
group that usually profiles itself as such. In an extensive excursion into the “so-
138 Chapter Four

ciology of the intellectual,” he sketched a caustic portrait of this species (1942:

146 –55). Intellectuals, he asserted in an attempt to describe them, come from
all corners of society, but like the members of other social classes they develop
shared interests and attitudes. Their main activities involve fighting one an-
other and manning the barricades to defend the interests of classes to which
they themselves do not belong. They have all enjoyed higher education, and
their instruments and power bases consist of the spoken and written word. In-
tellectuals are not the only ones who make a living in this way, but the intellec-
tual distinguishes himself from them by the absence of any direct responsibility
for practical matters. As a consequence, he gets all his knowledge second hand.
Seldom if ever can he base himself on personal experience. His best opportu-
nity to manifest himself is through criticism. The (self-)respect he gains is
equivalent to the disrespect he displays.20
Thanks to capitalism, as Schumpeter wryly observed, there are more and
more intellectuals, and their influence is growing. The affordable book, the
cheap newspaper, and the new mass media in which intellectuals can vent their
many opinions are products of capitalism. The same is true of the constantly
growing audience for these opinions and of the increasing importance that is
attached to “public opinion” in capitalistic civilization. As we have seen,
Schumpeter considered even the freedom of speech, which makes it possible to
vent all these critical opinions, to be a byproduct of capitalism. Indeed, the
bourgeoisie is relatively powerless in the face of the attacks by intellectuals that
it increasingly has to endure. The reason is that these attacks are launched from
within the political and legal framework that the bourgeoisie itself has created.
Moreover, this framework is being stretched further and further. In fact, noth-
ing is sacred in the eyes of the rational, critical intellectual.
Why, in fact, do the intellectuals criticize capitalistic civilization, a civiliza-
tion that has given them so much to be grateful for? Schumpeter’s answer is that
they simply cannot help it. The point is that they make their living by criticism.
It is their occupation. Moreover, their discontent is fed by a deep frustration
with their own position in society. Schumpeter clarifies this, pointing out that
under capitalism, higher education has been expanding vigorously (1942: 152–
53; cf. Mannheim’s standpoints on the elites in section 3.3 above). The number
of people who have had higher education is growing disproportionately, which
makes it increasingly difficult for those in question to find suitable work. Some
are unemployed, others have to take jobs that they feel are beneath them.
Moreover, because of the law of supply and demand, the working conditions
get worse and their social prestige declines. Since these persons have not really
 Joseph Schumpeter 139

learned a skill, they do not have much to fall back on. Many of those who are
unemployed or dissatisfied with their job therefore join the guild of those oc-
cupations for which the qualifications and standards are the least specific. They
may become a journalist, a publicist, a columnist—a critic. They do this in a
state of mind that is thoroughly discontented. Discontent, says Schumpeter, is
the mother of resentment and rancor. This is naturally aimed at one’s sur-
roundings, in this case, thus, at capitalism. The deep discontent that already ex-
ists in society forms the raw material with which the intellectual then sets to
work. He verbalizes, stimulates, energizes, and organizes it.
In this way, the intellectual throws himself into the labor movement. He
supplies the dissatisfied workers with theories and slogans. In the process, he
changes the values and objectives of this movement, according to Schumpeter.
He radicalizes it. As a rule, both the leaders who come from the working class
and the workers who belong to it strive in a pragmatic fashion to improve their
material situation. The intellectual promises more, though: he promises a new
world. He knows that he comes from a different background and will therefore
always be viewed with distrust. If he is to secure the loyalty of the laborer, the
intellectual will have to offer him more than a raise in pay (cf. 1942: 341– 49).
The influence of the intellectual stratum extends farther than the labor
movement, however. While it is true that intellectuals are seldom professional
politicians or policymakers—in fact, they shy away from accepting direct re-
sponsibility—they staff the political offices, write political programs, speeches,
and pamphlets, serve as political advisers, and, through their newspaper arti-
cles, are responsible for the reputation of the politicians. Their mentality is thus
pervasive and ubiquitous: politicians and political parties will constantly have
to take the opinions, interests, and attitudes of these intellectuals into account
or else run the risk of a damaged reputation.

3.9 The Collapse of the Family, the Country

Place, and Capitalism

Under pressure from a continuously growing hostility, which is moreover

translated into legislative, administrative, and juridical measures, entrepre-
neurs and capitalists operate with increasing difficulty. As a consequence, the
motivation to run a business is gradually dying out. According to Schumpeter,
the causes are not only external; they are also internal. As we have already seen,
he noted the declining importance of private property: the capitalist process
changes the entrepreneur into a salaried employee (see section 3.7 above). Since
he is no longer the owner of the company himself, the willingness to go to any
140 Chapter Four

lengths for the sake of the business disappears. The modern bureaucratic firm
thus gradually socializes bourgeois man, imbuing him with the mentality of the
bureaucrat (1942: 156).
Schumpeter considered the second internal causative factor to be even more
important: the disappearance of the bourgeois family. According to him, his
contemporaries attached far less importance to family life and parenthood than
before. This can be deduced from, among other statistics, the declining num-
ber of children, particularly within the bourgeoisie and among intellectuals.
Schumpeter ascribed this decline wholly to the rationalization of more and
more spheres of life under capitalism (1942: 157). As soon as people start to eval-
uate traditional lifestyles and patterns of expectation, and when they start to
look at having and maintaining children from a utilitarian perspective, they are
quite likely to decide against having a large family. The high personal costs of
raising a family, as Schumpeter emphasized, are not only of a financial nature.
By having children, people also lose their comfort, freedom, and the option to
enjoy alternative ways of spending their time, energy, and money—pleasures
that incidentally keep increasing in number, appeal, and variety under capital-
ism.21 Generally, modern individuals who seek immediate personal satisfac-
tion in a purely utilitarian manner hardly focus on deriving any great long-term
benefit from parenthood. In a passage that characterizes Schumpeter the man
to a T, he wrote: “The greatest of the assets, the contribution made by parent-
hood to physical and moral health—to ‘normality’ as we might express it—
particularly in the case of women,22 almost invariably escapes the rational
searchlight of modern individuals who, in private as in public life, tend to focus
attention on ascertainable details of immediate utilitarian relevance and to
sneer at the idea of hidden necessities of human nature or of the social organ-
ism” (1942: 158).
Concomitant with the disappearance of the large family, the residences that
were traditional for the bourgeoisie also disappear: the town house and the
country place. Until the turn of the century, among the well-to-do members of
the bourgeoisie, these residences were considered indispensable and were taken
for granted, according to Schumpeter. “Not only hospitality on any scale and in
any style, but even the comfort, dignity, repose and refinement of the family
depended upon its having an adequate foyer of its own that was adequately
staffed” (1942: 158). This was not the way the modern rational individual saw
things. His need for large quarters was already decreasing because his family
kept decreasing in size. But in addition, he saw large quarters primarily as a nui-
sance, a source of trouble and expense, both of which can be reduced by living
 Joseph Schumpeter 141

in small, mechanized establishments and making use of outside services as

much as possible. In this manner, the traditional hospitality offered in the
home was increasingly moved to restaurants and clubs.
According to Schumpeter, the consequence of this rationalization of family
life is that the entrepreneur loses all motivation to accumulate capital. In earlier
times, he worked, saved, and invested primarily for his residence and for his
wife and children. He tried to build up a dynasty. The time horizon is much
shorter now. Gradually, the entrepreneur loses the capitalist ethics whereby a
person looks forward to working for one’s future, regardless of whether or not
he will reap the benefits himself (1942: 160).23 The future-oriented capitalist
changes into a consumer who is mainly occupied with the here and now. His
calling fades, and with it the driving force of the capitalist system.
In short, the capitalist process ruins capitalism, according to Schumpeter, by
undermining the social position of the bourgeoisie, destroying its institutional
framework, creating a hostile atmosphere, and dousing its ardent motivation.
In the same process, however, and at the same time, the conditions are set for a
new social order: socialism. Marx was right in this respect. How will this soci-
ety look precisely? Will it function? And how, and at what pace, will it come
into being?

4 THE SOCIALIST ECONOMIC SYSTEM WORKS

Schumpeter described socialist society as an institutional order where a central

authority controls both output and the means of production. In other words,
under socialism, a society’s economic affairs are in principle relegated to the
public domain, not to the private domain (1942: 167). In forging this purely
economic definition, Schumpeter followed what he perceived to be customary
practice in mainstream socialist tradition. After all, the point of departure of
these socialists (a standpoint he fully endorsed) is that the economy is the most
critical constitutive force in society. This is the basis for their expectation that a
change in the economic order will usher in all that men hope for. Yet this does
not mean, as Schumpeter emphasized, that their goal is exclusively economic in
nature, or that they consider nothing else besides their beefsteaks to be worth
fighting for: “Socialism aims at higher goals than full bellies. First and fore-
most, socialism means a new cultural world” (1942: 170).
What will this new world look like? Schumpeter holds this issue to be largely
undetermined and unknown. According to him, it could be either proletarian
or aristocratic in character, democratic or autocratic, individualistic or collec-
142 Chapter Four

tivist, disciplined or disorderly, egalitarian or elitist, nationalistic or interna-

tionalist, belligerent or pacifist, theocratic, atheistic, or agnostic, and so forth.
He admits that we could naturally make some predictions about this culture on
the basis of reason. But in the absence of hard facts drawn from experience with
a socialist society, these could never be anything more than probabilities.24

4.1 The Sound Rationality of a

Socialist Economy

Schumpeter was much more forthcoming in his answer to the question of

whether the socialist economic system will be able to function. His answer is, as
it is so often, concise and provocative: “Of course it can” (1942: 167). Thereby
he clearly distances himself from the criticism that nearly all nonsocialist econ-
omists lodge at the idea of a centrally controlled system of production. Lud-
wig von Mises (1881–1973) was an eminent exponent of such criticism.25 As
Schumpeter read it, this means that being able to make rational calculations of
costs is a precondition of rational economic behavior. To do so, one has to have
cost prices and thus also markets where these prices are set. However, since no
markets exist under socialism, there are no cost prices. Consequently, there is
nothing on which to base the required rational calculations. In this way, one
cannot produce in a rational manner under socialism. This leaves the planners
with nothing but guesswork.
Schumpeter considered this train of thought completely untenable. Refer-
ring to, and concurring with, various other critics, among whom Enrico
Barone (1859–1924), Oskar Lange (1904 –1965), and Abba Lerner (1905 –1982),
he reiterated that the fundamental logic of economic behavior is absolutely
identical in a capitalist and a socialist order (1942: 173). In both orders, markets
will emerge providing the planners, whether in private enterprises or in gov-
ernment bureaucracies, with the information they need in order to make ratio-
nal decisions. The only thing that distinguishes the socialist order from the cap-
italist is the principle of a separation between production and distribution. The
distribution or allocation of the social product—or in each case, the criterion
by which this takes place—is a political decision and not the outcome of the
market mechanism. This has, however, no consequences for the rationality of
the production.
To elucidate this point, Schumpeter argues as follows. Assume that the se-
lected criterion for allocation is egalitarian, that everyone is granted freedom of
choice with regard to his consumption behavior (some people would rather
have jam than cheese), and that everyone receives an equal number of vouchers
 Joseph Schumpeter 143

that he can exchange in the socialist shops in specified ratios for the goods that
are available there. We could call these vouchers moons, suns, or even dollars.
The planners do not have to set the number of vouchers that one has to hand
in, or the price that one has to pay, to obtain a particular good. Assuming that
the planners want all the goods that are produced to be consumed, and assum-
ing that consumers have their own preferences, the planners can vary the prices
in such a way that the shops will sell all their wares. The price of some goods will
sometimes have to drop for the consumers to be willing to buy up the entire
supply of all that has been produced. In other cases, the price might be able to
rise, just for as long as it takes for the demand at a given price to be completely
satisfied. When consumers evaluate existing consumer goods in this way—
that is, by making their preferences known—they also evaluate the means of
production that are needed to manufacture these goods. After all, when a cer-
tain good can only be manufactured at a cost that is higher than the price that
the consumer is willing to pay for the good, then the consumer is indicating in
this manner that, so far as he is concerned, these particular means of produc-
tion could better be put to other uses. The final result of these evaluations is, ac-
cording to Schumpeter, that given the available resources and technical capac-
ity, the consumers’ needs will be maximally satisfied (1942: 175).
He elaborated this last point as follows. Assume that a central planning bu-
reau allocates the available means of production to the companies. All of the
companies can get as much as they want, but to do so they have to meet three
conditions. First of all, they have to produce the goods as efficiently as possible.
Second, they have to pay set prices for these means of production. The vouchers
they need to do so they previously obtained by selling their products to con-
sumers. Third, the companies should produce exactly enough for the market
price to be equal to the amount that they have to pay the planning bureau for
the means needed to make this product. If they have met these conditions,
then, according to Schumpeter, every company’s board of directors knows what
it has to do next. In this regard, the board does not differ from an entrepreneur
in a perfectly competitive branch of industry. The latter knows what and how
much he has to produce as soon as the technical capacities, the reactions of the
consumers (their preferences and income levels), and the costs of the means of
production are known. Likewise, the managers in a socialist system will know
what and how they have to produce and what amount of resources they have to
buy from the central bureau as soon as this bureau has published its prices and
the consumers have made their wishes or “demand” known (1942: 177). Finally,
the prices that the central planning bureau has to charge to the individual firms
144 Chapter Four

can be established in the same way as they are on the market for consumption
goods. Thus, the bureau must set the prices for the various resources as high or
as low as necessary to ensure that the companies will use all available resources
and that there will be no demand for additional resources at this price. If this
does not happen, all goods will be rationally allocated, and the planning will
thereby be rational and optimal.
The above line of reasoning is applicable to a static economy where the goods
and production methods remain unchanged. Yet also in a dynamic economy,
where innovation occurs and the planners have to make investment decisions,
Schumpeter thought it was easy to demonstrate the rationality of socialism
(1942: 178–81). All functions that are performed in a capitalist system in order to
make rational investments possible—for instance, saving, borrowing, and ex-
tending credit—can, in his view, be performed in a socialist system too. This is
not surprising because, as mentioned above, economic rationality ultimately re-
mains the same. Take, for instance, the rent that landowners charge peasants un-
der capitalism (the interest that lenders charge for extending credit is no differ-
ent in nature). Under socialism, of course, there are no landowners, but as
Schumpeter emphasized, this does not mean that something like “rent” would
not exist. The reason is simple: land is not inexhaustible, and just like labor and
other means of production, it must be used economically. To this end, it has to
be assigned an economic value. Only then can the use of land be taken up in so-
cial accounting and only then can people weigh the relative benefit of its various
uses. If land had no price, then the comrades might conceivably decide to build
skyscrapers in the countryside and lay out a golf course in the city center. As-
signing value to land does not, however, imply making a concession to capital-
ism or the capitalist mentality. It is simply a requirement of economic rational-
ity. This rationality or logic is the same in every place and in every political
system. The fact that we associate it so closely with capitalism is, in Schumpeter’s
view, due to the historical fact that this is the only system we know from the in-
side. “If our historical acquaintance with economic phenomena had been made
in socialist environments,” he wrote, “we should now seem to be borrowing so-
cialist concepts when analyzing a capitalist process” (1942: 182).
In sum, from the perspective of economic rationality, Schumpeter saw no
reason at all to reject the idea of a planned economy. One could, of course, re-
ject it on other grounds. For instance, antisocialists like Lionel Robbins (1898–
1984) and Friedrich Hayek (1899 –1992) asserted that it is unattainable in
practice: the central planning bureau would be confronted with a task of un-
controllable complexity. This criticism is not convincing to Schumpeter either.
 Joseph Schumpeter 145

As Marx rightly stated, socialism can only function in an industrialized society,

and that society by definition has a large modern bureaucracy. Schumpeter saw
no reason to believe that a bureaucracy would break down under this task (1942:
185). The problems that socialist bureaucrats would have to solve are quite com-
parable with those of their predecessors in the enormous oligopolies that domi-
nate capitalism in its last phase. They are even considerably easier. One of the
greatest difficulties of managing a company, as Schumpeter indicated, consists
of the uncertainties that accompany every decision. These are mainly uncertain-
ties about the (re)actions of existing and potential competitors and overall eco-
nomic developments. According to Schumpeter, these uncertainties will disap-
pear almost completely under socialism. The managers will be fully informed
about the plans of their counterparts in other companies. Moreover, there is
nothing to prevent them from coordinating their plans. The central planning
bureau would be primarily an information office and serve as a coordinator of
decision-making. According to Schumpeter, much less intelligence is required
to make the remaining decisions than to pilot “a concern of any importance
through the waves and breakers of the capitalist sea” (1942: 186).

4.2 The Socialist Economic Order Is More

Rational Than the Capitalist

What are the pros and cons of the capitalist and the socialist orders? According
to Schumpeter, with respect to their civilization, there is little to be said. The
socialist civilization does not yet exist, and what it will look like is still for the
most part undetermined. Not a single socialist, wrote Schumpeter, will accept
the Russian experiences as being representative of socialism. Anyway, civiliza-
tions are worlds unto themselves and cannot be compared with each other
(1942: 187). Thus, even if the socialist civilization were to exist, it would still de-
pend to a large extent on personal preferences which standards one would take
as a basis for measurement.
More can be said about the economic sphere, even though this is in the end,
as Schumpeter reiterated, of no more than “secondary importance” in life
(1942: 188). The above analysis of the socialist economic order proves, accord-
ing to him, that there are good reasons to believe in its economic superiority. In
the event of its superiority, its probable achievements should only be compared
with those of an economy that is controlled by large oligopoloid concerns. In
Schumpeter’s view, the superiority of the latter type of economy over a system
of perfect competition has already been demonstrated empirically. The expla-
nation for this superiority is obvious, according to him. Individually, each of
146 Chapter Four

the numerous small businesses that are assumed to exist in a system of perfect
competition lacks the great organizational and technological capacities of the
colossal monopoloid or oligopoloid concerns. For this reason, they are not able
to attain a comparable economic growth. Thus, when a planned economy is su-
perior to a system of monopolies and oligopolies, it is also superior to a system
of perfect competition, which, by the way, disappeared long ago.
The primary reason why socialism is economically superior to capitalism is,
from Schumpeter’s perspective, that major uncertainties and ambiguities have
been removed in a socialist system. Because coordination is centralized, all kinds
of questions concerning production can be answered quickly and in relatively
unambiguous terms. This saves a great deal of energy and resources, which of
course is good for efficiency. By first planning for progress, by introducing new
products and methods in an orderly and coordinated fashion, it is possible to
avoid cyclical peaks and troughs much more effectively than is the case under
capitalism. Under capitalism, when the cotton industry takes a downturn, this
sets off a chain reaction that sometimes has far-reaching consequences for other
branches of industry, such as housing construction. Under socialism, the chance
of a sudden downturn is much lower—the creative destruction is planned—
but apart from this the policymakers can soften the blow, in this case by actually
promoting new home building. In this way, the overall level of economic activ-
ity can be maintained. Moreover, the policymakers can keep unemployment to
a minimum. They can put the people who were made redundant by innovations
in the cotton industry to work building houses, if the plan is set up at all ratio-
nally. Thus, what happens under socialism, all things considered, is that which
large oligopoloid concerns also try to do: control their environment and the fu-
ture as much as possible. This is done on a larger scale, however, and therefore
the effort is more successful (1942: 196).
There are two advantages related to this that are worth mentioning here.
Schumpeter considered them very important. First, innovations can be intro-
duced across the board under socialism, whereas entrepreneurs in a capitalist
setting in fact try to restrict the use of these innovations to their own firm. In
this way, they try to retain their advantage and to maximize their profit.26 Sec-
ond, Schumpeter pointed out that the costly antagonism between the private
sector and the public sector no longer exists under socialism (1942: 198). Under
capitalism, entrepreneurs look upon every instance of government interference
in their activities as an “intervention”—the word speaks for itself. By deploy-
ing many resources and using much energy, they do all they can to resist this.
For that reason, the government, in turn, has to deploy even more resources to
 Joseph Schumpeter 147

allow its interventions to succeed. And so it keeps going on and on. Under so-
cialism, of course, where everything is public, all these frictions and expendi-
tures can be avoided. One example is taxation. When the government controls
all sources of income, it no longer has to collect taxes. After all, it is a rather
roundabout approach first to pay out wages and then demand that part of the
money be paid back again. This allows the state to abolish its enormous ad-
ministrative apparatus that was set up to collect taxes—and likewise firms can
get rid of the apparatus they had set up to subvert that collection as much as
possible.

4.3 Socialist Man Need Not Be Either

a Genius or a Saint

Schumpeter notes one more point of criticism that might be leveled at the so-
cialist economic order, namely, that it makes unrealistic assumptions about
people’s cognitive capacities and moral motivations. He was brief about plan-
ners’ capacities: in a capitalist world, these do not have to be any greater than
those of entrepreneurs (1942: 202). In fact, even less is demanded of them be-
cause the socialist order is so much more clear-cut and straightforward.
Furthermore, socialism does not need any saints to keep it running. The
kind of work and mentality it expects of the peasants, laborers, and clerks is no
different from it would be under capitalism. They are not confronted with
much change, so they themselves will not have to change much. The biggest
problem is found in the higher social strata. Their members have the most to
lose. According to Schumpeter, these are people whose talents and assets are
above average and who are responsible for practically all the cultural and eco-
nomic achievements of the capitalist epoch.27 The vital functions they perform
within capitalism will also have to be carried out within socialism. That is why
it is in the interest of socialist society to guarantee their participation.
Under socialism, the managerial functions that must be filled will be mainly
bureaucratic, according to Schumpeter. An extensive bureaucracy is unavoid-
able in a modern socialist order. However, this will not worry those who realize
“how far the bureaucratization of economic life—of life in general even—has
gone already” (1942: 206). In Schumpeter’s opinion, bureaucracy owes its bad
image to the fact that the bourgeoisie had to assert itself through its struggle
with a monarchic bureaucracy. Ever since, the bourgeoisie has associated bu-
reaucracy with superfluous and pointless interventions in private life in general
and private enterprise in particular. This association has been absorbed into
the collective consciousness, as our culture is dominated by the bourgeoisie.
148 Chapter Four

Bureaucracy is nonetheless inextricably tied to a modern economy and will

therefore perform a crucial role in socialist society too (1942: 206).
Even so, this organization has some drawbacks. It may be a depressing set-
ting for creative, energetic persons. By its very nature, it is difficult for a bu-
reaucracy to deal with autonomous spirits, who keep finding reasons to deviate
from the rules and regulations. One major problem we face is thus how to in-
duce the most talented among us to do their very best within bureaucratic or-
ganizations. Schumpeter considered this problem to be surmountable. The
former entrepreneurs have gradually been transformed into salaried managers,
and they actually do perform as they should. We can use the same means to mo-
tivate their successors in the socialist economy.
These motivations are many and varied. First and foremost is the role of a
sense of responsibility and work satisfaction. Besides this, as we know from ex-
perience, people cling to social recognition and status. Schumpeter emphasized
that we could provide for this by material and immaterial means: people who
perform well could get a check for a million or regularly get a tin medal pinned
on their lapel, with about the same effect. “Why not?” he wrote sarcastically,
“Trotsky himself accepted the Order of the Red Flag” (1942: 208). Nonetheless,
income differentials can also encourage some to perform better, and it would be
economically unwise not to make use of this fact. It remains to be seen, accord-
ing to Schumpeter, just how large the differences would have to be in order to
achieve the desired effect. What is clear to him is that the longer socialism has
been established, the smaller the differences can be. Other, more immaterial
motivations will gradually become more important. One example is that the
socialist order can count on the moral support of the masses to a considerably
higher degree than is the case for capitalism. People will be more willing to
make a contribution to socialism. Moreover, this order is much more under-
standable to the man in the street, and thus it will be much easier to explain to
him that laziness, negligence, and strikes are bad for the economy and thus bad
for him too.
Despite the great significance of the above motivations, Schumpeter had the
impression that they are still not sufficient. On top of this, people will have to
become disciplined too. However, a socialist society is no different from a cap-
italist in this respect either. According to Schumpeter, people should learn to
perform their daily tasks dutifully, certainly in a society where the struggle for
survival has been overcome and other ways to spend one’s time are beckon-
ing.28 In addition, there will be slackers in every society no matter what.29 Fur-
thermore, in the socialist society there will also be clashes of opinion and con-
 Joseph Schumpeter 149

troversies, and some groups will have an interest, because of their career, in first
fomenting social unrest and then subsequently organizing and leading it. In
fact, there is only one source of controversy—the economy—that will become
exhausted. According to Schumpeter, we have to realize that “many of the great
issues of national life will be as open as ever and that there is little reason to ex-
pect that men will cease to fight over them” (1942: 213).
The problem of discipline is thus nothing new. Yet nowadays the need for it
is greater then ever. The discipline that workers once had, says Schumpeter,
they had been taught by the aristocracy. Nevertheless, by undermining the po-
sition of this class, by systematically propagating that all people are equal and
have equal rights, slowly but surely the bourgeoisie has destroyed this disci-
pline. If this trend goes on a little longer, we shall, according to Schumpeter,
quickly arrive at a situation “in which socialism might be the only means of restor-
ing social discipline” (1942: 215). He gave several reasons for this. First of all,
managers have many more opportunities under socialism to keep discipline
tight. Getting fired here means that a person can no longer find work at other
firms and that one thus loses one’s means of making a living. Therefore, the
threat of getting fired is much more effective. In addition, intellectuals who are
hostile to the public sector and set the worker up against management will be
reined in by a society that has regained its confidence in its own standards. Be-
sides, the authority of management is considerably greater because there is no
longer any government that can intervene on behalf of the worker—the man-
agement is the government. The manager subsequently voices the public inter-
est and, for this reason, a strike means mutiny. Unlike today’s situation, man-
agement can finally count on having government on its side. Government’s
attitude toward enterprise will be characterized no longer by criticism, obstruc-
tion, and “fundamental irresponsibility” but by a sense of responsibility: after
all, government will be in charge of its performance. “Attempts at paralyzing
operations and at setting people against their work,” warned Schumpeter, “will
amount to attacking the government. And it can reasonably be expected to re-
act to this” (1942: 215).30

4.4 The Gradual but Inevitable Transition

to Socialism

When one reviews the entire societal process discussed so far, one must con-
clude, according to Schumpeter, that the economy is slowly but surely socializ-
ing itself. By this he meant that the “technological, organizational, commercial,
administrative and psychological prerequisites of socialism tend to be fulfilled
150 Chapter Four

more and more” (1942: 219). Thus, enterprise is increasingly under the control
of a small number of very large, bureaucratized concerns. Economic innova-
tion is increasingly being automated and planned. The ownership and man-
agement of companies is steadily getting more depersonalized. The former en-
trepreneur who invested his own assets in a company is replaced by anonymous
shareholders. The managers are salaried employees with a mentality that is
fairly comparable to that of civil servants. The spirit of capitalism has been
eroded.

4.4.1 two conditions

In view of all these developments, the ascendancy of socialism would seem to
be inevitable. Nonetheless, Schumpeter placed two conditions on its arrival.
First of all, people will always hold different opinions on the answer to the
question of to what extent the socialization process has run its course and capi-
talism is thus ripe for a transition to socialism. The process takes place in little
steps that are often hardly noticeable, and we can never pin down the exact mo-
ment when all conditions of socialism may be said to be sufficiently met. In ad-
dition, there is always room for differences of opinion on the relative impor-
tance of these various conditions, each of which is moreover met at a different
pace. Apart from this, personal preferences naturally play a role too: some anti-
socialists will never want to acknowledge that the moment has arrived, while
some socialists discern the beginning of the revolution in every café quarrel.
Second, Schumpeter pointed out that, regardless of how ripe the situation is,
at some point socialism has to be actively established. Naturally, the more the
conditions have been met, the more quietly and unnoticeably this political
transition will take place, but socialists will always have to take one last, defini-
tive step nevertheless. In summary, “Fundamentally, things and souls shape
themselves for socialism automatically, that is, independently of anyone’s voli-
tion and of any measures taken to that effect. But among other things that
process also produces such volition and hence such measures—enactments,
administrative actions and so on. The sum total of these measures is part of the
policy of socialization which therefore must be thought of as covering a long
stretch of time, at all events many decades. But its history naturally divides into
two segments separated by the act of adopting and organizing the socialist
regime. Before that act, the policy of socialization is—no matter whether in-
tentionally or unintentionally—preparatory, after that act it is constitutive”
(1942: 221). Thus, the transition is easiest, as Marx asserted, when the capitalist
society is mature. The opposition will be weak, and majority groups from all
 Joseph Schumpeter 151

classes will cooperate. A group of experienced and responsible socialists will, in

Schumpeter expectation, take over the leadership, and then well-educated bu-
reaucrats in both the private and the public sector will help them make their
leadership a success. The reason is that these unpretentious bureaucrats are ac-
customed to carrying out orders conscientiously, regardless of who gives them.
In fact, not much changes in society. The establishment of socialism is not
much more than a small step. If sensible leaders then continue the incremental
fulfillment of socialism—redistribution of incomes, socialization of the prop-
erty of large corporations, standardization of products—then, according to
Schumpeter, it would be reasonable to expect that socialism “would in time re-
alize all the possibilities of superior performance inherent in its blueprint”
(1942: 223).

4.4.2 the options for socialists in a society that is still capitalist

It is an altogether different story when the economic situation is not yet ripe for
the socialists to take power. Politically, the opportunity for a takeover might
nevertheless arise. Schumpeter mentioned the situations in Germany in 191831
and the United States in 1932. In Russia, neither the economic nor the political
situation was ripe for socialism, and Schumpeter considered it ridiculous to as-
sociate the coup that nevertheless did occur with a socialist revolution.32
In the event that a socialist takeover in the United States had actually taken
place, according to Schumpeter it would have led to an enormous loss of inno-
vative and productive potential. His reasons for the loss are derived from his
sketch of the economic and sociological developments that have taken place
within capitalism (1942: 224 –25, 330ff.). The companies would have been too
small, there would have been too many of them, and their markets would have
been insufficiently concentrated to make the transition successfully to central
planning. Moreover, the private and public bureaucracies required to do so had
not yet been developed. Furthermore, the mentality, both of the bourgeoisie
and the masses, was certainly unprepared for the notion of socialization and
planning. The resistance from the bourgeoisie and the peasantry would have
been exceedingly strong, which would have made a violent revolution impera-
tive, with all the economic, social, and political costs this would entail. At the
same time, there was no well-organized socialist party that could have ably
taken over the administration. There was a sizable proletariat in the United
States, though, but economic development was so rapid that the proletariat’s
position continually improved. That is why the willingness to overthrow the
present order melted away. On top of this, there was no frustrated group of in-
152 Chapter Four

tellectuals who could stir up the workers. The business sector recruited all the
brains and imbued the national identity with its values. A worker saw himself
as a tradesman who tried to sell his labor for as much as possible. He under-
stood and for the most part endorsed his employer’s reasoning. What he was af-
ter was merely a better salary and a shorter working week. What he shared with
the employer was an interest in making the company thrive, and that is how he
felt about it too.
For the time being, are the socialists left with no choice but to wait half a cen-
tury or a whole one until all the conditions are met for a successful takeover of
power? In the majority of cases, according to Schumpeter, they indeed have no
other choice (1942: 228). The most reasonable thing they could do would be to
cooperate in developing capitalism as quickly and completely as possible.
Nonetheless, he believed that no socialist party could survive like this—it
would need to have something to offer the electorate. For this reason alone,
it would seem that helping to repair the direct social damage caused by capital-
ism would be an inescapable option.
In the last part of his book, when sketching the development of the socialist
parties, Schumpeter took a closer look at this old dispute between social-dem-
ocratic and Marxist parties (1942: 316–19, 341– 49). His analysis of this dispute
is unusually astute, as it turns out. Marx thought that the socialist revolution
was at hand and therefore opposed programs, mainly on the part of the trade
unions, to improve the workers’ situation in the short term. Such programs
would only prolong the dominance of the bourgeoisie. The orthodox parties
adopted this wait-and-see stance. Yet revisionist social democrats, such as Ed-
uard Bernstein (1850 –1932), chose to make reforms within the existing system
and to bear governmental responsibility. The First World War, more than any-
thing else, promoted this stance. According to Marxism, the proletariat had no
fatherland, but when the war broke out, as Schumpeter wrote, the people
themselves proved to see this quite differently.33 In part, this was why the
socialist parties supported the war effort and joined the respective national gov-
ernments.34 In thereby aligning themselves with a goal that was more impor-
tant than socialism—the defense of the nation-state—the path toward assum-
ing governmental responsibility was made quite a bit shorter. Added to this,
after the war, the socialists were seen as preeminently suited to the task of clean-
ing up the mess that their bourgeois predecessors had left behind by conduct-
ing this war. As Schumpeter wrote, only the socialists could keep the disillu-
sioned masses under control and keep them contented with small, more
feasible improvements in their situation. In short, after the First World War, so-
 Joseph Schumpeter 153

cial-democratic parties everywhere got the opportunity to govern. According

to Schumpeter, they had one fundamental problem, though: they had to gov-
ern in a capitalist society. The reason they did not gain power is that, contrary
to Marx’s prediction, what broke down was not the economic engine but the
political superstructure. The economic structure had not fully matured any-
where. Nowhere could an electoral majority be found in support of truly so-
cialist policy. They were thus confronted, as Schumpeter wrote, with a social
and economic system that would only operate along capitalist lines: “The so-
cialists might control it, regulate it in the interests of labor, squeeze it to the
point of impairing its efficiency—but they were unable to do anything specif-
ically socialist. If they were to run it, they would have to run it according to its
logic. They would have to ‘administer capitalism.’ And this they did. . . . In
substance . . . they had to do what liberals or conservatives would also have
done under the same circumstances” (1942: 365).
Nonetheless, according to Schumpeter, the course of development that cap-
italism takes is moving relentlessly in a socialist direction. It makes little differ-
ence who is operating this system in the meantime. Besides taking part in run-
ning capitalism and repairing the damage that this system has caused to society,
socialists can therefore already get started on the gradual socialization of those
companies and institutions that have matured within capitalism. Schumpeter
illustrated this by discussing the case of England (1942: 230 – 31). Here, banks,
among other institutions, could be socialized in the meantime. The central
bank is nothing more than a department of the government, and among the
private banks, the process of bureaucratization and concentration has been
completed. If the socialists were to consolidate all of the banks, they could re-
duce costs substantially, according to Schumpeter, thereby sharply increasing
their opportunities to influence the private sector. Of course, this would go
completely unnoticed, except for a small item in the newspapers. The same ap-
plies to the insurance companies. These could be merged with the social-insur-
ance funds. The savings would consist, among other things, in cutting out the
enormous expense of selling policies to people. So far as Schumpeter was con-
cerned, other sectors that are eligible for socialization include the railways and
freight transport, the mining and steel industries, the electricity companies,
and the construction firms. In a number of cases, this had already been accom-
plished in 1942. The fact that since then nothing has changed in the perfor-
mance of the concerns in question proves, according to Schumpeter, how little
it matters whether they are in public or in private hands.35
154 Chapter Four

5 SOCIALISM AND DEMOCRACY

Will a socialist society also be democratic? Schumpeter devoted the third part
of his study—the part that has drawn the most attention in the literature—to
an analysis of the answer to this question. In his analysis, Schumpeter gave
short shrift to what he described as the classic theory of democracy. According
to Ian Shapiro and Casiano Hacker-Cordón, he did this so effectively that he
on his own is probably responsible for the fact that this classical ideal has been
relinquished in the twentieth century (1999: 4). Moreover, Schumpeter gave a
definition of democracy that is, in his opinion, more realistic. In the light of
Weber’s work, the way Schumpeter defined democracy cannot be considered
really new. Weber’s influence on Schumpeter is indisputably strong, even
though the latter rarely if ever bothered to acknowledge this debt.36 Schum-
peter’s argument is more coherent and consistent, though, and its tone is con-
siderably sharper and more caustic than that of Weber and his other predeces-
sors, which partly explains his enormous influence.

5.1 In Search of a Definition of Democracy

To be able to answer the question about the relation between socialism and
democracy, it must first be clear what we mean by democracy. Is it an ideal, an
ultimate value, a specific culture, a certain procedure? And who determines
this?

5.1.1 democracy is not a value in itself but a decision method

Schumpeter invited the reader to take part in a conceptual experiment. Assume
that a society exists in which the citizens democratically decide to persecute
Christians, burn witches at the stake, or exterminate Jews. Would we go along
with these practices because they were instituted by democratic procedures? No,
of course not. But the question is why this is the case. The answer must be, ac-
cording to Schumpeter, that there are fundamental values that even the most
ardent democrat deems more important than the democratic ideal. The only
way to explain the general passion for this ideal is by referring to the widespread
and apparently firm conviction that democracy is the best way to guarantee the
values in question. Therefore, democracy is not a substantive value; it is no
more than a formal method to make political decisions: “Democracy is a politi-
cal method, that is to say, a certain type of institutional arrangement for arriv-
ing at political—legislative and administrative—decisions and hence is inca-
 Joseph Schumpeter 155

pable of being an end in itself, irrespective of what decisions it will produce un-
der given historical conditions” (1942: 242).
Of course, one could define a method as an ideal and sanctify all decisions
that the people make by this method, however criminal or stupid they may be,
because it is the will of the people. In such cases, though, Schumpeter thought it
was better to speak of “the masses” than of “the people” and to combat their
criminality or stupidity by every means available (1942: 242). He saw little reason
to expect that democracy will safeguard the fundamental values everywhere and
at all times, which is, as a rule, what it is all about in the end. Which values and
interests are promoted by democracy—or another decision method—depends
to a high degree, according to him, on the circumstances. Whether one is or is
not a proponent of democracy thus usually depends not only on the values one
believes in but also on the specific social constellation in which this democracy
has to operate. The enthusiasm for it diminishes the more it produces results
that tend to conflict more with our deepest convictions. For this reason, Schum-
peter concluded that assertions on the effect of democracy “are meaningless
without reference to given times, places and situations” (1942: 243).

5.1.2 the electorate determines who belongs to the electorate

Democracy is thus nothing more than a decision method. The next questions,
though, are precisely who makes decisions and in which way. In other words, if
democracy is said to be equivalent to “a government by the people,” what, then,
does it mean “to govern,” and of whom do “the people” consist? Schumpeter
pointed out that many divergent definitions have been given for both concepts
through the centuries. Throughout history, various groups have declared them-
selves to be the people, and every society has indeed excluded some groups,
even societies that we as a rule define as democratic. This is reasonable too. For
instance, in every democracy, children up to a certain age do not have an active
or passive right to vote. To Schumpeter, it seemed unfair to call countries
undemocratic if they excluded other groups as well on these or comparable
grounds. Whether we, as outsiders, consider these to be valid grounds is irrele-
vant here: what matters is what the members of the society in question consider
valid. We have no grounds on which to reject criteria that in our opinion have
little to do with a person’s fitness to exercise his right to vote in an intelligent
manner. “For fitness,” as Schumpeter wrote, “is a matter of opinion and of de-
gree” (1942: 244). In all honesty, one can believe that only those who are in a po-
sition to support themselves are fit to exercise the right to vote. But in a deeply
156 Chapter Four

religious community, one could just as easily say that this right only applies to
pious believers. And the members of an antifeminist community can apply the
criterion of sex. “A race-conscious nation,” Schumpeter continues, “may asso-
ciate fitness with racial considerations.37 And so on. The salient point is that,
given appropriate views on those and similar subjects, disqualifications on
grounds of economic status, religion and sex will enter into the same class with
disqualifications which we all of us consider compatible with democracy. We
may disapprove of them to be sure. But if we do we should in good logic disap-
prove of the theories about the importance of property, religion, sex, race and
so on, rather than call such societies undemocratic” (1942: 244– 45). Thus, reli-
gious zeal and intolerance definitely can be combined with democracy, as
Schumpeter assured us. In some religions, the believers consider apostates to be
a bigger problem than madmen. Why should these believers not be able to
withhold the right to vote from both madmen and heretics?38 According to
Schumpeter, the inescapable conclusion that follows is thus that we have to
leave it up to the populace to define itself.

5.1.3 a government by the people is already technically impossible

Another problem raised by the thesis that “a democracy is a government by the
people” concerns the meaning of “to govern.” How is it technically possible,
Schumpeter wondered, for “the people” to “govern”? In just a few cases did he
discern a realistic answer: “In small and primitive communities with a simple
social structure in which there is not much to disagree on, it is conceivable that
all the individuals who form the people as defined by the constitution actually
participate in all the duties of legislation and administration” (1942: 245 –46).
Only in these small, homogeneous, and harmonious communities does it make
sense to speak of “the will” of the community, certainly when this is formed in
a debate where all members are present. In all other cases, Schumpeter did not
see what a government by the people could possibly mean in practice.
For this reason, it would be possible to change the definition of democracy to
“a government that enjoys the approval of the people.” In Schumpeter’s opin-
ion, this does not solve the problem. There are a great many examples of auto-
cratic, aristocratic, oligarchic, and monarchic governments that can count on
strong approval by the population, and that moreover guarantee many of the
values that according to us are tied to the democratic method, but that at the
same time possess few of the characteristics we attribute as a rule to democra-
cies. According to Schumpeter, we can learn something from this: “Beyond ‘di-
rect’ democracy lies an infinite wealth of possible forms in which the ‘people’
 Joseph Schumpeter 157

may partake in the business of ruling or influence or control those who actually
do the ruling” (1942: 247). In Schumpeter’s opinion, none of these forms of
government can make an exclusive claim on the honorary title of “Government
by the People.” If a certain form gains this title anyway, then this can only hap-
pen on the basis of an arbitrary convention on the meaning of the term “to gov-
ern.” Obviously, a convention such as this is always possible: the people never
rule in reality, but one can always let them rule by definition (1942: 247).
As examples of this arbitrariness, Schumpeter mentioned the legalistic con-
tract theories of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the work of political
philosophers like John Locke. Through secularization, the existing regimes had
lost their legitimacy and were thus seeking an alternative, “charismatic” justifi-
cation. They found it in these theories. By means of a supposed contract, the
people would have delegated their sovereignty to a monarch or to representa-
tives of the people who would carry out the administration in his name.
Schumpeter considered these theories to be completely meaningless. In a ju-
ridical sense alone they are indefensible: only individuals of flesh and blood can
delegate something or be represented. Nonetheless, the theories about sover-
eignty of the people, delegation, and representation gained a large following
from the seventeenth century onward. The explanation for this is, according to
Schumpeter, that they were perfectly suited to the utilitarian philosophy that
developed in this era under the influence of emerging capitalism. This philoso-
phy was, according to him, fundamentally rationalistic, hedonistic, and indi-
vidualistic in character. The happiness of individuals, defined in hedonistic
terms, was understood as the meaning of life and as “the grand principle of ac-
tion” in both the private and the political sphere (1942: 248). Moreover, indi-
viduals were presumed to possess a clear image of this happiness, as well as of
the most appropriate means by which to achieve it. This utilitarianism had, ac-
cording to Schumpeter, a major effect on democratic thought. It provided an
answer to the question of the purpose for which the state is created and the
ways in which its goals must be attained (“the greatest happiness for the great-
est number and that sort of thing”) (1942: 249). It also seemed to offer a ratio-
nal justification for belief in the will of the people.
The Romantics, according to Schumpeter, subsequently shot utilitarianism
to shreds, along with the political theories that the Enlightenment philoso-
phers built upon it. In his opinion, later research in history, sociology, biology,
psychology, and economics provided definitive proof of their untenable char-
acter. Strangely enough, though, “action continued to be taken on that theory
all the time it was being blown to pieces. The more untenable it was being
158 Chapter Four

proved to be, the more completely it dominated official phraseology and the
rhetoric of the politician” (1942: 249). Thus, there was every reason for Schum-
peter to examine this “classical” doctrine of democracy more closely.

5.2 Criticism of the “Classical” Theory

of Democracy

The classical eighteenth-century theoreticians saw democracy, according to

Schumpeter, as a method to realize the general good by letting the citizens ulti-
mately decide for themselves on political issues.39 Elected representatives or
policymakers are thus only supposed to carry out the will of the electorate. His
often cited definition of the classical conception reads as follows: “The demo-
cratic method is that institutional arrangement for arriving at political deci-
sions which realizes the common good by making the people itself decide issues
through the election of individuals who are to assemble in order to carry out its
will” (1942: 250). From Schumpeter’s perspective, the classical theorists thus
presumed the existence of an objective common good that could be known to
everyone or could be rationally figured out.40 Differences of opinion on this
can only be the result of ignorance, stupidity, or striving to be antisocial. The
common good also gives an unequivocal answer to every conceivable question
about society. Because there is an interest on which every rational person
agrees, there is moreover a “common will.” To carry it out sometimes calls for
specialized knowledge and in any event requires a great amount of time. It is for
this reason and this reason alone that citizens delegate functions to representa-
tives and policymakers.

5.2.1 the common good does not exist,

nor does the will of the people
Schumpeter’s first criticism is directed at the assumption that the common
good does exist. A debate on values can never be settled on rational grounds, ac-
cording to him, and the notion of the “common good” will unavoidably have
divergent meanings for different people.41 As he wrote, “There is no such thing
as a uniquely determined common good that all people could agree on or be
made to agree on by the force of rational argument . . . to different individuals
and groups the common good is bound to mean different things. This fact . . .
will introduce rifts on questions of principle which cannot be reconciled by ra-
tional argument because ultimate values—our conceptions of what life and
what society should be—are beyond the range of mere logic” (1942: 251). Even
if we were to reach agreement on ultimate abstract values, then, as Schumpeter
 Joseph Schumpeter 159

emphasized, our differences of opinion on how we must apply these values in

concrete cases would regularly still prove insurmountable. Often, the conflicts
over practical application are more profound than those over ultimate values.
For instance, in the choice between socialism and capitalism, it would not help
much if everyone were to take the side of utilitarianism.
This implies, according to Schumpeter, that the notion of a “will of the peo-
ple” also goes up in smoke. If there is no such thing as a universally compre-
hensible and objective common good, there is not much left besides an “infi-
nitely complex jumble of individual and group-wise situations, volitions,
influences, actions and reactions of the ‘democratic process’” (1942: 253).42 The
“public opinion” that emerges from this chaos lacks not only all rational coher-
ence but any rational justification as well. Those who nonetheless want to as-
cribe a moral status to the “will of the people” must have boundless and uncon-
ditional trust in democratic forms of government, forms that they respect no
matter what kind of results they produce. As we have already seen, Schumpeter
considered this to be rather unwise.
There is yet another problem. If the will of the citizens is a political factor
that warrants our respect, then it first has to exist. “That is to say,” asserted
Schumpeter, “it must be something more than an intermediate bundle of vague
impulses loosely playing about given slogans and mistaken impressions. Every-
one would have to know definitely what he wants to stand for” (1942: 253).
Moreover, people’s preferences would have to be based on a rational assessment
of the available information and must have arisen without the disruptive influ-
ence of pressure groups and propaganda.43 The less this is the case, the weaker
the authenticity of the preferences concerned and the less reason we have to
adopt these as our political starting-point.

5.2.2 the citizens are irrational and easily influenced

Schumpeter appears to have no confidence whatsoever in this rationality or in
the supposedly informed nature of the citizen’s preferences. He based his stance
on research in the fields of social psychology and economics. According to him,
this research demonstrates irrefutably that people can seldom be characterized
as autonomous personalities. Instead of being motivated by well-considered
decisions, they are constantly driven by irrational extrarational motives. In this
connection, he referred to the French social psychologist Gustave le Bon, with
whom he concurred.44 People who are drawn together in large groups and
work themselves into a state of excitement quickly shake off any civilization
they had and abandon themselves to “primitive impulses, infantilism and crim-
160 Chapter Four

inal propensities” (1942: 257). Schumpeter emphasized that one would see this
kind of group behavior not only, though most likely, among the rabble. In prin-
ciple, every group with more than a dozen members will have “a reduced sense
of responsibility, a lower level of energy of thought and greater sensitiveness to
non-logical influences” (1942: 257). It is not actually necessary for the members
of the group to be together physically in order to display this kind of behavior.
It is also terribly easy to turn even newspaper readers, radio listeners, and party
members into a mob on which rational arguments have absolutely no grip.
The barely rational foundation of preferences is also demonstrated, accord-
ing to Schumpeter, by research carried out in the field of economics on con-
sumer behavior. Unlike what is suggested by the books on theory, this research
shows that preferences are not very constant or pronounced and that the
choices that the consumers make on the basis of their preferences are not made
carefully. Moreover, it is so easy to manipulate consumers through advertising
that “producers often seem to dictate to them instead of being directed by
them” (1942: 257). Incidentally, it is striking, as Schumpeter asserted, that this
advertising rarely makes an appeal to reason. Instead, its makers work on the
subconscious by constantly repeating the good news and by evoking pleasing,
often sexual associations.

5.2.3 abstraction undermines responsibility and rationality

On the grounds of the above discussion, however, we cannot conclude that
people develop irrational preferences in all spheres of life or that they make un-
predictable choices. Schumpeter considered the choices that people make in
their immediate life world to be markedly more rational. In particular, this
refers to affairs that touch people directly, that lie within their own horizon,
things they are accustomed to, that they can influence directly and for which
they feel responsible, as a result of all of this—thus, matters concerning the
family, relatives, friends, enemies, colleagues, neighbors, the residential envi-
ronment, hobbies, the church, trade union, and so on. In everyday life, as
Schumpeter clarified the issue, people face time and again the same, relatively
clear-cut problems. These do not give much reason for all kinds of excitement.
The consequences of the choices they make touch them personally to a high de-
gree and they see these consequences immediately. They continually adjust
their behavior under the influence of the negative and positive experiences.
They learn from their mistakes and their successes, and because it is only they
who make these mistakes and book these successes, they also feel responsible
for them.
 Joseph Schumpeter 161

All of this does not completely change as soon as the distance to the imme-
diate life world increases. The political questions of local communities can
sometimes move the citizens enough to induce an active interest in these issues.
The same applies in incidental cases to individual questions at the national
level, certainly when these have financial repercussions on the persons con-
cerned. But the more abstract the issue becomes and the less direct and visible
the relations between the individual decisions and their consequences are, the
more likely that the individual’s sense of responsibility would diminish, along
with his motivation to make a sound judgment and develop his own will. Once
we have arrived at the level of national and international affairs, the sense of re-
ality has disappeared completely. As Schumpeter asserted, “Normally, the great
political questions take their place in the psychic economy of the typical citizen
with those leisure-hour interests that have not attained the rank of hobbies, and
with the subjects of irresponsible conversation. These things seem so far off: . . .
dangers may not materialize at all and if they should they may not prove very
serious; one feels oneself to be moving in a fictitious world” (1942: 261).
The absence of any sense of reality thus leads to a lack of a sense of responsi-
bility and to feeling less and less of a need to develop a judgment and a will. The
citizens are thus characterized by their ignorance and frivolity, and as Schum-
peter emphasized, this applies equally to those high up on the social ladder.
This is true despite the large amounts of correct information available to them:
“Information is plentiful and readily available. But this does not seem to make
any difference” (1942: 261). This should not surprise us, because “without the
initiative that comes from immediate responsibility, ignorance will persist in
the face of masses of information however complete and correct” (1942: 262).
For these reasons, the attempts to acquaint people with information through
lectures, discussion groups, and the like are for the most part pointless, but so
are attempts to teach them what they can do with it.45 People can hardly be en-
lightened, if at all. Schumpeter’s verdict is that the average citizen would be
deeply embarrassed if he analyzed and argued positions in his private domain
the way he does in the political field. His behavior is determined by prejudice
and erratic impulse, and he continuously threatens to fall under the influence
of demagogues who take the same primitive approach to reality as he tends to
do. The typical citizen, wrote Schumpeter, “drops down to a lower level of
mental performance as soon as he enters the political field. He argues and ana-
lyzes in a way which he would readily recognize as infantile within the sphere of
his real interests. He becomes a primitive again. His thinking becomes associa-
tive and affective” (1942: 262).
162 Chapter Four

5.2.4 the will of the people is the artificial

product of manipulation
Precisely because reason plays such a small role in the judgments and the will of
the public, groups with ulterior motives have great opportunities. It does not
matter whether these groups consist of professional politicians, representatives
of special interests, idealists, or simple rabble-rousers. What is important is that
they can exert a strong influence on the will of the people or even determine
their will. As Schumpeter asserted, in wording similar to that used by Weber,
“What we are confronted with in the analysis of political processes is largely not
a genuine but a manufactured will. And often this artefact is all that in reality
corresponds to the volonté générale of the classical doctrine. So far as this is so,
the will of the people is the product and not the motive power of the political
process” (1942: 263). The methods by which political issues and public prefer-
ences are created are, according to Schumpeter, for the most part identical to
the methods that are used in commercial advertising. Efforts in both domains
appeal primarily to the subconscious. In both domains, most effort is aimed at
evoking favorable or unfavorable associations, associations that are more effec-
tive the less rational they are. In both, we find the same kinds of avoidance,
concealment, and other half-truths. In both, they try to work up a preference
through continual repetition. And in both we see them trying to prevent peo-
ple from putting their critical faculties to use. But there are important differ-
ences too. A brand of cigarettes that is praised by the prettiest girl but is ab-
solutely inferior will eventually prove unmarketable. Political programs, in
contrast, cannot be tested, and to the extent that they are put into practice,
their effects can be observed much less ambiguously and be judged much less
on their merits. Moreover, politics are generally concerned with issues of much
greater importance than those in the realm of consumer goods.
Of course, as Schumpeter admitted, there are limits to the extent one can
massage the public opinion. In the long term, as Jefferson rightly stated, the
people are wiser than any single person, and, as Lincoln stated no less correctly,
you cannot fool all of the people all of the time. But what is decisive here is this
long term. History, as Schumpeter teaches us, consists of an endless series of
short-term situations, each of which can change the course of history for good.
And he goes on to say, “If all the people can in the short run be ‘fooled’ step by
step into something they do not really want, and if this is not an exceptional
case which we could afford to neglect, then no amount of retrospective com-
mon sense will alter the fact that in reality they neither raise nor decide issues
 Joseph Schumpeter 163

but that the issues that shape their fate are normally raised and decided for
them” (1942: 264).

5.2.5 why an untenable theory is upheld

How can a theory about the democratic process that is so obviously inconsis-
tent with the facts still be persistently upheld by many people? Schumpeter
thought this question would be easy to answer. To begin with, according to him
the religious background of the classical doctrine plays a role. Although the
doctrine is built on utilitarianism, a conviction that one would not immedi-
ately associate with religion, in a secularized world this utilitarianism is a sub-
stitute for religion. Just as in the case of a religion, people believe in this stand-
point. The will of God is now the utilitarian will of the people, a will that has in
common with God that it is above criticism and rational analysis. In the same
manner, democracy’s egalitarian point of departure is inspired by the religious
conviction that all people are alike before God. Incidentally, Schumpeter
thought that it was quite a defensible stance that every soul has an intrinsic
value and that in this sense people are equal. The situation is different for the
conviction that every one is the same and that his interests, values, attitudes,
and the like deserve to be given equal weight. This is something one has to be-
lieve in, given the fact that there is no empirical justification for it whatsoever.46
Furthermore, Schumpeter indicated that in many countries the classical the-
ory of democracy has developed into a national ideology. Its phrases are associ-
ated, as in the United States, with heroic events and developments in the past.
Whether this is justified or not and whether they are still applicable nowadays
is irrelevant; it is an ideology that is tied to strong emotions. In this regard, ac-
cording to Schumpeter, the classical doctrine retains its vitality because politi-
cians know how to appreciate a phraseology that allows them to flatter the
masses and also to evade their responsibilities.
Finally, there are, of course, small-scale, harmonious communities where the
classical theory definitely does apply. This gives the impression that it is a uni-
versal ideal worth pursuing. But, as Schumpeter asserted, if we can conclude
that in such cases the classical doctrine corresponds to reality, we must then im-
mediately add “that it does so not because it describes an effective mechanism
of political decision but only because there are no great decisions to be made”
(1942: 267).
164 Chapter Four

5.3 An Alternative Conception

of Democracy

On the basis of this criticism, Schumpeter formulated an alternative definition

of democracy. The emphasis shifts in this definition away from the citizen’s role
in political decision-making toward the citizen’s role in the election of a gov-
ernment. Democracy is no more than a method for the latter. As Schumpeter
defined it, “The democratic method is that institutional arrangement for arriv-
ing at political decisions in which individuals acquire the power to decide by
means of a competitive struggle for the people’s vote” (1942: 269). For numer-
ous reasons, Schumpeter preferred this definition to its classical counterpart.
First of all, it offers a much better description of the actual situation in those
countries that we generally call democracies. The name covers the contents. It
does not make any unrealistic demands on the individual citizen’s political
knowledge, skills, and activities. The role of the electorate is limited to the—
direct or indirect—installation as well as removal of a government, a role that
corresponds with the situation in practice: the only political control that the
electorate normally exercises is through reelecting the incumbent government
or voting it out of office. In short, democracy merely means “that the people
have the opportunity of accepting or refusing the men who are to rule them”
(1942: 285). Yet because they can also do so by undemocratic means, Schum-
peter added an extra criterion to the democratic method, namely, “free compe-
tition among would-be leaders for the vote of the electorate” (1942: 285).
According to Schumpeter, his definition also expresses the crucial role that
leaders play in the political system better. Under the classical doctrine, it was
the citizens who had a will and took the initiative to articulate and implement
it. There was no attention to the phenomenon of a manufactured will, nor was
there any explanation for it. In contrast, as Schumpeter wrote, the alternative
definition recognizes that collectivities only act through and because of their
leaders, but it also recognizes that when dealing with a public will, one must
also investigate how—that is, under the influence of which actors—it has
come into being. In other words, the “will of the people” does not exist here as
an autonomous entity. Even when groups of individuals have clear and strong
desires, as Schumpeter emphasized, these have to be articulated before they take
on any political significance. This only happens when a political leader turns
these desires into political issues and adopts them as part of his program, a pro-
gram whereby he competes with other leaders for the vote of the electorate and,
ultimately, for power. However, just as within an economic market, this com-
 Joseph Schumpeter 165

petition is never completely free and open. The supply side is limited, and there
is little interest in expanding the number of suppliers. A new political party can
just as easily join in the electoral market as a new cotton manufacturer can en-
ter the cotton industry. Although in politics, as Schumpeter wrote, there is al-
ways some competition for the support of the people—even though this is of-
ten no more than potential—it would be fairly unrealistic to insist that this
competition be honest, decent, and open (1942: 270). It does not work like that
either in economics or in politics.47
Furthermore, according to Schumpeter, the alternative definition elucidates
the relation between democracy and individual freedom: the existence of a
democracy does not imply in any logical terms the existence of a large private
domain in which people can do whatever they want (1942: 271–72). Clearly, a
democracy can intervene much more deeply in private life than an autocracy
can. At most, there is a relation in the sense that the competition for electoral
support can only take place when there is freedom of speech and especially free-
dom of the press. As Schumpeter wrote, this is of course extremely important,
particularly for the intellectual.
Finally, the role and the goal of political parties specified in the alternative
conception of democracy are, according to Schumpeter, more consistent with
reality. By far the most important goal of every party is to gain power or hold
onto it. In this power struggle, which takes place mainly in Parliament, the po-
litical issues are secondary: “The decision of the political issues is, from the
standpoint of the politician, not the end but only the material of parliamentary
activity” (1942: 279). Naturally, as Schumpeter admitted, the social function of
parliamentary activities is to pass legislation and administrative measures. But
to understand how parliamentarians perform this function in practice, one
should first see that the struggle for power and positions forms their core activ-
ity. The laws and regulations are a more or less coincidental by-product of that
struggle. As we have seen, Weber recognized that alongside their craving for
power, politicians also have idealistic motives: together, the members of politi-
cal parties try to realize their vision of the Good Society. Thus, Schumpeter saw
no merit in this: “A party is not, as classical doctrine (or Edmund Burke) would
have us believe, a group of men who intend to promote public welfare ‘upon
some principle on which they are all agreed’ . . . a party cannot be defined in
terms of its principles. A party is a group whose members propose to act in con-
cert in the competitive struggle for political power. If that were not so it would
be impossible for different parties to adopt exactly or almost exactly the same
program. Yet this happens as everyone knows. Party and machine politicians
166 Chapter Four

are simply the response to the fact that the electoral mass is incapable of actions
other than a stampede” (1942: 283).48

5.3.1 the suitability of a democracy depends

on the circumstances
As Schumpeter wholeheartedly acknowledged, democracy as we see it at work
and as he defined it has its shortcomings. For instance, the ceaseless power
struggle being fought everywhere can lead to an enormous loss of energy and
thereby to a loss of administrative effectiveness. It is not unusual for a govern-
ment or a politician to fall from power as the result of physical and psychologi-
cal exhaustion. Moreover, effectiveness can diminish because the policy pro-
posals and the implemented policy are continually geared to this power
struggle. Those in power and those who would like to be are constantly aware
of moods in Parliament and among the electorate. As a result, they might be in-
clined to think only in the short term. According to Schumpeter, a good com-
parison may sometimes be drawn between a prime minister and a horseback
rider who has to devote so much of his attention to staying in the saddle that he
does not get around to planning his destination (whether or not he was speak-
ing from experience he does not say). Finally, another shortcoming of the exist-
ing democratic order might be that thanks to the elections, politicians are able
to obtain important positions in government for which they lack the required
qualifications. In other words, there is no guarantee that a professional cam-
paigner will also be good at running the country.
No matter how accurate this kind of criticism may sometimes be, for the
time being Schumpeter saw no better alternative. In other systems as well, there
may be an ongoing power struggle that severely undermines the effectiveness of
the government’s long-term vision. Moreover, one wonders if it is, after all, re-
ally so bad that a democratic government can never be as forceful and effective
as it would have to be to implement centralized economic planning, as Russia
did under the Gosplan. And regarding the selection of leaders, there is no selec-
tion procedure, with perhaps the exception of that in the business community,
guaranteeing that it can pilot those persons to the top who have precisely the
qualifications that are needed there. In addition, as Schumpeter asserted, just
like Weber, politicians who prove to be among the strongest in the power strug-
gle, both in their party and subsequently in Parliament, definitely have to have
the qualities they will need in order to govern. “There are after all many rocks
in the stream that carries politicians to national office which are not entirely in-
effective in barring the progress of the moron or the windbag” (1942: 289).
 Joseph Schumpeter 167

According to Schumpeter, in the end we must realize that there is no final

answer to the question of whether the democratic method is preferable to any
other. The degree to which its shortcomings come to the fore and better alter-
natives exist depends entirely on the social conditions. In that light, an uncon-
ditional relativistic view of this issue seems to him the only right one: “There is
no absolutely general case for or against the democratic method. . . . Democ-
racy thrives in social patterns that display certain characteristics and it might
well be doubted whether there is any sense in asking how it would fare in oth-
ers that lack those characteristics—or how the people in those other patterns
would fare with it” (1942: 290).

5.3.2 five social conditions for a successful democracy

Thus, it is legitimate to consider under which conditions democracy will oper-
ate satisfactorily. When will it reproduce itself and be able to resolve social
problems in such a manner that the solution is acceptable to the politically rel-
evant groups? Schumpeter saw five conditions for a successful democracy in
modern industrialized societies.49 First of all, the politicians—members of
Parliament, cabinet ministers, party administrators—must have sufficient
qualifications. As one learns from experience, according to Schumpeter, the
most effective guarantee of quality lies in the presence of a social group or class
whose members enter politics as a matter of course. This group must be open
enough to absorb new talent but also sufficiently selective to ensure that new-
comers are socialized in the values, professional codes, and skills of the political
stratum. According to Schumpeter, England is the only country that fully
meets this condition. The Weimar Republic formed the other extreme.50
The second important condition that Schumpeter mentioned is that not too
many issues should be the subject of political decision-making (1942: 291). The
appropriate scope of decision-making varies from one case to the next. It de-
pends on the character of the issue in question, the amount of business that a
government can deal with adequately, the qualifications of those in govern-
ment, and the nature of the political apparatus as well as the climate of opinion
in which they have to work. In general, however, it may often be preferable to
promulgate only those measures that have a formal or supervisory character
and to leave the actual tasks of government and administration to those who are
directly involved. They will inevitably have greater expertise in the matters at
hand and want to avoid any mingling in their affairs as much as possible. In
other words, by no means does democracy require all functions that the state
performs to be completely subjected to its method of decision-making. This
168 Chapter Four

applies to the court system, the central bank, and numerous other institutions
over which the role of Parliament and the government can be limited to super-
vision.
The third condition that Schumpeter considered important is the presence
of a well-developed bureaucracy that is grounded in prestige and tradition. Its
well-educated members have to have a strong sense of duty and an esprit de
corps. According to Schumpeter, the bureaucracy is the solution to the prob-
lem that political leaders are almost always laymen. Bureaucrats must be able to
carry out the daily administration efficiently and competently, but they must
also be able to provide the politician who is the formal department head with
information and if necessary be able to teach and instruct him. In order to do
this, the bureaucracy must be in a position “to evolve principles of its own and
sufficiently independent to assert them. It must be a power in its own right”
(1942: 293). Among other things, it must be able to decide who it hires on a per-
manent basis and who it promotes to higher posts. Its personnel must have not
only the right education but, just like politicians, preferably come from a social
stratum “of adequate quality and corresponding prestige” where the right atti-
tude and mentality for a bureaucrat are cultivated. It is self-evident that a bu-
reaucracy such as this takes time to develop and cannot be created by money
alone. “But it grows everywhere,” wrote Schumpeter, “whatever the political
method a nation may adopt. Its expansion is the one certain thing about our fu-
ture” (1942: 294).
Fourth, according to Schumpeter, citizens should possess “democratic self-
control.” There are several dimensions to this self-control. It goes without say-
ing that citizens must endorse the democratic order, as well as the laws and reg-
ulations that are created through democratic decision-making. Furthermore,
they should be able to withstand the temptations presented by fanatics and
swindlers. When they are in the majority, they must be able to defer from mak-
ing decisions that are unacceptable to large minorities and that might thereby
be able to undermine the support for democracy in society at large. The mem-
bers of Parliament must be able to suppress their inclination to embarrass the
government at every opportunity. Those who support the government should
also give it the chance actually to govern. The members of the opposition must
keep their battles with those currently in power within bounds to ensure that
the public will respect the democratic institutions. The voters, finally, must re-
spect the division of labor between themselves and the elected politicians. They
should understand that “once they have elected an individual, political action is
his business and not theirs. This means that they must refrain from instructing
 Joseph Schumpeter 169

him about what he is to do” (1942: 295). So far as Schumpeter was concerned,
we should completely abandon the idea, advanced by classical theoreticians,
that politicians may do no more than represent their electorate and implement
the preferences of their voters.
The fifth and final point is that, in Schumpeter’s opinion, a successful de-
mocracy calls for a large degree of tolerance for the ideas of others. There is
some overlap between this condition and the previous one. Competition be-
tween leaders can only occur when the leaders and their followers respect the
interests, values, and aims of their opponents and are willing to adapt, though
within bounds, when they prove to be on the losing end in the power struggle.
As Schumpeter emphasized, what is involved here is a culture, a national iden-
tity that will not necessarily be produced by the democratic method itself: in
part, it precedes this method. Otherwise, the democratic reserve is never un-
limited. What is more, a democratic government, asserted Schumpeter, “will
work to full advantage only if all the interests that matter are practically unani-
mous not only in their allegiance to the country but also in their allegiance to
the structural principles of the existing society. Whenever these principles are
called into question and issues arise that rend a nation into two hostile camps,
democracy works at a disadvantage. And it may cease to work at all as soon as
interests and ideals are involved on which people refuse to compromise” (1942:
296).

5.4 A Socialist Democracy Will Not Differ

Much from a Capitalist

Modern democracy, as Schumpeter reiterated in his concluding remarks, is the

product of capitalist bourgeois civilization. As this civilization slowly goes into
decline, one may thus wonder if the same destiny is in store for democracy. In
other words, can the present-day democratic method also be useful in a social-
ist society? Specifically, what is the consequence of expanding the political
realm to embrace the entire economic domain? Wouldn’t the democratic
method collapse under this burden? Schumpeter did not think it would. First
of all, he asserted once again, the expansion of public administration does not
necessarily imply that political administration will expand proportionately
(1942: 299). If the managers and planners are granted enough autonomy under
socialism—a move that does not have to be contrary to socialism—the agenda
of the political system can remain fairly transparent. Incidentally, this agenda
will be considerably shorter because many of the problems that accompany the
struggle between particularistic interests will have disappeared. Moreover, so-
170 Chapter Four

cialism will ensure the reinstatement of an absolute precondition for democ-

racy to function: social consensus on the foundations of the social order. How-
ever, little more can be said on this issue, according to Schumpeter. Precisely
how democracy will develop in the coming socialist society is largely unpre-
dictable. The only thing that is really definite, in his opinion, is that socialism
will not realize the ideals of the classical doctrine either (1942: 302).

6 MAKING UP THE BALANCE

In the following sections, I deal mainly with two issues. First, I consider
Schumpeter’s notions of science and, from this perspective, I look into some of
his central economic theses. To what extent has scientific research in the field of
economics thus far been able to confirm these theses or refute them? (Such con-
firmation was an outcome that Schumpeter believed this research could cer-
tainly achieve.) Which questions do economists ask themselves—and which
ones do they not ask? And in what sense do ideological assumptions play a role
in these questions? I then turn my attention to another question: the extent to
which we can actively influence the course of societal events. This is a mani-
festly important condition for our positive political freedom. This perspective
also offers an opportunity to examine a number of Schumpeter’s central theses
in greater depth. Other important theses and themes of his work are discussed
in the last chapter of this volume.

6.1 Ideology and the Science of Economics

In section 2.1 of this chapter, we saw that Schumpeter held a rather optimistic
notion of science. He fully endorsed the standpoint that vision and ideology
play an important role in guiding and organizing our observations and
thoughts, but he believed in the purifying effect of collectively applied “scien-
tific procedures” and “methods.” These were said to guarantee that through the
years theories would steadily become less ideologically biased. As the history of
economic analysis has demonstrated, in this way it is possible for knowledge
continually to accumulate.
Robert Heilbroner—referring to Imre Lakatos, Paul Feyerabend, and Rich-
ard Rorty—observes that few share this belief anymore (1993: 89). In his view,
the forty years between the publication of his article “Was Schumpeter Right
after All?” and Schumpeter’s History of Economic Analysis demonstrated how re-
silient the old ideologies are. He also thinks it is inevitable that theories will be
 Joseph Schumpeter 171

ideologically biased. No analysis would ever have a chance of success without

the presence of a number of assumptions that could guide this analysis. Ac-
cording to him, this means, in the present-day Western world, that the prevail-
ing economic theories reproduce the existing capitalist order, with all its spe-
cific privileges, obligations, roles, and perceptions. No one within the discipline
would take an economic analysis situated outside this order “seriously”—for
example, one whereby full employment is guaranteed by the liquidation of
large oligopoloid corporations (1993: 93).
In my view, a few of Schumpeter’s crucial theses are prime examples of eco-
nomic issues of which the analysis has proved to be strongly biased in light of
the normative assumptions of the investigators who performed it. Therefore,
seemingly objective scientific procedures and methods have rarely engendered
generally accepted, unambiguous answers. This applies first of all to the ques-
tion of whether oligopoloid concerns contribute more to economic innovation
and growth than do firms that have to compete in an open market. Second, this
applies to the question of whether markets are increasingly dominated by a
small number of companies. Third and preeminently, this also applies to the
question of whether—and if so, how —these oligopoloid concerns can be so-
cialized, as Schumpeter assumed they would be.
Before examining the first question more closely, I shall make some remarks
on the second and third issues. It seems indisputable that an enormous concen-
tration has taken place in a number of key economic sectors. For instance, in
1998, five companies accounted for roughly 70 percent of the world turnover in
the entertainment industry, five other companies for 60 percent of the com-
puter hardware, another five for 60 percent in the automotive industry, five
corporations for 60 percent in the aeronautics and the defense industries, five
for half of all air transport, and five for half of the turnover in the oil industry.
Especially since the beginning of the 1990s, the number of mergers has in-
creased enormously.51 If we follow Schumpeter (and, in the background, We-
ber), then these kinds of gigantic, oligopoloid corporations are increasingly be-
ing run in a bureaucratic manner, there is more and more internal planning
going on, and it is getting easier for governments to put them under public ad-
ministration—almost unnoticed and without far-reaching economic conse-
quences. The extent to which Schumpeter’s thesis was correct, however, is a
question that lies completely outside the scope of today’s “serious” economics.
The average present-day economist takes it for granted that he is justified in
calling for the privatization of a state monopoly, such as the railways or utilities,
172 Chapter Four

and turning it into a market monopoly. A move in the opposite direction

would seem absolutely inconceivable to him, as Heilbroner observes. Such a
move would fall outside the ideological order.
Another question relates to the connection between the market structure, on
the one hand, and technological innovations and economic growth, on the
other. In an article entitled “Schumpeter and Plausible Capitalism” (1992), the
economist F. M. Scherer analyzes the large body of research that has been con-
ducted on this topic since the publication of Schumpeter’s Capitalism, Social-
ism and Democracy. This article covers theoretical research, case studies, and
statistical analyses. Some of the theoretical contributions came from represen-
tatives of the rational-choice school. Scherer concludes that the results of their
research “are sensitive to the assumptions made, and with the appropriate con-
stellation of assumptions, virtually anything can be shown to happen” (1992:
1419). Even so, the results of other kinds of theoretical research are no less de-
pendent on the assumptions. These include the duration of the advantage that
an innovator gets from his innovation, the degree of uncertainty about the
profits that will come from developing new products, and the speed at which
innovations will spread to other companies. Taking a broad view of the whole
body of theoretical research, Scherer can only draw the “simple conclusion”
that the relations among market structure, innovation, and economic affluence
are extraordinarily complex (1992: 1421). Schumpeter seems to be on the right
track with his thesis that small firms are not very innovative in a completely
open market. But the degree to which companies have to dominate their mar-
ket in order to be optimally innovative seems to depend entirely on the specific
circumstances under which they operate.
Thus, since formal theories can lead us in just about any direction, the solu-
tion may lie in empirical research on the actual behavior of firms. Yet the results
of the numerous statistical analyses that have been performed in an effort to
discern regularities do not justify drawing far-reaching conclusions either. The
inevitably disputable (though still not completely arbitrary) choices of indica-
tors for market domination, innovation, and growth have proved to have a
strong influence on the results. Therefore, the conclusions based on empirical
research thus far are not much different from those drawn from theoretical re-
search, according to Scherer. For an optimal amount of innovation and growth,
the firms should not be too small and not too strongly subjected to competi-
tion, as Schumpeter rightly observed, but what the ideal size and ideal market
concentration should actually be, above a certain minimum, cannot be estab-
lished in general terms (1992: 1425; cf. Howe 1978: 88 – 93).
 Joseph Schumpeter 173

The assessment of Schumpeter’s broad theses has been made more difficult
in the past several years, according to Scherer, by the appearance of or attention
to additional intervening variables (1992: 1427ff.). An obvious candidate,
though not always seen as such by economists, is the influence of culture. Per-
haps identical organizations function differently in different cultural settings.
Another “new” variable is globalization. Some firms, though certainly not all of
them, are increasingly competing on a global scale—manufacturers of auto-
mobiles, consumer electronics, computers, and aircraft, for instance. Their
share of the world market may decline even though they are growing enor-
mously in absolute size. A smaller share of a larger pie will not necessarily re-
duce their capacity for innovation. But how do people measure and weigh the
opposing effects of growing in size and shrinking in market concentration? An-
other possible factor is the price of developing new products, a price that has
risen sharply in some sectors. In the aircraft, auto, or truck industry, market
concentration might be imperative because only extremely big concerns would
still be able to provide the financial backing for innovations—which confirms
Schumpeter’s thesis.
In brief, a half-century after Schumpeter’s theses on market concentration,
innovation, and growth, what we have learned comes down to this: the issue is
extremely complex. As Heilbroner feared, many investigations seem to be con-
structed in such a way that their results inevitably confirm the researchers’ own
ideological assumptions. That is why many of the results are completely con-
tradictory. Nonetheless, there are also some signs of progress. Instead of
general, universal laws and theories, the research has produced a steady specifi-
cation of the original theses. Generalizations about the relationships that
Schumpeter assumed to exist will always have to be specified according to the
branch of industry, the organizational form of the enterprise, the product, cul-
tural setting, and kind of innovation. It proves to be impossible to generalize
about such a stubborn state of affairs, let alone to address it with blanket gov-
ernment policy.
In this context, it is surprising, also to Scherer, how little connection there is
between the structural economic policy that Western governments carry out
and the findings coming from the field of economics. The policy appears to be
the product of fluctuating moods more than anything else. Although they were
outspoken advocates of the free-market ideology, the policymakers serving un-
der presidents Reagan and Bush Sr. believed that only large firms could survive
in the international market and that therefore mergers and cooperative ven-
tures should be encouraged. In taking this line, they deviated rather abruptly
174 Chapter Four

from the traditional antitrust policy in the United States. However, European
policymakers had already been putting this conviction into practice since the
1960s: mergers were believed to be the only means to reach the level of innova-
tive capacity demonstrated by enormous American corporations, such as IBM
and General Motors. In postwar Japan, where Schumpeter’s ideas were strongly
influential from the very beginning, the policymakers considered the oligopo-
loid concerns to be preeminently suited to the task of promoting rapid eco-
nomic growth. Therefore, they created enormous conglomerates that were
closely tied to the government. And these conglomerates were highly success-
ful—so much so that, during the 1970s and 1980s, many economists held up
the Japanese model as an example for the Western world. At the same time, oth-
ers were wondering whether the viability of Schumpeter’s theses might not be
culturally determined. Perhaps Japanese employees are more inclined than
their Western colleagues to take an active part in thinking about and working
on improvements in their collective product, an inclination that would coun-
teract the bureaucratic paralysis that might go hand in hand with large size.
Meanwhile, the mood seems to have shifted again somewhat. Western com-
mentators explain the stagnation that has characterized the Japanese economy
since the beginning of the 1990s in terms of an absence of both competition
and openness. In the United States, the government turned to the courts to
break up Microsoft, because monopolies were supposedly bad for innovation.
Incidentally, Microsoft’s managers take the opposite stance and appear to get
no fewer economists to plead their case. And in the European Union, the Eu-
ropean Commission and the national governments are trying as never before to
break up cartels, open up markets, and privatize state-owned companies. There
was not much scientific impetus for either the former or the latter mood. Pre-
sumably, this could be due to what Lindblom calls “impairment” (1990: 59ff.).

6.2 How Inevitable Is the “Inevitable”

March into Socialism?

Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy, and thus also Schumpeter’s predictions

for a gradual transition from capitalism to socialism, date from 1942. After-
ward, until his early death in 1950, Schumpeter revisited these predictions on
several occasions. He did so in new forewords to subsequent editions, in an ad-
ditional chapter in 1946, and ultimately in “The March into Socialism,” a lec-
ture that he delivered a few days before his death. Did Schumpeter have good
reason to revise his predictions? And how inevitable did he think the course of
events really was?
 Joseph Schumpeter 175

As might have been expected, Schumpeter acknowledged—both in 1946 in

the foreword to the second edition and in 1949 in the foreword to the third edi-
tion—that he still stood completely behind his original analyses. Just as had
happened earlier during the First World War, again during the Second World
War the governments had been able to tighten their grip quite considerably on
the private sector. After the war, in no country whatsoever were governments
willing to give up any of the territory they had won. Consequently, the trend
toward socialism gained strength everywhere (1946a: 377, 411; 1949: 420; 1950:
430). In particular, the political developments in England—the electoral vic-
tory of the Labour Party in 1945 and its subsequent extensive program of
nationalizations—went completely according to expectations, according to
Schumpeter (see section 4.4.2 above). In view of the prevailing social condi-
tions there, in his opinion there was not much to criticize in this program
(1946a: 379). In 1949, he stated that he was especially struck by the absence of
any serious opposition to the socialist policy. Naturally, Schumpeter admitted,
questions were raised in Parliament and critical articles appeared in the conser-
vative press, but this was not the reaction of a nation that believes in its princi-
ples. Therefore, he concluded that free enterprise is no longer among them.
Schumpeter wrote that socialism “has ceased to be resisted with moral passion.
It has become a matter to be discussed in terms of utilitarian arguments . . . the
ethos of capitalism is gone” (1949: 416).52
Nonetheless, in “The March into Socialism,” Schumpeter emphasized that
he neither applauds nor predicts the arrival of socialism. As he put it, he does no
more than analyze the existing social tendencies and explain where these would
lead if they were to persist according to their own logic (cf. 1942: 61). According
to him, this is not a prediction: first of all, external intervening variables can
prevent the tendencies from coming to fruition; second, these tendencies are
commensurate with more than one outcome; and third, these tendencies are
increasingly liable to encounter opposition and consequently might lose their
momentum (1950: 422; cf. 1942: 61). Thus, at the end of the nineteenth century,
no one was in any position to predict the establishment of a Bolshevik regime
in Russia in 1917. For this to occur, there first had to be a war, which was un-
predictable at the time, that destroyed the old regime and created a power vac-
uum that Lenin and his like could use. The existing tendencies can engender
other social orders along with state socialism.53 And it is possible that the ten-
dency will lose its momentum, because the transfer of more and more eco-
nomic activities from the private sector to the public realm gradually satisfies its
proponents. The same thing happens in the course of this process as the disad-
176 Chapter Four

vantages of socialist planning become increasingly clear, and thus opposition to

such planning grows.
Despite all these reservations and qualifications—certainly not insignificant
and some of them new—in 1950 Schumpeter nonetheless still thought that
“the capitalist order tends to destroy itself and that centralist socialism is . . . a
likely heir apparent” (1950: 423). The degree to which the disintegration of cap-
italist society and culture is already advanced is demonstrated, according to
him, in various ways, among which the broad acceptance of all kinds of social
security, the continually expanding needs that citizens want the government to
satisfy, the public control of the labor and money markets, the increasing regu-
lation of more and more economic activities, striving for equal incomes, and
pursuing a cyclical policy to prevent economic depressions and recessions. As
Schumpeter explicitly pointed out, by no means did he reject these kinds of
policy measures. The only things he wanted to emphasize are “the fact that we
have traveled far indeed from the principles of laissez-faire capitalism and the
further fact that it is possible so to develop and regulate capitalist institutions as
to condition the working of private enterprise in a manner that differs but little
from genuinely socialist planning” (1950: 424–25). Even when members of the
working class leave the capitalist engine intact and make use of it to enhance
their own well-being, it cannot be denied that the capitalist civilization (“the
civilization of inequality and of the family fortune”) “is rapidly passing away”
(1950: 425).
Nevertheless, the question remains how inevitable it really is, in terms of
Schumpeter’s standpoint, that the socialist order will actually come about. In
the foreword to the first edition, he was still fairly unambiguous: “I have tried
to show that a socialist form of society will inevitably emerge from an equally
inevitable decomposition of capitalist society” (1942: 409). As we saw above, he
toned down the certainty of this assertion in “The March into Socialism.” In
the spot where he introduces some comparable nuances into the main body of
the 1942 text, we suddenly find “inevitable” in quotation marks (1942: 61). Is
the arrival of socialism now inevitable or “rather inevitable”? The desire to be
provocative and an apparent indecisiveness in this area regularly led Schum-
peter to make ambivalent and contradictory statements. In view of their im-
portance to our positive political freedom to intervene in social developments,
I shall give a few more examples of them below.
As we have seen, Schumpeter defined conservatism as the political task of en-
suring that the “most likely unavoidable” fundamental social developments
would be accompanied by the lowest possible cost in terms of human values
 Joseph Schumpeter 177

(see section 2.4 above). This definition is consistent with his great admiration
for Marx’s economic interpretation of history (see section 2.3 above). Regarding
preferences, Schumpeter thus noted that although people do have the freedom
of choice, they ultimately choose among the “standpoints, visions, and inclina-
tions” that are the product of social structures, which are in turn determined by
the “forms or conditions of production.” At the end of his analysis of the devel-
opment of socialist parties in various countries, Schumpeter emphasized in the
same vein that their individual destinies and programs ultimately do not make
much difference: “Whatever the fate of particular socialist groups, there cannot
be any doubt that the present conflagration will—inevitably, everywhere, and
independently of the outcome of the war—mean another great stride toward
the socialist order” (1942: 374). In a similar manner he ended his analysis in
“The March into Socialism” with the assertion that, with respect to the decline
of capitalism, we are just buying time: “Marx was wrong in his diagnosis of the
manner in which capitalist society would break down; he was not wrong in the
prediction that it would break down eventually” (1950: 431).54
However, Schumpeter implicitly recognized considerably more indetermi-
nacy, human autonomy, and human agency than the above discussion would
suggest—this has already been illustrated by the nuances he introduced into
“The March into Socialism.” For instance, when examining the future of so-
cialism in postwar America, he noted that the United States distinguishes itself
from the rest of the world by its enormous economic success. In the short term,
there is no need to weigh the pros and cons of economic progress with respect
to rising income among the masses. Consequently, socialism had less appeal in
the United States than elsewhere (1946a: 385). Contrary to his early theses,
Schumpeter thus asserted that the success of capitalism leads to more electoral
support rather than less. Moreover, he suggested that the political preferences
of the citizens do matter. If they see no benefit in socialism, then the ongoing
process of market concentration and the undermining of capitalist values and
practices will apparently not inevitably lead to a socialist organization of the
economy. Socialism is a choice.
There are more examples of political freedom. Schumpeter asserted that the
options that people can choose from are for the most part economically deter-
mined. If that is indeed the case, how can the role of the opinion makers be as
big as he suggests? (See section 5.2.4 above.) They would simply have hardly
anything to “make” unless their activities, ideas, and influence were also eco-
nomically determined. Moreover, if the citizens do indeed have little choice,
why did Schumpeter get so upset about their irrationality and irresponsibility?
178 Chapter Four

(See sections 5.2.2 and 5.2.3 above.) Such political incompetence would be
neither important nor disturbing if history were to proceed according to cer-
tain patterns that are barely susceptible to influence or if the electoral prefer-
ences were largely the product of the existing structures of society. Finally, why
did Schumpeter believe that the way the new socialist world will look is as
yet undetermined and unknown? (See section 4 above.) If economic variables
did indeed drastically restrict the range of options from which people can
choose, then there is definitely more to be said of socialist civilization than
Schumpeter was willing to reveal. This is certain because, in his opinion, this
civilization connects seamlessly to the tendencies that may be observed within
capitalism.
In short, Schumpeter did not always take his economic interpretation of his-
tory seriously.55 And that does not seem so unreasonable. Social relations and
developments can have their own logic and momentum, people can slowly but
surely find themselves maneuvered into a certain constellation that imposes
specific choices and options on them, but in principle they always retain the
power to remove the distance between themselves and their circumstances and
to intervene in these circumstances. Whether or not they are aware of this op-
portunity for positive freedom and whether they do or do not make use of it is
another question altogether.

6.3 The Interest of Managers in Capitalism

One group that has certainly taken advantage of the human freedom to influ-
ence the course of events is what James Burnham (1941) calls the managerial
elite. The fact that the socialist-plan economy has not yet arrived seems to be
explained in part by the motivation and capacity of the managers to uphold the
capitalist order. Schumpeter was completely mistaken about that.
Schumpeter showed how the social position of the old-fashioned capitalist
entrepreneur becomes eroded. As companies get bigger and more bureaucratic,
the entrepreneur is slowly but surely replaced by salaried managers. In addi-
tion, the ownership of the companies shifts more and more into the hands of
anonymous shareholders. Schumpeter thought that these managers and share-
holders would see the company merely as a source of income and would
not have any deep-seated loyalty or affinity to it, even though it is formally
their own property. This undermines the institutional basis of capitalism and
thereby is one of the causes of the transition to socialism (see sections 3.7 and
3.9 above).
In the meantime, however, history has demonstrated that the replacement of
 Joseph Schumpeter 179

the capitalist by the manager and the shareholder does not have any dramatic
political consequences. In line with Schumpeter’s expectations, there are signs
of concentration of the means of production, planning within companies that
are steadily increasing in scale, and an administrative elite that oversees a bu-
reaucracy of specialized functionaries. But the market still remains to some ex-
tent intact, and the means of production are still privately owned, probably
even more so than in Schumpeter’s time. The successor to capitalism turns out
to be a system of corporate capitalism, not socialism. The managers and share-
holders prove to see considerably greater advantage in continuing this system
than Schumpeter thought possible. Certainly institutional investors, who hold
the majority of shares, are very active in defending their interests, and they ac-
tively intervene in company policy. “Owning shares,” as Swedberg pointedly
remarks, “does not seem to change one’s attitude to property any more than
having bills, as opposed to gold coins, changes one’s attitude to money” (1994:
xviii).
Moreover, managers and shareholders, like their predecessors, have been ex-
tremely successful in defending their interests on the political front. Since pol-
itics has come to depend largely on the performance of the private sector for its
legitimacy in the public realm, politicians have to take the wishes of entrepre-
neurs into account more than ever before (cf. Lindblom 1977). Consequently,
not much has changed. In a critique of Schumpeter, the institutional econo-
mist Warren Samuels writes that “Capitalism is not dying. . . . Individual en-
trepreneurial capitalism largely has succumbed to corporate capitalism. Corpo-
rate capitalism is socialist only as private socialism, that is, as a new system of
‘private’ central economic control with a new business-government symbiosis.
More important, a new leadership stratum has been formed, with a new lead-
ership selection process, and with a new set of business-government interrela-
tions” (1985: 108).

6.4 The Positive Political Freedom of

Leaders and Citizens

Another notion that is in line with the idea of positive freedom, no matter how
contradictory this might seem at first sight, is Schumpeter’s conception of the
capacity of political leaders to manipulate the preferences of the electorate.
Moreover, as he pointed out, history consists of an endless series of short-term
situations, each of which can change the course of events once and for all. Po-
litical leaders can continually make the electorate take small steps, each one
seemingly insignificant and reversible, in a direction where it actually does not
180 Chapter Four

want to go (see section 5.2.4 above). Time and again, the leaders are confronted
with a new situation in which they can exercise freedom of choice.56 Mean-
while, the citizens follow only the most successful manipulators. In this regard,
the latter strongly resemble the charismatic leaders on which Weber had
pinned his hopes.
Thus, the leaders undeniably have political freedom. Nevertheless, the ques-
tion is to what extent they have the possibility of influencing the electorate. To
what extent do they have to take the preferences of the citizens into account,
and to what extent do the citizens thus limit the freedom of their leaders? Con-
curring, Schumpeter initially compared the politician with an entrepreneur:
while the entrepreneur tries to maximize his profits, the politician tries to max-
imize the number of votes cast for him. In this case, the responsiveness of the
administration would be guaranteed if the citizens were to cast their vote for
the political party that best represents their preferences and if this party, having
received sufficient support, were then to implement its political program in
government. Thus, politicians would be forced to follow the preferences of the
voters in the same fashion as entrepreneurs can in theory only turn a profit if
they make products for which the public is willing to pay a price. But as men-
tioned earlier, the adage that “the customer is always right” does not apply in
politics, according to Schumpeter, and he had no regrets about that.
There are various reasons for this: there is no such thing as perfect competi-
tion in politics; and the citizens’ preferences are not authentic but largely the
product of manipulation. The political and economic realms are quite compa-
rable here. The masses let themselves be sold just about anything. According to
Schumpeter, the will of the voter is therefore not the motivation behind but
the product of the political process. In view of the absence of a sense of respon-
sibility and their lack of knowledge, however, this is not regrettable. Preferably,
the masses will only have the opportunity to choose among elites and not among
ideas or ideologies. Once the government has been installed, the best thing the
masses could do is to disappear discreetly from the political stage.
Schumpeter’s ideas on political parties run along the same lines. From his
perspective, these were only established in order to compete more effectively
for power and positions. In this power struggle, standpoints and political pro-
grams are merely resources. Schumpeter regarded Weber’s view as completely
naïve—that parties also exist on the grounds of idealistic motives, due to the
desire of like-minded people to put their notions of the Good Life and the
Good Society into practice. Parties never have principles. They exist because
people who act in concert can be more successful in the political power strug-
 Joseph Schumpeter 181

gle. If this were not the case, then it would be inexplicable that different parties
go into the elections on platforms that are almost identical (1942: 283, see sec-
tion 5.3 above).
It is hard to imagine how such a “democratic” system can work in practice.
Actually, it seems inevitable that politicians will try to increase their chances in
the elections by profiling themselves with the help of a popular political plat-
form. In addition, one might wonder if the citizens will keep casting their vote
time and again while there is in fact very little to vote for (cf. Dahl and Lind-
blom 1953: 283n; Lively 1979: 39; Held 1987: 182; see also section 4 of the next
chapter).57 It is therefore not surprising that at other places Schumpeter did in
fact prove to take note of the electoral importance of political programs. For in-
stance, he explained the support that the socialist parties gave to national gov-
ernments during the First World War in terms of electoral necessity (1942: 352).
He also observed that by taking on government responsibility during and after
the First World War, the social-democratic parties created room on their left
flank for communist parties, whereby support for the latter grew rapidly (1942:
358). In the same vein, socialism had less chance in postwar America because
the voters were very content with their material circumstances (1946a: 385). It
should be clear that observations of this kind are somewhat inconsistent with
Schumpeter’s abovementioned theses on the irrelevance of the political prefer-
ences of citizens and of the platforms of political parties.

6.5 Schumpeter’s Relativism and Strictly

Formal Definition of Democracy

Another important characteristic of Schumpeter’s thought, and one that relates

to the points raised above, is his value relativism. This forced him to make what
would seem to be a strictly formal definition of democracy. According to
Schumpeter, it is impossible to justify values and goals on rational grounds, and
normative discussions can never be won or lost rationally (see section 5.2.1
above). Therefore, we cannot defend democracy on substantive grounds either.
In this manner, he stripped democratic theory of any possible content. Demo-
cratic political participation is not—as the Greeks believed—an expression of
citizenship or even of the human condition (according to Aristotle, man is a
zoôn politicon). Nor is it aimed, as John Stuart Mill emphasized, at the intellec-
tual and moral perfection of the citizens. Democracy is merely a formal method,
a specific institutional order instated as a means to arrive at political decisions.
It is impossible for it to be an end in itself (see section 5.1.1 above). Whether or
not one is a proponent of democracy depends for this reason on one’s expecta-
182 Chapter Four

tions concerning the nature of the decisions that the citizens will make by these
means. The more the expected decisions deviate from people’s own deepest val-
ues and convictions, the sooner their enthusiasm for democracy will diminish.
Moreover, Schumpeter’s formalism and relativism imply that he, when asked
who belongs to a given political community and may exercise certain rights on
that basis, can give no other answer than the one that the current members of
this community would have formulated if so requested. Schumpeter consid-
ered any and all justifications that they might be able to give for this to be
equally valid and above any criticism that outsiders might raise (see section 5.1.2
above).
These formal standpoints may give many people a rather uncomfortable
feeling. Narrowing the definition of democracy down to a method of electing a
government implies that Schumpeter no longer had a yardstick, besides the re-
quirement that there must be a minimum of two competing elites, by which to
determine whether certain political systems are more democratic or less demo-
cratic than others. The method may work well or it may work poorly. That is all
there is to it. In practice, however, the political struggle of the previous century
was actually about expanding or improving democracy. What those involved
sought to achieve is a situation in which more people in more domains would
be able to exert more influence on decisions that affect them. Moreover, many
believe that democracy serves not only to give people the opportunity ade-
quately to defend their interests. It can also be an expression of such intrinsic
values as equality and community. Likewise, it can be important as an instru-
ment for putting such values as community, self-actualization, and collective
self-determination into practice (see also section 3.2 in the next chapter and
Blokland 2005: chap. 8). In a rationalized, differentiated, and individualized so-
ciety, these perspectives only seem to have become more urgent.
Chapter Five Synthesis:
The Modernization of
Politics and Society

Our main reason for delving into the work of Weber, Mannheim, and
Schumpeter is to get a clearer picture of the modernization process in
Western society and politics. This process is the overarching frame-
work in which the argument of this book is couched. In this frame-
work, we have posed various questions throughout the preceding
chapters. Of what does modernization consist according to these
three authors? Which motivations set this process in motion and keep
it going? To what extent can we influence this process? How does
modernization affect the individual and society? How does it affect
the ways we can and do give substance to the notions of politics and
democracy? And above all, what are the consequences for the citizens’
political freedom to exert influence, by way of their participation in
the democratic process, on the development of their society?
Before I go on to distill a few main themes from the various answers
that Weber, Mannheim, and Schumpeter offer, this is the place to warn
against making all too rough generalizations about social change. As
Charles Tilly writes in Big Structures, Large Processes, Huge Compar-
isons (1984), during the twentieth century many thinkers in the social

183
184 Chapter Five

sciences upheld postulates on social change that prove questionable on closer

examination. One example is that “social change” is a coherent and universal
phenomenon that we can explain as a whole; another is that social differen-
tiation is the dominant logic of large-scale change; yet another is that the degree
to which order prevails in a society depends on the balance between processes
of differentiation and integration or control; and that differentiation that is too
rapid or exaggerated leads to disarray and all kinds of undesirable behavior,
such as crime, riots, suicide, and insanity (1985: 11). Tilly considers all of these
generalizations to be far too rough (incidentally, according to him, they mainly
characterize the work of Durkheim and Tönnies and definitely not that of
Marx and Weber). Social change, as he emphasizes, is not a universal develop-
ment but a “catchall name” for very different processes. According to him, the
kind of thinking in question is characterized by a number of unrealistic di-
chotomies: progress versus decline; integration versus disintegration; normal or
abnormal; legitimate control versus violence; and so forth. They are based on
the assumptions “that social order is fragile, that differentiation threatens social
order, that change is risky, that unrestrained change generates strain, violence,
decay, and disintegration, that only guided and contained change leads to inte-
gration, satisfaction and progress” (1985: 13). Nonetheless, evidence must be
presented for all of these notions. Therefore, Tilly recommends that big words
like modernization, social change, differentiation, and integration be applied
carefully and accurately. He warns against the desire to see very general and co-
herent social processes. He also opposes the use of broad concepts that are not
further specified, such as “modernization” and “differentiation,” to explain
concrete social phenomena. As Tilly rightly observes, researchers too often mis-
use these concepts as stopgaps to round out their argument.

1 THE RATIONALIZATION PERSPECTIVE

Can we find a common denominator in the analyses of Weber, Mannheim, and

Schumpeter? What strikes us first is that all three were convinced that drastic
changes were taking place in numerous social spheres of Western societies and
that none of the three was very optimistic about the direction of these changes.
According to them, a rationalization of the way we look at reality lay at the core
of these changes, a rationalization that was occurring in more and more areas of
life. Although they might hold different opinions about how and in which set-
ting the critical, rational intellectual attitude developed, they are in full agree-
 The Modernization of Politics and Society 185

ment that today capitalism is the most important driving force behind its dis-
semination.

1.1 The Spread of the Critical Rational Spirit

As Weber, Mannheim, and Schumpeter saw it, the essence of the rationaliza-
tion or intellectualization of our worldview is the dissemination and the deep-
ening of the conviction that we are in principle able to explain and control
events that occur around us. We no longer consider events as the result of mag-
ical, incalculable forces but view them as having causes and reasons that we can
understand. On the basis of this knowledge, we can actively intervene in reality
and turn it to our purposes. In this sense, a “disenchantment” of the Western
worldview has been going on for centuries. Science is both a product of this
process and an impetus for it.
According to Mannheim, through rationalization people lose their passivity
or fatalism, as the case may be, and in its place they develop a functional or
technical attitude. Like Weber and Schumpeter, he referred to the liberating
effect of this development. People have been able to improve their quality of life
enormously in several respects by applying increasingly many and ever-better
social techniques in more and more spheres of life. Yet as the functionalist atti-
tude becomes increasingly strict and general, nothing is an end in itself any-
more, and everything becomes an instrument to achieve something else. Noth-
ing is sacred anymore to the modern critical spirit, as Schumpeter lamented,
including aristocratic and bourgeois values like respect for property, authority,
and tradition. Mannheim could empathize with the Romantic lament that
functional rationality ultimately undermines any attribution of purpose or
meaning and creates a desert of emptiness, aimlessness, and loneliness. And
Weber referred in general to the irrationality to which the process of rational-
ization often leads. By arranging his surroundings in an increasingly rational
manner, mankind thereby creates more and more iron cages in which he him-
self is imprisoned. The ends and the means are switched around when bureau-
cracies and markets impose their rationality on people and when people work
to earn money, not to lead an enjoyable life.
The three authors considered the undermining of the normative consensus
in society to be another important consequence of rationalization. Traditions
and authorities lose credibility and influence in the eyes of modern rational
man. Upon closer, critical examination, there prove to be deep and unbridge-
able gaps among the various spheres of values. It turns out that values cannot be
186 Chapter Five

firmly and universally grounded. What remains is a great plurality of values and
interests that continuously and unavoidably come into conflict with each other
and that ceaselessly force us to make painful choices. This is the fate that those
who have lost their faith must bear. In a disenchanted world, their transcendent
and moral freedom is inescapable and lonely.
In this connection, Schumpeter referred to the rationalistic undermining of
the intuitive, holistic understanding of the coherence of all things. Eventually,
the critical mind also turns against the values, which by definition cannot be ra-
tionally justified, that form the foundation of society. By opening them up to
discussion, the stickler for transparency undermines the entire structure. He
lacks the insight to foresee the effect of removing one or more of the supporting
piles and can only watch in amazement as the construction slumps and leans ir-
reparably to one side. The simple “magical” beliefs of so-called primitive people
could in this case be considerably more reasonable and wiser, according to
Schumpeter.

1.2 Instrumental and Functional Rationality

Versus Value and Substantial Rationality

Capitalism, bureaucracy, and science are both manifestations and catalysts of

rationalization. As such, they work in conjunction toward the growing domi-
nance of one particular limited form of rationality, which Weber calls instru-
mental rationality and Mannheim calls functional rationality. In practice, its
ascendancy is at the expense of what Weber calls value rationality and Mann-
heim calls substantial rationality.
According to Weber, value-rational action emanates from the conviction
that any action that is ethically, aesthetically, religiously, or otherwise inspired
is inherently meaningful. The meaning or aim of the action lies exclusively in
the action itself and not in reaching some goal. It is distinguished by the delib-
erate nature of the values underlying the action and by the carefully considered,
consistent manner in which the action is attuned to these values. In contrast, a
man’s action is instrumentally rational when he attempts to reach a given goal
at the least possible cost. He includes the various possible means, the likely side
effects of these means, and the aims he strives to attain in his calculations. In
principle, as Weber emphasized, value rationality and instrumental rationality
are by no means mutually exclusive. Man can determine his goals and their rel-
ative weights in a value-rational manner, and subsequently he can try to achieve
these goals optimally in an instrumental-rational way. In the same vein, one
might wonder—along with the pragmatists, among others—whether some-
 The Modernization of Politics and Society 187

body in a certain position is actually able to place his values in a hierarchy with-
out taking into account both the means that he would need to realize his di-
verse values and the consequences that these means might have. In this light,
action that is purely value rational distinguishes itself mainly by the absence of
a process of weighing the pros and cons against each other, a feature that it
shares with traditional and affective behavior.
The conceptions of rationality that Mannheim distinguishes encompass
more than those that Weber set forth. According to Mannheim, a person in a
given situation engages in substantial rational action when his act is deliber-
ately based on his own insight in the interrelated events of which this situation
consists. We may speak of functional rationality when there is a series of actions
organized in such a manner that they lead, at the least possible cost, to a goal
that is set beforehand. Also, these two forms of rationality go perfectly well to-
gether, at least in theory. Nonetheless, according to Mannheim, the number of
spheres of life in which functional rationality dominates has continually in-
creased. Besides substantial and functional rationality in the “intellectual
sphere,” Mannheim distinguished substantial and functional rationality in the
“moral sphere.” Yet as this distinction is not really tenable, he did not apply it
consistently. In particular, substantial rationality coincides with “substantial
morality”: it is the capacity to judge a certain constellation critically on the ba-
sis of self-selected values. Consequently, in Diagnosis of Our Time, Mannheim
referred only to “social awareness.” Substantial morality exists when someone’s
action comes from a deep-seated belief in the moral righteousness of this act. In
Weber’s terminology, this amounts to value rationality. And functional moral-
ity consists of standards ensuring that social interactions run smoothly. The
more functionally rationalized a society is, the more this functional morality
will predominate. Mannheim saw the increased importance of the tolerance
ideal or, in present-day terms, the liberal neutrality principle as a manifestation
of this tendency. In order to prevent unmanageable differences and conflicts,
substantial-rational and moral discussions of the Good Life and the Good So-
ciety in a functionally rationalized society are kept out of the public domain as
much as possible. The longer this situation persists, the fewer the people who
will be able to take part in these discussions.

1.3 Industrialization, Capitalism, and the

Dominant Functional Rationality

Mannheim considered industrialization to be the main source of the increased

role that functional rationality plays in our society. First of all, industrialization
188 Chapter Five

relegates more and more human activities to organizations where this restricted
rationality predominates. All people can do is adapt to it. However, adaptation
undermines people’s capacity for substantial rationality. This gives added impe-
tus to the disproportionate development of people’s potential for functional
and substantial rationality. As soon as people enter a functionally rationalized
organization, according to Mannheim, they transfer their capacity for inde-
pendent thought, insight, and responsibility to those who lead the organiza-
tion. People in management subsequently think for them. After a while, people
get used to this subordinate, dependent position. They are less and less inclined
to reflect independently and critically on their situation. Accordingly, their ca-
pacity to do so does not develop further or may even degenerate. Mannheim
was even gloomier about this than Weber. Weber thought that value-rational
action was being pushed more and more into the private sphere. Mannheim
was convinced of this too, but he also thought that in this sphere people are in-
capable of drawing upon a capacity for substantial-rational action.
It is striking that Mannheim gave most of the credit for disseminating func-
tional rationality to individual industrial enterprises and hardly any to the mar-
ket economy as a whole. The chaos and mass unemployment that he observed
in the 1930s might have prevented him from perceiving any form of structuring
in the market, let alone any impetus for functional rationality. Weber actually
did explicitly note the creation of capitalist market systems characterized by
formal rationality, systems that regularly force us to perform goal-rational ac-
tions when we would prefer value-rational actions.1 But before capitalism can
become a driver of goal rationality in this sense, it will have to develop itself.
This can only happen, according to Weber, in an environment that has already
been rationalized to some degree. In any case, at least a minimum amount of
technical knowledge and resources, a rational administration, and a rational le-
gal environment must be present. The initial development of these precondi-
tions, in turn, can only be expected when an intellectual attitude that is some-
what rational is in place. In other words, the disenchantment of the world must
have occurred. Weber sought an explanation for this mainly, though certainly
not exclusively, in religion. He also mentioned economic factors as part of the
cause. When capitalism subsequently develops, a development for which as-
cetic Protestantism proves to be an excellent breeding ground, it stimulates in
turn the further deepening and dissemination of the rational attitude. It is one
big conglomerate of reciprocal stimuli that together build up an enormous—
to Weber, even frightening—momentum.
In this sense, Weber described the modern capitalist order as the “schick-
 The Modernization of Politics and Society 189

salsvollsten Macht unsres modernen Lebens [the most fateful force in our mod-
ern life]” (1920: 4). Capitalism is an inevitable iron cage, the bars of which are
the technical and economic conditions of mechanical production methods. In
an objective, impersonal, and unrelenting way, they determine the existence of
the people who have to function within the gigantic machine of capitalism.
These people have no choice but to subject themselves to the formal rationality
that dominates the market system and the individual companies comprising it.
Although Weber referred to market forces at various places in his work, he
did not make a fundamental analysis of its operation or of the way in which the
market has come to dominate an ever-greater share of social action. The am-
bivalent attitude he took toward the market might explain this in part. He saw
bureaucracy (especially governmental) as the primary manifestation and dis-
seminator of goal rationality. He was so afraid of this Kafkaesque organiza-
tional form that he preferred to depict the market mainly as a guarantor of free-
dom and dynamism. The contradictory nature of this vision is evident:
bureaucracies can be private as well as public; the market in particular is a dis-
seminator of the goal-rational intellectual attitude; and like bureaucracy, the
market forms a system of goal rationality, a system that forces us to make
choices that reflect this limited rationality.

1.4 Bureaucracy as Product and Catalyst

of Functional Rationality

Like industrialization, bureaucratization is a product and a catalyst of rational-

ization. It arises from striving to control social reality on the basis of rational,
universal, unambiguous principles. Once it has been brought into being, it im-
bues this aim with its own momentum.
Weber’s dim view of rationalization, noted earlier, refers mainly to bureau-
cracy’s steady growth and expanding reach. Mannheim and Schumpeter also
observed this trend, though to a lesser degree, but worried less about its conse-
quences. According to Weber, bureaucratic organizations increasingly deprive
people of the freedom to make their own value-rational choices concerning
their own existence and the form of social life. Within the social system, which
in a sense is constantly expanding, everything is directed toward rational goal-
oriented conduct. Only in a private setting is there still room for rational value-
oriented choices and meanings. Yet this private sphere is continually shrinking.
Meanwhile, professional teachers in rationally organized schools are bringing
up our children; certified nurses in cold, white hospitals take care of our sick;
and we leave our parents behind in neat and tidy homes for the elderly. One de-
190 Chapter Five

velopment that eluded Weber is the combination of bureaucratization and

commercialization: functionally organized schools, hospitals, homes for the el-
derly, and universities that compete with each other in a commercial market,
which is also dominated by functional rationality. The mere thought of this
scenario—which nowadays is increasingly real—was probably more than he
could bear.
Although Weber continually pointed out that the bureaucratic organization
is to be found in both the private and the public sector, his study of its charac-
teristics and effects deals mainly with government bureaucracy. Thus, this too
explains his belief—weakly motivated—in the free market as guarantor of a
society’s freedom and dynamism: he did not recognize that the effects of a gi-
gantic bureaucratic enterprise are hardly distinguishable from those of a gov-
ernment bureaucracy. Schumpeter, in contrast, was mainly interested in the
bureaucratization of enterprises.2 Enormous oligopoloid concerns that subject
their own organization, as well as their environment, to a more and more thor-
ough planning regime are, in his view, increasingly in control of the market.
The companies are coming to look more and more like ministries. The next
step to socialism—to the replacement of the private top managers of compa-
nies by politically accountable civil servants—is so small as to be negligible. All
things considered, in his view, we just stumble into socialism.
An important difference between Mannheim and Schumpeter is that the
former considered the market to be undirected and chaotic, while the latter saw
it mainly as the place where order is established. Mannheim thought that the
bigger companies get, the greater will be the likelihood of maladjustment
and, consequently, the stronger the need for regulation. Schumpeter, however,
noted that with oligopolization, instances of maladjustment and economic un-
certainty were steadily becoming more sporadic. More and more planning is
taking place, though not necessarily on behalf of or by political organizations.
Unlike Mannheim, Schumpeter did not see the instance of mass unemploy-
ment in the 1930s as evidence of chaos and decline. So far as he was concerned,
it was primarily a manifestation of a process of creative destruction. As such, it
was a natural constituent of economic progress. Because of the gradual increase
in socialist planning, however, deep dips such as this will not occur in the fu-
ture. Mannheim shared this conviction. At most, the two men differ in that for
Mannheim it is primarily and in several respects an idealistic prognosis, whereas
for Schumpeter it is an economic-deterministic prediction.
 The Modernization of Politics and Society 191

1.5 Explanation of the Growth and Spread

of Bureaucratic Organizations

Also with respect to an explanation of bureaucratization, Weber, Mannheim,

and Schumpeter had few differences of opinion. To begin with, all three
pointed out the technical superiority of bureaucratic organizations. Weber em-
phasized that they work more efficiently, effectively, reliably, predictably, dis-
creetly, precisely, unambiguously, smoothly, and quickly than any other con-
ceivable form of administration. In his view, only a bureaucracy can adequately
respond to the enormous need that a highly differentiated, extremely complex
modern society has for efficient and effective administration. Thus, there is a
highly plausible reason to choose this form of organization.
Weber held capitalism largely responsible for fueling bureaucratization. First
of all, modern large-scale corporations are themselves prime examples of bu-
reaucratic organizations. Moreover, as their very operation is based on rational
calculation—on promoting predictability, transparency, continuity, universal-
ity, punctuality, and unambiguousness—they cannot deal with an irrational
environment. Therefore, they force the government to organize itself on the ba-
sis of corresponding principles. This need for organizations to rationalize their
environment is ubiquitous. Thus, once the allocation of activities to bureau-
cratic organizations is under way, this process takes on a momentum of its own.
Therein lay Weber’s great fear, as noted earlier. Bureaucracies seek to optimize
their efficiency and effectiveness by leaving the human element out of their cal-
culations—banishing all behavior that is grounded in value-oriented rational-
ity. In that sense, they pose a serious threat to personal creativity, individuality,
and freedom as well as to diversity, innovation, and dynamism in society at
large.
Also, Mannheim was of the opinion that the more organized certain activi-
ties become, the less suited they are to an unregulated environment. Thus, the
organizations in question keep trying to exert more influence on their environ-
ment. According to Mannheim, the need for central planning increases as or-
ganizations proliferate and expand. The flexibility and the adaptive capacity of
institutions decline as their size and degree of internal organization increase.
Moreover, because social interdependence keeps growing, the unregulated,
spontaneous interactions among bigger and bigger organizations operating in
different social domains lead to increasingly serious social problems. We can
only resolve these problems by subjecting those interactions to planning too.
Although this planning is not anything like an all-embracing, hierarchical, bu-
192 Chapter Five

reaucratic form of regulation—after all, one can also plan competition—it

does require a central authority.
To some extent, Schumpeter thought along the same lines. Unlike Mann-
heim, he argued that large, oligopoloid corporations actually have a greater ca-
pacity to adapt and a better chance of survival than small companies that oper-
ate in an open market. It is mainly up to the large firms to ensure economic
innovation and growth. But in line with the observations of Weber and Mann-
heim, he thought that the corporations’ need to control an uncertain environ-
ment explains the oligopolization of the markets and the eventual socialization
of enterprises. He dismissed as a fable the idea that entrepreneurs are advocates
of the free market. As soon as they get the chance, they try to restrict the open-
ness and discipline of the market.

1.6 The Appraisal of Bureaucratic

Organizations and Government
Interventions

As I noted earlier, Weber, Mannheim, and Schumpeter were all positive about
the efficiency and effectiveness of bureaucratic organizations. According to
Schumpeter, bureaucracy is an indispensable component of a modern econ-
omy; thus, he thought it would be present in the coming socialist order. Fur-
thermore, Weber emphasized that democratization requires bureaucratization:
equals can only enjoy equal treatment and unequals be treated unequally be-
cause of bureaucracy’s intrinsically abstract, aloof, and universal character. In
the same vein, Mannheim pointed out that bureaucracy’s cold and impersonal
character is the price we have to pay for its efficiency and objectivity. Bureau-
cracy is the considered response to arbitrary decisions, nepotism, patronage,
abuse of power, and inefficiency.
The demand for more efficiency, democracy, and justice thus implies a de-
mand for (state) bureaucracy. Weber saw a downside to this development: the
growth of a knowledge-based caste of privileged officials largely shielded from
democratic control. Furthermore, he warned against the dehumanization, in-
ertia, and atrophy that, in his view, accompany bureaucratization. Mannheim
and Schumpeter were more optimistic about this. Mannheim referred to the
customer-friendly approach demonstrated by functionaries in private firms,
to the empathy with clients that social workers can apparently muster, and to
the cultural causes of the impersonal approach that Weber associated with
bureaucracies. Furthermore, unlike Weber, he did not take it for granted that
state intervention and planning are related to a more hierarchical bureaucracy.
 The Modernization of Politics and Society 193

There are numerous alternative techniques of social control with which we can
coordinate social activities just as well. Using these instead, we can avoid the
rigidity and uniformity that could come with bureaucracy.
Nor did Schumpeter consider inertia an inevitable aspect of bureaucratiza-
tion, as Weber had posed. Schumpeter pointed out that in the meantime,
salaried managers have taken over many of the creative, innovative activities of
the old-fashioned entrepreneur without much difficulty. There is no reason to
assume that these managers would not perform as well if they were working for
the government. Like Mannheim, Schumpeter did not believe that a growing
governmental influence would automatically cause hierarchy and bureaucracy
to proliferate. Weber was convinced that a socialist economy had to be hierar-
chical and bureaucratic. In fact, he saw only two options in the choice among
techniques of social organization: the market or a hierarchy. Mannheim showed
that there are many more alternatives. Moreover, following Lange and Lerner,
Schumpeter demonstrated that by and large a socialist economy and a market
economy could coexist. In that sense, a socialist economy could embrace
much of the diversity, freedom, and dynamism that in Weber’s view would be
completely undermined by socialism. For these reasons, Schumpeter and
Mannheim—unlike Weber—believed that economic planning would com-
bine quite well with the existing system of parliamentary democracy.

2 RATIONALIZATION AND POLITICS

2.1 The End of Big Politics

Rationalization has major consequences for the way in which content is or can
be given to politics and democracy. In this regard, Weber, Mannheim, and
Schumpeter have one characteristic in common, namely, the thesis that the po-
litical domain is continuously shrinking. They were already writing about the
End of Politics and the End of Ideologies fifty to eighty years earlier than
Fukuyama and his ilk. Though Weber was the least explicit of the three, his
views on the continual spread of bureaucracies and markets allow no other con-
clusion.
In Weber’s thought, politics consists of making choices on the basis of value-
oriented rationality (see chap. 2, section 5.4 above). Bureaucracies and markets
are systems of formal rationality that leave no room for such choices. Because
these systems increasingly dominate our lives, considerations grounded in
value-oriented rationality are driven further into the private sphere. Moreover,
194 Chapter Five

this sphere is steadily shrinking. Weber’s trains of instrumental rationality rum-

ble relentlessly onward, and the only one who might still be able to pull a switch
here and there along the track is the charismatic political leader. Nevertheless,
since there is so little room to maneuver within the cages of the market and the
bureaucracy, one wonders what purpose his vision and decisiveness could still
serve.
Schumpeter’s analysis of current fundamental developments in society
broadly concurs with Weber’s. One difference is that Schumpeter was less anx-
ious about the consequences of bureaucratization; another is that, all things
considered, he was even more pessimistic about the possibilities of countering
the current trends through political action. The bureaucratic organization
“grows everywhere, whatever the political method a nation may adopt. Its ex-
pansion is the one certain thing about our future” (1942: 294). Weber looked
mainly at how bureaucracies developed in the public sector, Schumpeter at
their development in the private sector. This divergent perspective does not
affect how they saw the general trend of bureaucratization, however. In Schum-
peter’s view, both tracks eventually converge no matter what: private, oligopo-
loid enterprises are transformed, almost without a hitch, into public companies
that are managed by a public authority. Apparently, Schumpeter thought the
likelihood of halting this trend or reversing it by political action to be so slim
that he did not even discuss the possibility. To do so would in fact have been in-
consistent with his stance, explicit or not, on history and politics: history un-
folds in specific patterns, determined primarily by economic factors, and, in
the final analysis, our political mission can be no more than to allow the in-
evitable to happen, though with as little damage as possible to human values
(see chap. 4, sections 2.3 and 2.4, but also 6.2, above).

2.2 The Endless Small Politics

Thus, at the macro level of fundamental developments in society, there is not

much room for politics in the standpoints of Weber and Schumpeter. At a
lower level, however, they believed that politics could not be eradicated.3 Ac-
cording to Schumpeter, the next stop on our long march through history is the
socialist economic order. There would be significantly less political struggle in
that order because it would have fused society and the state (see chap. 4, section
4.3, above). Nonetheless, unlike Marx, Schumpeter foresaw that the socialist
society would also harbor differences of opinion and contradictions. Indeed,
only the economic conflicts will have been resolved (and then only partly).
 The Modernization of Politics and Society 195

Many of the important national issues will remain just as open-ended as they
were in the past. The sources of these contradictions are the inevitable plural-
ism of values and the impossibility of grounding values and bridging normative
disputes in a rational manner. Therefore, according to Schumpeter, there is no
common good. This concept has divergent meanings for different individuals
and groups. Because we cannot justify our attitudes about the Good Life and
the Good Society in rational terms, the differences of opinion and conflicts that
arise from these diverging meanings can be neither avoided nor eradicated (see
chap. 4, sections 3.8.1, 5.2.1, above).4 Democracy is a method of resolving these
conflicts peacefully after all.
A world without normative disputes was also inconceivable to Weber. The
disenchantment of our worldview has undermined society’s normative consen-
sus, and as a consequence of the logical gap between values and facts, science is
not able to build a new consensus. We shall have to learn to live with a world in
which we are continually forced to choose between conflicting values. This is
our inescapable human condition (see chap. 2, section 2.3, above). Political
conflicts arise because people systematically define and weigh values differently.
Only a politician who is guided by a Verantwortungsethik can really help resolve
this and thereby rightfully call himself a politician by vocation. Weber’s em-
phasis on this Verantwortungsethik illustrates his belief that values can be evalu-
ated rationally. In this regard, he differs from Schumpeter. For instance, the
later criticism voiced by Leo Strauss—that Weber opened the door to rela-
tivism, nihilism, and irrelevance for political science—is thus exaggerated (see
chap. 2, section 2.3, above).

2.3 Our Lack of Imagination

Mannheim’s conception of the end of politics is perhaps the most profound

and multifaceted but, as usual, the least coherent and consistent of the three.
Implicitly or explicitly, he raised questions on this topic from various angles.
First of all, like Marx and Engels, Mannheim thought that political issues
would increasingly be transformed into the kind of technical questions that
anonymous experts could handle. This is what happened in the area of hygiene
in the past; in the future, it would happen in the field of political economy. In
the end, the only problems that would remain in a planned society would be
administrative. The human and social sciences would help us control our lives
and our social environment in more or less the same way that the natural sci-
ences have done with our physical environment. As Mannheim wrote, it is even
196 Chapter Five

quite possible that planning will ultimately become pure administration and
that political history will thus come to an end (see chap. 3, sections 4.4 and 5.8,
above).
Mannheim’s thesis on the end of politics obviously contradicts his observa-
tion that it is nearly impossible to find fundamental goals that enjoy wide-
spread support in a modern, fragmented, and individualized society (see chap.
3, sections 5.7 and 6.1). It also contradicts his argument in favor of a value-ori-
ented policy as a means to reach a normative consensus in society, a consensus
that is imperative if an overall underlying plan is to be realized (see chap. 3, sec-
tion 6.3). And finally, it contradicts his relativistic stance on epistemology
(though it had become less and less strident): if all knowledge is indeed ideo-
logically determined, how would the expert ever be able to take over the politi-
cian’s role? (See chap. 3, section 3.1.) All these conflicting observations and
standpoints bear a greater resemblance to the reasons that Weber and Schum-
peter gave for their expectation that small politics will never come to an end.
Mannheim took another angle that has proved more plausible and has con-
tinued to inspire many to this very day. Although he did not say so in so many
words, politics lost some of its meaning in his frame of reference because of the
decline in substantive rationality and morality—in short, people’s social
awareness. As noted earlier, this is the capacity to reflect critically on the en-
tirety of social institutions, relations, and developments. Human behavior is
increasingly relegated to systems controlled by functional rationality, and there
are fewer and fewer people who are able to place themselves outside the frame-
works of the rationality of these systems. In this sense, the political sphere is
shrinking: the positive political freedom to intervene deliberately for substan-
tive rational reasons in existing relations and developments is shrinking. We are
prisoners of “the system.”
Nonetheless, these ideas differ from Weber’s in an important respect. In his
darkest moods, Weber thought that we are largely incapable of challenging the
system and its effects. Mannheim was sensitive to this pessimism, but above all
he doubted that nowadays most of us could even imagine doing so. In princi-
ple, we are certainly capable of thinking outside the rationality of the system
and of influencing the course of events. It is self-evident that this applies to the
intelligentsia. But the social awareness of the average citizen can also be raised,
and with it his positive political freedom. In this sense, Mannheim’s thinking is
more voluntaristic than Weber’s and definitely more so than Schumpeter’s.
 The Modernization of Politics and Society 197

3 DEMOCRACY AND THE ENTRY OF THE

MASSES INTO THE POLITICAL ARENA

Taking the ethical pluralism of Weber and Schumpeter as the point of depar-
ture, one could see politics as a continuation of the conflicts of social interests
and ideas but now by peaceful means. From this perspective, political parties
compete with each other for the support of the electorate on the basis of a po-
litical program. Values and interests are evaluated in Parliament, where com-
promises are hammered out. Weber and Schumpeter felt this depiction was too
rational. It implies that citizens’ opinions are both informed and well thought
out, that they cast their vote for a party or politician on that basis, and that po-
litical leaders and representatives of the people take this informed opinion into
account in their decision-making. All this is by no means the case, according to
Schumpeter (see chap. 4, section 6.4, above) as well as to Weber, though
slightly less so (see chap. 2, section 5.2, above). To Schumpeter, “public opin-
ion” was no more than a chaotic melee of vague, irresponsible, and contradic-
tory impulses, slogans, and impressions. So-called preferences are not authen-
tic but are largely the product of manipulation. The purpose of political parties
is not to propagate shared ideals but to secure positions more effectively. Poli-
tics is not the rational consideration of values and interests but the struggle for
naked power. The citizens’ only “deliberation” occurs at election time and con-
cerns whether or not they want to replace the incumbent government with the
opposition.5
Weber was more positive about the possibilities of reaching a compromise
between conflicting standpoints by way of rational argumentation. This is one
of the functions of Parliament that he discerned (see chap. 2, section 5.3, above)
and in his view a capacity that is crucial to the true politician (section 5.5). He
also thought it was more conceivable for people to engage in political activities
on the grounds of the idealistic desire to realize certain common values. Other
than this, Schumpeter and Weber do not differ much with respect to small pol-
itics. Thus, Weber too considered the masses to be politically incompetent and
believed that politics consists of a Nietzschean struggle for power that leaves no
room for scruples. In the day of mass media and mass democracy, the success-
ful political leader who learned the ropes in Parliament must have strong
charismatic qualities, including the capacity for demagoguery. Political parties
are hierarchic, oligarchic bureaucracies that are led by professional politicians,
and their main purpose is to mobilize electoral support. After the elections, the
electorate is supposed to leave the political stage and, until the next election,
198 Chapter Five

give the elected leaders a chance to put their own views into practice. The par-
liamentary political power struggle expects the utmost loyalty and unity on the
part of all involved. The parties control Parliament, and the parties are con-
trolled in turn by their leaders. It amounts to an “elected dictatorship.” The
only thing that keeps a rein on the leaders is the need not to alienate the elec-
torate too much. In this sense, the fact that an incompetent or far too obstinate
government can be voted out of office ensures at least a minimum amount of
political responsiveness. However, the voter market is primarily a supplier’s
market: the consumer does not influence the producer’s activity; rather, the
producer influences the consumer and his preferences.
Some commentators—notably William Kelso (1978: 41) and David Held
(1987: 161)—have seen a serious contradiction in the stance that Weber and
Schumpeter took on this issue. They consider it inconsistent to believe that cit-
izens are on the one hand not competent to make decisions on important polit-
ical issues and on the other hand capable of electing their leaders. If people can
make a good guess about who would make a good leader, they must also have
the capacity to make informed choices about specific policy issues. Nonethe-
less, one wonders whether the insight into human behavior required to elect
good leaders should be equated with an understanding of society. That aside, in
this regard Held and Kelso probably underestimate the cynicism of Weber and
Schumpeter: indeed, both had virtually no confidence in the electorate’s capac-
ity to choose good leaders. The main reason to hold elections, in their view, is
to legitimize the leadership. As a result of the ruthless political struggle within
and between political parties, only the strongest will come out on top in the
end, and it does not make much difference which of these survivors the elec-
torate ultimately chooses. What matters above all is that there is a strong leader
at the helm and that he is legitimized to pilot the ship of state, steering mainly
by his own compass, safely through the breakers.
In short, according to Weber, Schumpeter, and Mannheim too (see below),
it would be better not to let citizens engage in more political activity. They were
certainly not the only ones to think so during the first half of the twentieth cen-
tury: in those years, many shared their gross generalizations about “the psy-
chology” of “the lower classes.” Indeed, this was not a cultural pessimism
unique to the Old World. American political scientists were traditionally no
less concerned about the political participation of the man in the street (cf.
Blokland 2005: chap. 2).6 Experiences with fascist dictatorships from the 1930s
onward only reinforced this stance.
 The Modernization of Politics and Society 199

3.1 The Inevitable Consequences of

Enlarging the Scale of Politics

Another important way in which Weber, Mannheim, and Schumpeter resem-

ble each other is in their attention to the consequences for democracy of scale
enlargement in the political arena. This has already been demonstrated, in the
preceding section. All three acknowledged that many democratic theories and
ideals refer implicitly to a small, harmonious political community. The cre-
ation of large-scale, pluriform nations has made these theories irrelevant in sev-
eral important respects.
Weber noted several consequences of scale enlargement, such as the estab-
lishment and bureaucratization of political parties, the discipline imposed on
party members, the use of the mass media and demagoguery, the emergence of
a “Stimmungsdemokratie,” and the need to choose between, on the one hand, a
“Führerdemokratie” that takes its direction from a charismatic leader and, on
the other hand, an undirected “Obrigkeitsstaat” that is run by a quibbling
claque of clerks (see chap. 2, sections 5.1, 5.2, and 5.4, above). Mannheim and
especially Schumpeter emphasized the effects on the way the citizen experi-
ences national politics. They were particularly concerned about the irresponsi-
bility of the spectator. Mannheim believed that forms of direct democracy were
justifiable in small-scale and harmonious communities whose members were
active and cooperating citizens. According to him, this is no longer found in a
modern mass society. There, the citizen has been replaced by an easily manipu-
lated, irresponsible spectator. As events in the 1930s demonstrated, in such so-
cieties, the plebiscite principle leads to an irrational and extremely dangerous
“mass psychology” (section 5.7).
Schumpeter devoted most attention to the intellectual stance of this specta-
tor (see chap. 4, section 5.2.3, above). He felt that as a rule, people’s propensity
for rational and responsible judgment declines the further the issues are from
their trusted daily world of experience. National and international political
questions lie beyond their own horizon; people do not have direct experience of
them; and they have no direct influence on them. At the same time, the conse-
quences of certain standpoints in this area are barely noticeable or personal. It
is therefore hard for them to feel responsible and to feel obliged to become ad-
equately informed.7 It makes no difference that there is a wealth of correct in-
formation available to them. Nor does it make much sense to try to elevate the
citizens’ political competence to a higher level though information campaigns,
education, and discussion. Such efforts are well meant, but in the end people
200 Chapter Five

will come up against the same wall: the higher the level of abstraction, the lower
the sense of responsibility and the motivation to form a reasonable, balanced
judgment and will.

3.2 Are There Democratic Alternatives

to Parliamentary Democracy?

Although Weber, Mannheim, and Schumpeter had some doubts about parlia-
mentary democracy in its existing form, none of the three saw a clear alterna-
tive. At least it was reassuring that this form of democracy actually operates in a
way completely different from the way many believe and some hope. Citizens
do not make policy, nor do their preferences guide it; rather, their main func-
tion is to legitimize a government.
Only Mannheim thought that in the long run democracy could be imbued
with substance in a more “classical” sense. Once the citizens’ political compe-
tence and “social awareness” had been significantly strengthened through edu-
cation, they would be able to take part in political decision-making to a greater
degree. Mannheim wanted the citizens to learn that the values they know from
direct experience also apply at the level of national democracy. There, they are
merely couched in more abstract terms. At this level, basic virtues like love,
brotherhood, and solidarity mean that everyone has rights and duties, ranging
from freedom of speech and association to the obligation to pay taxes. Educa-
tion, which in his day was still geared to functioning in primary groups, would
have to be thoroughly reorganized to promote citizenship (see chap. 3, section
6.3, above).
It remains to be seen whether this goes far enough in resolving the problem
of abstractness. Mannheim had a sharp eye for the normative dimension of this
issue. He was decades ahead of the discussions on “citizenship” that erupted in
Western democracies at the end of the 1980s. However, one essential element of
the problem remains to be solved: the inherent characteristic of large-scale
democracies that a single individual has hardly any influence on the outcome of
political decision-making. Partly for that reason the individual will feel less
compelled to make informed and balanced judgments. This problem becomes
insurmountable as the world modernizes. Processes of rationalization and indi-
vidualization steadily diminish the chance that people will identify with one
another and with a “common good” (see chap. 1, section 1.2, above). The grow-
ing differentiation and interdependence have wiped out the option of dividing
large-scale political communities into independent, small-scale autarchic units.
The desire to create or sustain small political communities implies that more
 The Modernization of Politics and Society 201

and more topics would lie outside formal political decision-making and would
fall into the hands of the uncontrolled bureaucracies of enormous internation-
ally operating oligopoloid concerns and of supranational “communities,” such
as the European Union.
Nonetheless, the concept of democracy to which Weber and Schumpeter
subscribed, along with authors counted among their intellectual heirs, came
under fire in the 1960s, when it was attacked by advocates of direct forms of
democracy (cf. Blokland 2005: chap. 8). The critics accused Schumpeter and
those like him of not probing into the causes of the widespread disinterest in
and ignorance about politics. They were accused of assuming that this is the
natural situation. Schumpeter made the mistake of thinking he could use em-
pirical data on present-day democracies to refute the normative ideals underly-
ing classical theories of democracy. Moreover, the latter theories are mainly
associated with the names of John Stuart Mill, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and
G. D. H. Cole, not, as Schumpeter thought, with John Mill and Jeremy Ben-
tham. In the view of the first three, participation has more purposes than de-
fending vested interests alone, and participation occurs not only to elect a na-
tional government. First of all, it may be found throughout society at all
possible levels. Furthermore, its ultimate goal is to form a democratic commu-
nity in which each person can develop his own talents by taking part in public
affairs. The fact that present-day democracies are incapable of realizing these
ideals does not mean, according to the critics, that these ideals are by definition
unrealistic. In their view, it is entirely conceivable that citizens do not feel in-
volved because they lack the opportunity to play a meaningful part in politics.
If able to do so, their interest in and knowledge of politics could increase along
with their sense of citizenship. However, Schumpeter and his like did not inves-
tigate this. They only looked at representative democracy at the national level
and did not ask themselves if other forms of democracy that could accompany
it might be attainable as well (Wolin 1960; Williams 1961; Duncan and Lukes
1963; Davis 1964; Bay 1965; Bachrach 1967; Pateman 1970; Bottomore 1976).
Much of this criticism is warranted. Weber, Mannheim, and Schumpeter all
considered democracy primarily in terms of the relation between the state and
the individual, not the relation among individuals or groups. Moreover, they
perceived this relation as being rather direct: only political parties mediate be-
tween the citizen and the state, whereby these parties, incidentally, are most
strongly allied with the state. They gave no attention to citizens who join all
kinds of interest groups to promote their values and preferences as effectively as
possible, nor did they consider the role that this collective nongovernmental
202 Chapter Five

sector plays in a democracy. Similarly, Weber, Mannheim, and Schumpeter

hardly considered the possibility of counteracting the abstractness of politics by
actually delegating the issues that can be decided at the local level to local bod-
ies. For the sake of the values defended by participation theorists, decision-
making should occur at several complementary political levels; problems
should not be shifted onto the agenda of a higher level unless their resolution
calls for it (Dahl 1970; 1998: 114ff.). With that in mind, the trend toward bu-
reaucratization, toward placing the environment under hierarchical control,
will have to be relentlessly resisted.
Notwithstanding this deserved criticism, the core of the argument of both
Schumpeter and Weber still holds: present-day “democracies” operate in a way
entirely different from the way the public legitimation of these systems would
suggest, and in view of the characteristics of a large-scale modern society, it is
not always possible to make any adjustments in this. For instance, it is in many
respects satisfying to conduct discussion and decision-making on political is-
sues at the local level, so long as this does not delude people into thinking that
they can thereby exert any significant influence on overarching problems. In a
modern world, such problems are steadily growing in quantity and impor-
tance. If people are nonetheless under the illusion that they can make a differ-
ence, this will only exacerbate the political cynicism that the advocates of more
democratic participation hope to combat.

3.3 The Neutrality Principle

of Liberal Democracy

One extremely important difference of opinion between Weber and Schum-

peter, on one side, and Mannheim, on the other, concerns their attitudes on the
place of the normative debate in a democracy. Mannheim emphatically re-
jected Schumpeter’s strictly formal notion of democracy and, to a lesser extent,
Weber’s. Unlike them, he considered substantive debates to be both meaning-
ful and necessary. This difference of opinion is also at the center of the present-
day discussion between the defenders and critics of the liberal neutrality princi-
ple, the principle that the government should merely create the formal
framework in which people can formulate their own definition of the Good
Life and beyond that should not express any opinion on what this Good Life
entails. The arguments that these advocates and critics present in the course of
that debate correspond in part to those advanced by the discussants in the first
half of the twentieth century.
The degree to which people consider a public debate on values and goals to
 The Modernization of Politics and Society 203

be worthwhile depends, of course, on their expectations of reaching agreement.

As we have already seen, Schumpeter in particular was rather pessimistic about
this. Values cannot be justified rationally, and any differences of opinion that
might arise on fundamental ethical questions can therefore not be resolved.
Democracy cannot be much more than a formal procedure to prevent these dif-
ferences of opinion from getting out of hand. In order to guarantee the accep-
tance of this procedure by society at large, it is important not to overburden it
with emotional and interminable debates on the Good Life and the Good So-
ciety. We would be wise to leave these fundamental questions outside the polit-
ical discussion, as far as possible, or to delegate them to as low and harmless a
level as possible. As Schumpeter wrote, stability requires “democratic self-con-
trol” (see chap. 4, section 5.3.2, above).
To Mannheim, in contrast, debates on political principles were absolutely
necessary for the survival of democracy. Social consensus on basic norms and
values, indispensable to democracy, can only arise if people question these
norms and values themselves. The fear that this would break the fragile consen-
sus has only eroded the social support for democracy even further (see chap. 3,
section 6.3, above).8 The essence of democracy is, in Mannheim’s view, that
people try to reconcile conflicting values and interests on the basis of several
shared assumptions through discussion and negotiation (1941b: 69). If people
choose not to engage in open discussion, they are damaging democracy by
denying its essence. In other words, a vital democracy casts off the liberal mis-
understanding that tolerance requires us to abstain from the defense of our fun-
damental values and goals. If it is to survive, our democracy must give up its
“neutrality,” even with respect to its own foundation, and become “militant”
once again. Mannheim sees tolerance and neutrality as expressions of func-
tional morality, the only function of which is to allow social interactions to run
smoothly and which has no substantive motivation whatsoever (section 4.2).
Therefore, no one would defend these values on the basis of any deep inner
conviction. A purely formal definition of democracy has the same defect.9

3.4 Trapped in the Emancipation Dilemma?

The question of whether the government should take a neutral position on the
normative preferences of its citizens is closely linked to another one: to what ex-
tent can a democracy transform preferences that are the product of existing so-
cial processes and structures and that are not optimal, at least by standards that
are not the product of these processes and structures? In other words, can peo-
ple still take control of the modernization of society when they are dependent
204 Chapter Five

on a democratic majority in order to make the necessary decisions? As Schum-

peter and Mannheim observed, when people’s thinking is largely determined
by their circumstances, how can they ever develop the preference to change
these circumstances? As Schumpeter lamented, “It is a melancholy reflection
that, in many and important cases, a policy is bound to be the more unpopular
with the public and with the intellectual critic the wiser it is” (1942: 369). But
elsewhere he asserted, “To try to force the people to embrace something that is
believed to be good and glorious but which they do not actually want—even
though they may be expected to like it when they experience its results—is the
very hall mark of anti-democratic belief” (1942: 237). Observations of this kind
present political radicals with an impossible dilemma, which I have described
elsewhere as the emancipation dilemma (Blokland 1997: chap. 5; 2004). These
radicals include anyone who defines politics not only as a means to resolve con-
flicts of interest in general and material ones in particular but also as a method
to join together to make the most of ourselves. It is self-evident that the ideo-
logical background of these radicals may be quite diverse: it ranges from the Eu-
ropean Christian democrats and social democrats to the American “liberals”
and “Greens.”
There are two sides to the emancipation dilemma, aligned with a positive or
negative conception of freedom. On the one hand, according to those wrestling
with this dilemma, preferences of an aesthetic, ethical, cultural, or political na-
ture are largely the products of social processes and structures. They also believe
that though preferences exist that may be more fulfilling than the present ones,
current social processes and structures prevent people from recognizing them.
On the other hand, they endorse the democratic principle that since an indi-
vidual is the best judge of what is in his best interest, his electoral preference
should always be respected. In combination, these two assumptions create a
dilemma. To accept the present preferences, as good democrats do, implies ac-
cepting the structures and processes that produce these very same preferences
and thereby implies accepting preferences that the critics presume to be false.
To reject the present preferences implies putting their democratic principles on
hold. Concretely, this means that voters do not see anything wrong with their
present preferences and, consequently, with the processes and structures that
these preferences promote and reinforce. Therefore, they will not demand or
support any proposals for fundamental social and political reform. The ques-
tion is, how can this dilemma be resolved without creating a totalitarian state?
Weber was not bothered much by this dilemma, and Schumpeter even less.
First of all, neither really believed that the course of events can be influenced
 The Modernization of Politics and Society 205

through democratic decision-making. Therefore, it is more or less a waste of

energy to try to influence electoral preferences in order to change the course of
events. Furthermore, Schumpeter revealed himself to be primarily a value rela-
tivist, and therefore he had little reason to believe that there were any prefer-
ences surpassing the quality of the present ones. A different position was taken,
as we shall see, by Mannheim and all those after him who did not wish to be
content with the preferences and realities that the current social structures and
processes generate.

4 WHAT TO DO?

From the perspective of the modernization process and the emancipation

dilemma, we can once again ask whether, and if so how, we can intervene in so-
cial developments. As we have seen, Weber, Mannheim, and Schumpeter were
continually confronted with this question. All three were strongly involved in
politics, and none was very happy about the way in which society was develop-
ing. In conclusion, I shall bring together their answers, which are dispersed
throughout their work, in a brief overview.
Weber’s despair about the process of rationalization hovers like a dark cloud
over his political standpoints and recommendations. His thesis on the contin-
ual proliferation of bureaucratic organizations implies, all things considered,
the end of Big Politics. In part, this is why he did not put much stock in the idea
that citizens can collectively find solutions for the big issues—the Good Life
and the Good Society—and subsequently organize themselves on the basis of
a substantive political program in order to realize these solutions. Thus, Weber
did not make any well-wrought recommendations for the content of these so-
lutions. One turns in vain to him for a substantive defense, even a sketchy one,
of democracy and its institutions. He was a sociological spectator who saw
more and more human values being washed away by the rising tide of rational-
ization—in fact, he stood back and watched helplessly. He made no sugges-
tions for alternative social and political structures that might promote the de-
velopment of those human values that are threatened by rationalization. He
rejected socialism because he associated this order with hierarchy and thus with
bureaucracy. Therefore, he made a cautious case for the liberal market econ-
omy, though he considered this order to be no less of a vector of bureaucracy
and formal rationality.
In the end, it is up to the charismatic political leader to rescue society’s free-
dom, vitality, and dynamism. But the hope that Weber pinned on this leader is
206 Chapter Five

barely plausible even within his own intellectual framework. Indeed, to what
extent are his vision and energy still relevant in a world where more and more
human activities are encapsulated in the goal-oriented rational systems of the
bureaucracy and the market? What is left for him to lead? In the same vein, We-
ber doubted that people in a disenchanted world could bear the heavy burden
of independently having to formulate values and goals. He feared that they
would turn to authoritarian demagogues for their salvation (of course, there is
a fine line between the bona fide charismatic leader and the demagogue). But
where does he get this fear of the incapacity for autonomy? The need to make
independent choices in life declines in proportion to the growth of bureaucracy
and the market. In other words, no one need even notice that secularization has
made us metaphysically homeless or that in the meantime we would actually
have to define our values by ourselves. Perhaps the most important characteris-
tic of Western civilization is the fact that the market and bureaucracy have
equally filled the value-rational vacuum that secularization had caused. Mean-
while, we are just pawns in the game. Life is rather empty and meaningless, but
thanks to the treadmills of bureaucracy and the market we fortunately do not
have to be conscious of this every day.
Schumpeter did not have a political program either. His primary aim was to
describe current social trends and practices. His approach to history made it
impossible for him to propose policies that would change these tendencies and
practices significantly. We cannot do much more than adjust the trajectory and
wait to see what happens.10 The processes of rationalization, bureaucratization,
and oligopolization march slowly but surely forward and will “inevitably” lead
us to socialism. Within this socialist order, the system of small democratic pol-
itics will operate more or less as it did under capitalism. This mode of operation
has little to do with the ideals underlying the classical doctrine of democracy.
But that is hardly lamentable: they are entirely unrealistic. The fact is that the
democratic system that has developed in present-day large-scale mass society
works just as it should. The same will apply to the coming socialist order. And
that is not all: in purely logical terms, as Schumpeter wrote, “it is undeniable
that the socialist blueprint is drawn at a higher level of rationality” (1942: 196).
The most important question that Schumpeter left unanswered is how far we
are from turning that blueprint into a real structure. Despite the strong neolib-
eral trend of privatization and deregulation that has emerged over the past few
decades, that point—thanks to the concomitant trend, which Schumpeter
considered crucial, of concentration and control of the market—might be,
from an economic perspective, surprisingly close at hand.
 The Modernization of Politics and Society 207

All things considered, Mannheim is the only one of the three authors treated
here who had a program on the basis of which, according to him, we can and
must intervene in existing social developments. Also, he was the only one to be
confronted with the emancipation dilemma. It is striking that a number of key
elements of his program strongly resemble the themes picked up by present-
day critics of liberal society and the trends within it, namely, individualization,
differentiation, and rationalization. These include partly related themes, such as
“citizenship”, “social cohesion,” “social integration,” “social consensus,” “multi-
culturalism,” “late modernity,” “risk society,” and “the third way.” Along with
Leon Laeyendecker, one might doubt whether critics like Habermas, Luh-
mann, McIntyre, Dahrendorf, Bellah, Giddens, and Etzioni have actually
come much further in their analysis of these issues than Mannheim had gone
half a century earlier (1989: 13).
Mannheim asserted, as we have seen, that in modern times functional ratio-
nality and morality have developed faster than substantive rationality and
morality. Moreover, the latter, “social awareness,” has also developed unevenly
across social strata. The fact that our moral and technical capacities have devel-
oped disproportionately has made our society much more vulnerable than
would have been the case in the past. The first reason is that democratization
has given certain social strata access to political decision-making but, according
to Mannheim, they are morally and intellectually not sufficiently equipped for
it yet. The second reason for the greater vulnerability is the sharp increase in so-
cial interdependence. Because of the enormous number of social interactions
and mutual dependencies, problems that were “localized” in traditional soci-
eties can have far-reaching consequences for society as a whole. Something that
happens in one social domain no longer leaves other domains undisturbed.
Mannheim blamed today’s essential problems on the spontaneous, unregulated
interactions between different social domains. The only way to solve these
problems, or prevent them, is to plan interactions as a whole. However, in or-
der to appreciate the need to do so and subsequently to carry out the task,
again, there is a need for a social awareness, one that is still lacking today.11
Therefore, for Mannheim, the crucial question is how to raise social aware-
ness to a higher level. A range of direct and indirect techniques of social control
is available to us. With the help of these techniques, we also have to try to re-
store the social consensus that was lost under laissez-faire liberalism. Alongside
the adequate development and social distribution of substantive rationality and
morality, this consensus is a precondition for planning. Moreover, we have to
promote social consensus by breathing new life into the fundamental debate on
208 Chapter Five

our society’s basic values. Because of a misunderstanding of the principle of tol-

erance and a counterproductive fear of putting the social consensus to the test,
we have avoided this debate for years, according to Mannheim, thereby under-
mining the social consensus even more than was already the case. Furthermore,
according to Mannheim, social consensus requires social justice. Thus, in order
to reach social agreement on the society’s basic values and goals and on the nec-
essary planning, it is imperative to combat social inequality in every conceiv-
able area. To that end, he believed that a radical expansion of the social welfare
state was indispensable.
Of the three, only Mannheim believed that we can influence the ongoing ra-
tionalization, differentiation, and individualization and in so doing combat the
political powerlessness that is the product of these processes. We can promote
the citizens’ social awareness and with it their political competence, thereby
giving democracy more meaningful content. Within the emancipation di-
lemma, he chose positive freedom in the long term, both at the individual and
at the political level. The social reproduction of the existing preferences would
thereby be disrupted, and democracy and policy-making could be given a
different content. Against the grain of the processes of rationalization, differ-
entiation, and individualization, we can also promote social consensus, a con-
sensus that makes social integration and planning possible. Moreover, planning
can combat the negative consequences of the same processes and restore our in-
dividual and political freedom.
For Mannheim, thus, the future was not fixed; we can make it, so long as we
just free ourselves of the thinking that is determined by the existing social con-
stellation. We can do so by becoming aware of being determined, a process in
which the sociology of knowledge and political science would have to take the
lead. “We could change the whole of society to-morrow if everybody could
agree,” wrote Mannheim in Ideology and Utopia. And, he continued, “The real
obstacle is that every individual is bound into a system of established relation-
ships which to a large extent hamper his will. But these ‘established relation-
ships’ in the last analysis rest again upon uncontrolled decisions of individuals.
The task, therefore, is to remove that source of difficulty by unveiling the hid-
den motives behind the individual’s decisions, thus putting him in a position
really to choose. Then, and only then, would his decisions really lie within him”
(1936: 261–62). Mannheim therefore sincerely welcomed the decline of ideolo-
gies, which he had already observed in 1929, the collapse of interpretive frame-
works that make things seem better than they actually are. Their demise means
that people can perceive their society in a clearer, more objective light and
 The Modernization of Politics and Society 209

therefore be able to make more conscious choices. But it is a different story al-
together for another demise he had observed at the same time: the disappear-
ance of utopias, the loss of conceptual frameworks oriented toward change in
which a preferable reality is sketched. Their demise implies, according to
Mannheim, a future in which the development of society comes to a halt and
man, “left without any ideals, becomes a mere creature of impulses. Thus, after
a long tortuous, but heroic development, just at the highest stage of awareness,
when history is ceasing to be blind fate, and is becoming more and more man’s
own creation, with the relinquishment of utopias, man would lose his will to
shape history and therewith his ability to understand it” (1936: 263).
Is this an accurate description of our present condition?
Notes

CHAPTER ONE. GENERAL INTRODUCTION

1. Elaborating on this point, Karl Mannheim made an analogous distinction be-

tween substantial rationality and functional rationality (see chap. 3). The for-
mer is said to exist when someone places value on an event and understands it
from a broader perspective. The person in question attempts to experience
and comprehend reality as a meaningful whole from the angle of a particular
pattern of values. The latter is said to exist when action is organized in order to
attain a particular goal as effectively and efficiently as possible.
2. Yergin and Stanislaw, who mainly applaud the trends concerned, write in The
Commanding Heights: The Battle Between Government and the Marketplace
That Is Remaking the Modern World, “Today . . . governments are privatizing.
It is the greatest sale in the history of the world. . . . Everything is going—
from steel plants and phone companies and electric utilities to airlines and
railroads to hotels, restaurants, and nightclubs. It is happening not only in the
former Soviet Union, Eastern Europe, and China but also in Western Europe,
Asia, Latin America, and Africa—and in the United States. . . . In a parallel
process that is more far-reaching and less well understood, they are also over-
turning the regulatory apparatus that has affected almost every aspect of daily
life in America for the last six decades. . . . The world over, governments have
come to plan less, to own less, and to regulate less, allowing instead the fron-
tiers of the market to expand” (1998: 13). In a comparable mood Perry Ander-

211
212 Notes to Pages 13–16

son states in the New Left Review, “For the first time since the Reformation, there are no
longer any significant oppositions—that is, systematic rival outlooks—within the
thought-world of the West; and scarcely any on a world-scale either . . . whatever limita-
tions persist to its practice, neo-liberalism as a set of principles rules undivided across the
globe: the most successful ideology in world history” (2000: 17).
3. In this regard, socialism had an ambivalent attitude to the Enlightenment. On the one
hand it embraced many of its individualistic, naturalistic values, values it shared with lib-
eralism. On the other hand, socialists agreed with much of the conservative critique on
the Enlightenment. This focused on the liberal abstract view of man and the disruptive
effects of an unbounded market on community life (cf. Berki 1975: 18ff.; Parekh 1975). A
telling manifestation of modernization is that political parties that used to propound this
conservative critique have become fierce defenders of market liberalism. This liberalism
preeminently undermines the same family and community values these parties claim to
defend. Examples are the British Conservative Party since Thatcher, the German Chris-
tian Democratic Union since Kohl, the Dutch Christian Democratic Union since Lub-
bers, and the American Republican Party since Reagan.
4. It is curious, to say the least, that in the same year Dahl published Dilemmas of Pluralist
Democracy: Autonomy vs. Control, a book in which many of the assumptions underlying
De Illusie van de “Democratische Staat” are firmly put into perspective (see part 3).
5. For overviews, see Cuperus and Kandel 1998 and Cuperus, Duffek and Kandel 2001.
6. To Giddens’s credit, it must be said that he at least in theory acknowledges that new so-
cial movements, single-issue groups, and other associations of citizens can never take
over where government is failing and can never take the place of political parties. These
groups, as Giddens rightly states, “cannot as such govern. One of the main functions of
government is precisely to reconcile the divergent claims of special-interest groups, in
practice and in law” (1998: 53). Taking this seriously implies, in my view, the building of
exactly that kind of political parties New Laborites consider old-fashioned.
7. “Another State of Mind” is the title of Lindblom’s 1981 presidential address to the mem-
bers of the American Political Science Association. In this address he goes into his grow-
ing doubts about some of the central, hardly ever questioned assumptions of pluralism.
8. The lack of knowledge among political scientists about the intellectual history of their
own field seems to have increased continuously since the Second World War. Dahl al-
ready bemoaned this trend forty years ago (1961b: 25). He was followed by, among oth-
ers, Farr (1988: 1175), Ricci (1984: 313), and Farr, Dryzek and Leonard (1995: 5).
9. Of course, originality is important, since scientific progress depends on it. However, as
David Ricci writes, “novelty is also forced upon all scientists as a form of self-advertise-
ment, since elaborating the obvious engenders boredom whereas highlighting the un-
usual attracts favorable attention. Under the circumstances, there exists the possibility
that in some fields of science, where many truths are fully known, the emphasis on nov-
elty will detach itself from social utility and come to constitute little more than its own
reward. A considerable gap between truth and novelty seems to have materialized in the
field of political studies” (1984: 231).
10. The rapid turnover of publications is illustrated by A New Handbook of Political Science
(1996). In the more than eight hundred pages of this book, the authors attempt to pre-
 Notes to Pages 18–21 213

sent the state of the art in political science. An appendix to the review article written by
the editors of the volume, Goodin and Klingemann (1996: 27), gives calculations for the
length of time publications last in this discipline. For this purpose, they checked the year
of publication for all 3,403 publications cited by the various authors in the Handbook. It
turns out that two-thirds of the works are less than twenty years old and only 8.6 percent
were published before 1960. This rapid turnover might be a sign of enormous scientific
progress: the literature gets out of date very quickly. Yet I am afraid that other mecha-
nisms are in play here. Comparable mechanisms have been observed by Herbert Gans in
the field of sociology; see his “Sociological Amnesia: The Shortness of the Discipline’s
Attention Span” (1992).

CHAPTER TWO. MAX WEBER

1. For brief surveys of Weber’s life, see: De Valk 1980a; MacRae 1974; Coser 1977. Thor-
oughgoing biographies were provided by his wife Marianne Weber in Max Weber: Ein
Lebensbild (1926) and Reinhardt Bendix in Max Weber: An Intellectual Portrait (1960). In-
cidentally, Coser goes quite far, too far in my opinion, with a psychological interpreta-
tion of Weber’s life and thought. For instance, he explains the years of mental depression
to which Weber fell victim as from 1898 in terms of an argument between Weber and his
father about his father’s disrespectful treatment of Weber’s mother. Weber’s father died a
month after this clash, and overwhelmed by a sense of guilt, in Coser’s interpretation,
Weber then fell into a depression that made it impossible for him to do any scientific
work for years.
2. Wolfgang Mommsen gives a nice overview of this in “Politics and Scholarship: The Two
Icons in Max Weber’s Life” (1989). Weber was, among other things, political adviser to
the liberal Freisinnige Vereinigung starting in 1907 and subsequently of the Fortschritt-
liche Volkspartei; in 1918 he was involved in drafting the new constitution for Germany
and in 1919, as an expert with the German delegation, he was involved in the peace ne-
gotiations at Versailles.
3. The fact that Weber never really crossed the boundary between science and politics is ex-
plained in part, according to Mommsen, by “his personal attitude to politics: he wanted
to give a lead to politics, not to become tangled up in the tactical machinations of the
everyday political struggle, although according to his own understanding this formed
part of the politician’s job” (1989: 7).
4. Despite his amateurism, as he puts it, Weber is incidentally, in the words of De Valk,
“one of the most important sociologists of religion, whose work in this field is only
equalled by that of his friend Ernst Troeltsch. His studies on the great non-Christian re-
ligions . . . are said to be monumental, and not without reason” (1980a: 179).
5. This voluntarism is, of course, somewhat at odds with Weber’s appreciation of Marx’s
materialism. How much room is there actually for a visionary leader when in the end his-
tory is determined by societal undercurrents? Incidentally, creative tensions of this kind
are characteristic of Weber’s thought (see section 6).
6. In “Wissenschaft als Beruf” Weber also describes the material conditions under which
science is practiced at modern universities. In his time as well, these were apparently not
214 Notes to Pages 23–28

ideal. For instance, Weber indicates that the chance that people with talent reach the top
positions at modern universities is increasingly a question of luck. Coincidence does not
explain everything, of course, but he states that he knows of no other career in which it
plays such a big role (1919b: 132). In the same vein, it irritates Weber that universities
(must) attach increasing importance to student enrollment and to the linkage between
these numbers, on the one hand, and presumed scientific quality and opportunities for
making a career at the university, on the other. He writes that he is deeply suspicious of
“courses that draw crowds, however unavoidable they may be. Democracy should be
used only where it is in place. Scientific training . . . is the affair of an intellectual aris-
tocracy, and we should not hide this from ourselves” (1919b: 134). And Weber also
laments that “so many mediocrities play an eminent role at the universities” (1919b: 132).
In view of the selection procedures, he feels that one should not be surprised by the num-
ber of undeserved appointments but rather by the considerable number of deserved ap-
pointments that still take place, despite everything. Nonetheless, Weber feels it is his re-
sponsibility to ask every young graduate who considers embarking upon a university
career this question: “Do you in all conscience believe that you can stand seeing medioc-
rity after mediocrity, year after year, climb beyond you, without becoming embittered
and without coming to grief?” (1919b: 134).
7. The battle between the neo-Kantians and the positivists is still raging to this day within
the political sciences. The behavioralists have continued in the positivist tradition since
the 1940s, whereas their critics build upon on the idealist tradition. As a rule, the propo-
nents of, respectively, the naturalistic model of science and the interpretive or hermeneu-
tic method (see Moon 1975) nowadays avoid the confrontation and have withdrawn into
their own departments, journals, and debates. But now and then, as for instance in re-
sponse to the recent Perestroika Movement within the American Political Science Asso-
ciation (a movement that shows strong resemblance to the Caucus for a New Political
Science that dates from the end of the 1960s), the fight flares up again briefly. I dwell ex-
tensively on these two scientific traditions in Pluralisme, Democratie en Politieke Kennis
(2005: chap. 10).
8. Weber’s neo-Kantian assumption—that phenomena must be interpreted and that we
only begin to understand a given event when we examine the underlying motives of the
actors involved—conflicts, incidentally, with his firm conviction that scientific knowl-
edge is continuously accumulating. This neo-Kantian assumption also conflicts with his
related standpoints that there are value-free “facts” and that it is possible to establish in a
relatively objective manner which instruments would be the most suitable for the given
goals. When we are supposed to interpret motives that are invisible, there is naturally al-
ways room for interpretation. And to the degree that this room increases, the facts be-
come softer and we can be less certain of the results and, with them, of the suitability of
particular instruments.
9. Moreover, Brecht goes into great detail on what science (and political science in particu-
lar) can still do with respect to normative questions, while acknowledging the logical gap
between values and facts. His discussion builds upon the work of Weber. See especially
his well-known research program comprising fifteen points (1959: 121–22).
10. Isaiah Berlin (1958, 1962) formulated one of the most lucid arguments in defense of this
 Notes to Pages 29–32 215

nonrelativistic ethical pluralism (see for this argument also Blokland 1997 and 1999). Be-
sides his conviction that values can be weighed against each other by reasonable means,
he is of the opinion, just as Brecht is, that a considerable number of normative convic-
tions or principles exist that are universal. Brecht makes a strong argument in favor of
comparative empirical investigation of these convictions. What he has in mind are such
principles as “identical cases must receive equal treatment, and cases that are not identi-
cal should be treated differently” and “someone can only be held responsible for an inci-
dent if he or she had the opportunity to influence this situation.” Also a postmodernist
like John Gray (1995) believes in the existence of what Charles Taylor (1989) calls a min-
imal “horizon” of universally shared values or qualitative distinctions.
11. Where he actually does define rationalization, he is moreover inclined to use the concept
of “rational” in the definition as well, which obviously does not help the reader along.
Western music, for example, is thus rationalized because it has a rational notation, a
rationally organized orchestra, rationally harmonious compositions, and so forth (1920:
1–2).
12. To me, the last implication, the weighing of different aims, seems impossible within the
framework of instrumental rationality because the reference point, which is indispens-
able to that deliberation, is absent. This must necessarily be value rational in nature.
13. The various forms of rationality often take unexpected shapes. John Schaar writes in his
Escape from Authority: The Perspectives of Erich Fromm (1961) that the emphasis that cur-
rent ethics places on “spontaneity,” “authenticity,” “individuality,” or “sincerity” is an ex-
ample of the ascendancy of instrumental rationality. All of these qualities are, in his view,
actually instrumental: on their basis, one can judge how an action is performed, not
whether the purpose of this action is laudable or not. A person can spontaneously com-
mit murder (1961: 306). Another example of the growing importance of instrumental ra-
tionality is the tendency of more and more philosophers to devote themselves mainly to
the logical analysis of normative propositions and not to the content of the Good Life or
the Good Society (Schaar 1961: 308; Taylor 1989).
14. The best example, of course, is that of people in perverse surroundings—in which al-
most everyone becomes corrupt in order to save his or her own skin—who nonetheless
try to remain true to their definition of humanity. Take, for instance, the situation pre-
vailing under totalitarian regimes or in concentration camps. On this topic, compare
Bettelheim 1960, De Valk 1989, and Geras 1998. Incidentally, to the extent that people
one-sidedly let themselves be guided by one specific value or by a limited number of val-
ues, their actions are less well thought out and thus, in my assessment, their value ratio-
nality decreases. The less a person assesses the relative merits of values (and thereby the
less one does justice to our pluralistic condition), the more a person’s actions derive from
an affective rationality.
15. For instance, consider the curious outbursts nowadays of sentimentality and emotion in
response to the death of a well-known personage, such as Princess Diana, or at sporting
events, which are continually growing in both number and popularity.
16. Joseph Needham has considerably softened this assertion (for Weber, a rather bold state-
ment) about Chinese civilization. See among other sources his book The Grand Titra-
tion: Science and Society in East and West (1969).
216 Notes to Pages 32–37

17. Naturally, said Weber, the “Beamte” is an ancient phenomenon. “Aber die absolut unen-
trinnbare Gebanntheit unserer ganzen Existenz, der politischen, technischen und wirt-
schaftlichen Grundbedingungen unseres Daseins, in das Gehäuse einer fachgeschulten
Beamtenorganisation, den technischen, kaufmännischen, vor allem aber den juristisch
geschulten staatlichen Beamten als Träger der wichtigsten Alltagsfunktionen des sozialen
Lebens, hat kein Land und keine Zeit in dem Sinn gekannt, wie der moderne Okzident”
(1920: 3).
18. “Der spezifisch moderne okzidentale Kapitalismus nun ist zunächts offenkundig in
starkem Masse durch Entwicklungen von technischen Möglichkeiten mitbestimmt”
(1920: 10; italics mine—see my earlier remarks on Weber’s mannered tendency to insert
an excessive number of clauses into his statements).
19. Unlike what some have wanted to read into this, Weber did not intend to turn Marx’s
materialism on its head. He did not want to respond to Marx by demonstrating that eco-
nomic conditions and developments can ultimately be explained by an “upper layer” or
“superstructure” of ideas, especially religious ones (cf. Aron 1967: 257–67; Schumpeter
1942: 11). As Weber emphasized at the end of his study, “The modern man is in general
. . . unable to give religious ideas a significance for culture and national character which
they deserve. But it is, of course, not my aim to substitute for a one-sided materialistic an
equally one-sided spiritualistic causal interpretation of culture and history. Each is
equally possible, but each, if it does not serve as the preparation, but as the conclusion of
an investigation, accomplishes equally little in the interest of historical truth” (1905: 183).
Weber was not one to propose strictly monocausal relationships. The same is true of
Marx, incidentally.
20. Weber’s thesis on the relation between Protestantism and capitalism has generated a
heated debate that is still going on to this day. For a succinct overview of the debate, see
Lehmann and Roth 1987 and Hughes, Martin, and Sharrock 1995: 100 – 05, 147–48. The
last-mentioned authors conclude that many of the controversies are based on one-sided
interpretations of Weber. For instance, Weber never asserted that a strictly monocausal
relation exists between Protestantism and capitalism (see above). The contributions to
the debate by those who also see other causes or who wish to distinguish various currents
within Protestantism that have divergent effects thus do not form a refutation of Weber’s
thesis, at best they form an addition to it. Weber’s main thesis—that ascetic Protes-
tantism constitutes a good breeding ground for capitalism—still holds, according to
Hughes, Martin, and Sharrock.
21. Franklin (1706 –1790) was, among other things, the inventor of the lightning rod, orga-
nizer of the American postal system, founder of the University of Pennsylvania, and
American ambassador to France. He was also one of the Founding Fathers of the Amer-
ican Constitution, and in that role he proposed that all of the states should have equal
representation in the Senate. On that basis, the small states considered it acceptable to
join the Union. Many saw Franklin as a happy, optimistic child of the Enlightenment
and the personification of the sensible, straightforward American. Others saw him as a
vulgar, materialistic opportunist.
22. At various places in his work, and here too, Weber referred to the coercion that comes
from an economic market that is dominated by formal rationality. Yet he only men-
 Notes to Pages 38–46 217

tioned it in passing. By no means did he present a fundamental analysis of the operation

of the market and how it comes to dominate an increasingly large proportion of social re-
lations. His ambivalent attitude toward the market might explain this to some extent: his
fear of bureaucracy was so strong that he preferred to see the market primarily as a guar-
antor of freedom and dynamism.
23. For the time being, it seems that Weber’s prediction was right: in The Loss of Happiness in
Market Democracies (2000), cited earlier, Robert Lane shows that the capitalist ethic has
continually gained in strength since Weber’s time, which has far-reaching consequences
for the well-being of everyone on the “hedonic treadmill” (2000: 303).
24. Given the examples he cited, in practice Weber was apparently primarily thinking of
government bureaucracy. This is not necessarily a logical direction. Nevertheless, the
government bureaucracy does conform better to the ideal type of pure bureaucracy. In
the following discussion, the context reveals the extent to which Weber’s analysis is
mainly applicable to the public sector.
25. In Wirtschaft und Gesellsschaft, he gave a more specific definition: “A compulsory politi-
cal organization with continuous operations will be called a ‘state’ insofar as its adminis-
trative staff successfully upholds the claim to the monopoly of the legitimate use of phys-
ical force in the enforcement of its order” (1978: 45; cf. 83). “Legitimate” is that which
people voluntarily accept. They can do so because of tradition or by getting used to it,
out of their trust in a charismatic leader, or because they think that it is something legal
and thus is based on the prevailing laws and regulations (1978: 31– 38, 215 –17; 1919a: 78 –
79).
26. Elsewhere, Weber wrote: “The modern capitalist enterprise rests primarily on calcula-
tion and presupposes a legal and administrative system, whose functioning can be ratio-
nally predicted, at least in principle, by virtue of its fixed general norms, just like the ex-
pected performance of a machine. The modern capitalist enterprise cannot accept . . .
adjudication according to the judge’s sense of equity in a given case or according to the
other irrational means of law-finding that existed everywhere in the past” (1978: 1395).
27. For an inhuman example, see Hannah Arendt’s Eichmann in Jerusalem (1963). A tragi-
comic illustration is given by Charlie Chaplin in his unsurpassed Modern Times (1936).
28. I shall answer these questions mainly by referring to Weber’s “Politik als Beruf” (1919a)
and his less well known but more profound treatise “Parliament and Government in a
Reconstructed Germany: A Contribution to the Political Critique of Officialdom and
Party Politics” (1918). Originally, “Politik als Beruf’ was a lecture that Weber presented in
1918 at the University of Munich. It is one of his most frequently read and cited publica-
tions, which seems strange because the quality of this piece, prepared for this occasion, is
relatively modest, also in his own assessment (Mommsen 1989: 8). The most likely ex-
planation is that it is fairly accessible and is included in the collection edited by Gerth
and Wright Mills, From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology (1948). For a long time, this col-
lection was the most important point of access to Weber’s work, certainly for those who
could not read German. The second publication mentioned above is a revised version of
a long series of articles that Weber published in the summer of 1917 in the leftist-liberal
Frankfurter Zeitung. The essay was included by the editors in the English edition of
Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft to compensate for the work that Weber could not write be-
218 Notes to Pages 46–49

cause of his untimely death, a work on the sociology of the state, and to supplement his
analysis of bureaucracy (Roth 1978: civ).
29. Michels standard research work on this process of increasing oligarchy, originally pub-
lished in Italian, is Zur Soziologie des Parteiwesens in der modernen Demokratie: Unter-
suchungen über die oligarchischen Tendenzen des Gruppenlebens (1911). There, he formu-
lates his famous “Iron Law of Oligarchy”: in every organization, there is a tendency to
form an oligarchy, even if it is based on democratic principles, as is the case in socialist
parties. The reasons that Michels gives for this are, roughly, that the necessary division of
labor and specialization make it impossible for the average members adequately to con-
trol the leaders and that the masses have a psychological need to follow leaders. For an
overview of the differences and similarities between Michels and Weber, see Mommsen
1989: 87–105. A telling attempt to combat the tendency to oligarchization is mounted by
the present-day “Grünen” in Germany. The statutes of this party, established in 1980, in-
clude, among other points, that party members who have political functions (mainly
ministers and members of Parliament, for example) are not allowed to perform any ad-
ministrative functions within the party, that a party function must always be filled by
two persons jointly, and that no one can be reelected to her function. In practice, these
rules had the effect that no one could build up a powerful leadership position and that
the party was often out of control and powerless. Because the party thus steadily became
weaker, both electorally and politically, pressure was continually increased to “modern-
ize” the party, which has in the meantime largely been accomplished under the forceful
and unassailable leadership of Joschka Fischer.
30. “You have no idea what kind of hierarchy you are getting into here. Formally, we are all
equal, but informally the hierarchy is even stronger. The exact order is precisely fixed.
Everyone knows who ranks high and who low. . . . The leader of the faction is concerned
with nothing but controlling, reining in, distributing favors, and punishing undesirable
behavior. . . . I have to coordinate even the slightest movement that I make with 86 oth-
ers. If it has political consequences, then I have to go around mealy mouthed. . . . Not
take any standpoint that falls outside the mainstream” (trans. Smyth Van Weesep). These
remarks were made by Rik Hindriks, member of Parliament for the Dutch labor party,
and reported in the newspaper NRC-Handelsblad (February 2001: 14).
31. In his words, “The demos itself, in the sense of a shapeless mass, never ‘governs’ larger as-
sociations, but rather is governed. What changes is only the way in which the executive
leaders are selected and the measure of influence which the demos, or better, which social
circles from its midst are able to exert upon the content and the direction of administra-
tive activities by means of ‘public opinion’” (1978: 985).
32. In her biography of Weber, Marianne Weber reported a telling conversation on this sub-
ject between Weber and the reactionary general Ludendorff. “In a democracy,” Weber is
said to have asserted, “the people choose their leader whom they trust. In response, the
chosen one says, ‘Now keep your mouths shut and obey.’ People and party are not al-
lowed to get in his way. Later, the people can pass judgement on him—if the leader has
made mistakes—then let him hang!” (Marianne Weber 1926: 703). Apparently Luden-
dorff is able to live with this form of democracy.
33. A good illustration of this is the campaign that Bill Bradley mounted when seeking the
 Notes to Page 51 219

nomination of the Democratic Party as its presidential candidate. His campaign lasted
from September 1999 to March 2000, the month in which he dropped out of the race, a
disillusioned and broken man. Bradley was certainly not lacking in charisma and intel-
lect. He had studied political science at the universities of Princeton and Oxford. He had
been a successful professional basketball player for the New York Nicks and a popular
senator for the state of New Jersey. The serious press overwhelmingly favored him over
the other presidential candidates as the most academic, profound, and honest of all. At
the start of his campaign, he was the absolute favorite, according to the opinion polls.
But it went completely wrong: Bradley did not win the nomination in any state at all. In
an extensive analysis of this campaign in the New York Times (9 March 2000), James Dao
and Nicholas Kristof state that “the tale of how Mr. Bradley’s campaign collapsed under-
scores a few lessons about American politics today.” (The addition of the word “today”
seems rather superfluous here.) The most important of these, in their assessment, is that
a candidate has to be willing to engage in street fights, to tell half-truths, to cater to gut
feelings, to lodge false accusations about the opponent—in short, to conduct a “negative
campaign,” complete with the exceptionally suggestive television commercials that are
notorious in the United States. Bradley assumed that the American electorate had had
enough of this and, severely hindered by a sense of self-respect and norms of decency, he
proved unable to stoop to it. Al Gore, his opponent, “who throughout his career has
been gentlemanly when possible and a street fighter when necessary,” had less compunc-
tion about this. The voters may be indignant about negative campaigns, as Dao and
Kristof observe, but such campaigns work. By not defending himself against Gore’s at-
tacks, which regularly were extremely unfair and ungrounded, the impression arose that
Bradley was a naïve weakling to whom it would be unwise to entrust the defense of one’s
interests. In the course of the campaign, his supporters began to doubt whether he actu-
ally had what it takes to win—“especially the ruthlessness and the furious, uncompro-
mising, tenacious lust for power.” By his high-minded concentration on his own mes-
sage, Bradley was increasingly portrayed in the media as “remote, out of touch and even
arrogant and gruff.” For all of these reasons, slowly but surely Bradley’s original enthusi-
asm, idealism, and openness disappeared during his campaign. More and more, he gave
the impression that he felt misunderstood in a political world that, in hindsight, was not
his. Consequently, the voters put him out of his misery.
34. The Nietzschean importance that Weber ascribed to struggle incidentally also explains,
according to Mommsen, his far-reaching nationalism (1989: 25, 29, 30). The ideal of a
strong German state is a constantly recurring theme in his work. On occasion, he even
seems to consider the national idea to be more important than affairs related to the lib-
eral constitutional order. In this connection, Mommsen quotes from Weber’s collected
lectures and essays dating from the period 1914 –1918: “For me, ‘democracy’ has never
been an end in itself. My only interest has been and remains the possibility of imple-
menting a realistic national policy of a strong externally oriented Germany” (1989: 25).
In his opinion, the dynamics of the culture would benefit from a continuous rivalry and
competition among nations. That is why, in a time of imperialism, Germany also had to
pursue an expansionist political direction. This could only enhance the vitality of the
cultures of Germany and its competitors.
220 Notes to Pages 51–58

35. According to Weber, such leaders are lacking precisely in Germany, with the result that
bureaucrats with no vision are in control of politics. He blames this to a large extent on
the long-term presence of the extremely dominant chancellor Otto von Bismarck (1815 –
1898). By not granting the parliament any real authority whatsoever, he closed off the
arena where political leaders could have matured. Moreover, this allowed the develop-
ment of skepticism and contempt for parliamentary democracy, an attitude that was
characteristic of the irresponsible German “literary intelligentsia” of his time (1918: 1385 –
92, 1404 – 05). In general, Weber did not hold the political-bureaucratic order in imper-
ial Germany in high esteem (cf. Mommsen 1989: 10ff.). The prominent men in this or-
der were primarily interested in continuing the social and political domination of the old
landed aristocracy. Meanwhile, since this class was only able to stay afloat thanks to gov-
ernment subsidies, its members lacked the necessary economic basis for any credible
showing of political leadership. The emergent middle class should have taken over the
role of this fossilized aristocracy, according to Weber, but instead it looked to the existing
authoritarian state for protection from the working class, which was also emerging. We-
ber also considered the latter to be immature; although its members sought power, they
had no concrete, workable idea of what they wanted to do with it. Moreover, the social-
democratic party was apolitical; instead of actively collaborating in Parliament with the
progressive elements of the citizenry and forcing the passage of civil reforms, they enter-
tained themselves primarily with “revolutionizing the spirit.” What came of this was an
unguided, directionless social order in which mainly bureaucrats were in control. The
later demise of the Weimar Republic may indeed partly be explained by the factors that
Weber mentions: too few forces identified themselves with this order, so it got out of
control and became susceptible to antidemocratic currents, such as fascism.
36. In “Politik als Beruf” Weber wrote in the same vein: “To take a stand, to be passionate—
ira et studium—is the politician’s element, and above all the element of the political
leader. . . . The honor of the civil servant is vested in his ability to execute conscientiously
the order of the superior authorities, exactly as if the order agreed with his own convic-
tion. . . . The honor of the political leader, of the leading statesman, however, lies pre-
cisely in an exclusive personal responsibility for what he does, a responsibility he cannot
and must not reject or transfer” (1919a: 95).
37. This runs to some extent parallel to the distinction between Wertrationalität and Zweck-
rationalität (see section 3.1). In present-day philosophical discourse, one speaks of a de-
ontological and a consequentialistic ethic, respectively.
38. Curiously, this sentence is regularly cited to illustrate Weber’s pessimism about bureau-
cratization. Here, however, he is only referring to the political struggle in the years 1917
and 1918 between various groups whose basic principle is, in his view, a “Gesin-
nungsethik,” which is irresponsible in politics. Incidentally, despite the rationalization
of our worldview, it seems that this form of ethics has hardly diminished in all kinds of
political circles.
39. Today, we see a similar tension in the thinking of the Republicans in the United States,
the Conservatives in England, and many Christian Democrat parties on the European
Continent. On the one hand, it is said that they are defending traditional family and
community values, while on the other hand they are often avid proponents of a free mar-
 Notes to Pages 58–63 221

ket, a free market that is preeminently able to undermine these values. The same incon-
sistency now applies to the advocates of “the third way.”
40. Less than a century earlier this was a guiding idea in the work of De Tocqueville. Less
than a century after Weber, it was a leitmotif in the thinking of members of the New
Right.

CHAPTER THREE. KARL MANNHEIM

1. The following biographical sketch of Mannheim is based largely on Coser (1977: 441–
63) and on Woldring (1996). In his overview essay, incidentally, Coser reserves consider-
ably more pages for Mannheim’s life than for his thought. In view of Mannheim’s point
of departure—that life determines all thought—this would seem to be a defensible ap-
proach in this case. A comparable attempt at an interpretation along the lines of the so-
ciology of knowledge was made by Woldring (1986: esp. chap. 20).
2. Regarding Lukács and his role in this group, see also Kolakowski 1976: 3:284ff.
3. Alfred Weber was a well-respected cultural sociologist, but he was never able to emerge
from the shadow of his brother. His students called him “Minimax.”
4. In Frankfurt, he was in the same building as the contemporary members of the Frank-
furter Schule. Yet he had little if any contact with them. It is nonetheless evident that
Mannheim and people like Adorno, Horkheimer, and Marcuse influenced each other,
even though they rarely cite one another, and when they do it is mainly in refutation (cf.
Engelsdorp-Gastelaars 1984: 216ff.).
5. One expression of this is his essay “Towards a New Social Philosophy: A Challenge to
Christian Thinkers by a Sociologist” (1943) (see section 6.3). He wrote this at the request
of a discussion group of moderately progressive Christian thinkers, who called them-
selves “The Moot,” a group he was invited to join, which he did in 1938. Incidentally, he
emphasized that in this position paper, he speaks solely as a sociologist and not in the
possible capacity of a Christian. Those theologians, priests, writers, academics, and
higher officials who were involved got together four times a year for a weekend and tried
jointly to explain current societal developments from a Christian perspective. Some of
the members were G. B. Shaw, Lord Lindsay, J. H. Oldham, W. Oakeshott, and T. S.
Eliot. Woldring asserts that Mannheim became a member because he considered the
Christian tradition to be one of the pillars of Western civilization and was convinced,
like the theologians, that a society could only be held together by a network of integra-
tive norms and values (1986: 59 – 60).
6. The publisher’s list of May 1945 gives an impression of the task that Mannheim had set
himself and for the field of sociology, as well as giving some indication of the intellectual
climate of the years directly after the war. The list includes the following titles: Adult Ed-
ucation in a Progressive Democracy (H. E. Poole et al.); Visual Education in a New Democ-
racy (O. Neurath; the book is recommended on the following grounds: “The dissemina-
tion of information and knowledge on a large scale in a New Democracy makes the
invention of new forms of visual presentation essential. This study describes the gradual
emergence of visual education in relation to the changing nature of society. Its final aim
is to suggest methods which are democratic and will prevent mass-education from level-
222 Notes to Pages 65–66

ling down culture.”); Corporations and Their Control (A. B. Levy; “The structure of pri-
vate corporations has obvious dangers. It leads to the concentration of vast powers in the
hands of the few. To meet this economic and social danger, new means of control will
have to be developed.”); The Price of Social Security (G. Williams); The Implications of
Economic Planning (K. Mandelbaum and E. F. Schumacher); The Analysis of Political Be-
haviour: An Empirical Approach (H. D. Lasswell; “Political Science has gradually devel-
oped from a history of political thought and study of political institutions into a socio-
logical and psychological analysis of human behaviour in the political field and a study of
the techniques of influencing man and controlling political institutions.”); The Fear of
Freedom (E. Fromm). The stock list appears in the third edition of Mannheim’s Diagno-
sis of Our Time (1945).
7. The question is whether it is here up to the researcher to make a completely coherent and
consistent whole out of it. Sometimes the researcher can do more justice to the author by
leaving the tensions and contradictions in his thinking intact and just follow him when
he goes off on a tangent. Partly because it is precisely the sidetracks that offer such unex-
pected vistas, I have regularly followed these here.
8. The most complimentary remark that Van Doorn can think of regarding Man and Soci-
ety is that, together with the works of Robert Michels (1925), Hendrik de Man (1926 and
1933), Jacques de Kadt (1939), James Burnham (1940), and Joseph Schumpeter (1942),
among others, it is a record of a time, documenting socialist thought in the interbellum.
According to him, all these writings contain comparable notions: “The liberal-capitalis-
tic era is over; the era of regulation and planning is at hand. Elites are indispensable to
lead the masses. Materialism must be conquered by cultural politics. Rationality must be
seen in opposition to irrationality, and parliamentarianism serves as an alternative to to-
talitarianism” (1989: 33 – 34).
9. I treat the surprisingly great influence of Mannheim in the United States and England in
my book Pluralisme, Democratie en Politieke Kennis (2005). Here, suffice it to mention
the large number of reviews of Mannheim’s work that have appeared in these countries.
See Woldring 1986: 410 –34.
10. See, for instance, the numerous references to Mannheim in Dahl’s Congress and Foreign
Policy (1950a) and in their collaborative book Politics, Economics, and Welfare (1953), as
well as Dahl’s concurring and extensive review of Mannheim’s thought on the occasion
of the publication in 1950 of Freedom, Power, and Democratic Planning. In this review, he
says, among other things about Man and Society, that this book “for years to come must
surely remain one of the most important theoretical works on planning” (1950b: 807).
See also Blokland 2005: chap. 4.
11. This is illustrated by the appreciation expressed by Thoenes in 1971 for Mannheim’s
work. Among other things, he wrote that “one of the most fascinating things about
meeting Karl Mannheim [is] the combination of being far away and close by.” And,
Thoenes continues, “There is much about his work and his person that seems to us like
a message from a different culture, a world that we were no longer able to experience and
that would have the capacity to stir the curiosity of at best an interested historian. At the
same time, there is virtually no sociologist to be found who writes in this manner, knowl-
 Notes to Pages 66–72 223

edgeable and engaged, about the problems that are of prime concern to us today” (1971:
273).
12. This applies to his analysis of our societal situation, not to the solutions chosen for the
problems that were identified. I substantiate this claim in Pluralisme, Democratie en Poli-
tieke Kennis (2005: chap. 11).
13. See for example The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (1962) by Thomas Kuhn, The So-
cial Construction of Reality (1966) by Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann, and “Theo-
retical Self-consciousness” (1974) by William Connolly.
14. Karl Marx, A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy, translated by N. I. Stone
(Chicago, 1913), pp. 11–12, cited in Mannheim 1936: 126.
15. Mannheim is engaged in the same struggle at the end of his book when he tries to dis-
tinguish between ideologies and utopias. Ideas, as he writes again here, that correspond
to the existing order are adequate and “situationally congruous” (1936: 194). Ideas such as
these are scarce, however. Mostly, there are ideologies or utopias. Ideologies are “the sit-
uationally transcendent ideas which never succeed de facto in the realization of their pro-
jected contents” (1936: 194). And a conceptual universe is utopian “when it is incongru-
ous with the state of reality within which it occurs” and when it, if put into practice,
changes the existing order to a large extent (1936: 192). In practice, the difference be-
tween ideologies and utopias, as Mannheim admits, is exceptionally difficult to deter-
mine. De facto, it is the ruling groups who determine what is “utopian” and their oppo-
nents who decide what is “ideological” (1936: 203).
16. For more recent discussions of this problem, see, among others, Will Kymlicka’s Liberal-
ism, Community and Culture (1989) and Charles Taylor’s Multiculturalism and “The Pol-
itics of Recognition” (1992).
17. Mannheim refers frequently in this regard to the position of the former Russian “intelli-
gentsia” (the term was introduced around 1860 by the author Boborikin). His experi-
ences with Lukács and associates in Budapest will surely have played a role as well. The
milieu and the doings of the Russian intelligentsia are, incidentally, described very elo-
quently by Aleksandre Herzen (1812–1870) in his extensive memoirs Byloje i Doemy
(Facts and Thoughts).
18. It remains unclear just how this knowledge is related to the “syntheses” and “total vi-
sions.” Are these “nonevaluative,” “suprasocial,” and “suprahistorical” as well?
19. In substantiation of this, he refers, without much explanation, to “a sphere in the psychic
life which can be dealt with, to a large extent, by means of mass psychology, without go-
ing into the question of subjective meaning,” as well as to “an area of social life in which
may be perceived certain general structural generalities, that is the most general forms of
human association (‘formal sociology’)” (1936: 187). Mannheim’s internal conflict is al-
ready evident from his choice of words: “in large measure,” “a sphere,” “to a large extent,”
“an area,” “may be,” “certain,” and so on.
20. Does “cannot easily” mean that this can in principle be done? (See also the previous
note.) And in the case of “purely formalizing knowledge,” can one rightly speak of em-
pirical knowledge that helps us explain and predict reality and thereby help us sustain
ourselves in this reality? And when politics are by definition irrational in nature and in-
224 Notes to Pages 73–81

evitably value oriented, does this then imply that a truly political science would never be
involved in politics but merely in administration?
21. Also, independent of his sociology of knowledge, one may have doubts about the cor-
rectness of this assumption. Connolly (1974), for instance, shows that social theories
generally fit within either a harmony model or a conflict model of reality. These models
are grounded in the metaphysical principle that the cosmos is ordered or it is not, re-
spectively. It is unclear what a synthesis of these two models would look like.
22. In this connection, Mannheim, in Man and Society, called for investigations of Principia
Media (1940: 174 – 85). These are wholes or totals of variables, tendencies, or laws that
form the driving force behind specific social constellations. These variables, tendencies,
or laws are general in character, as Mannheim asserted this time. The way they affect one
another at a given time and in a particular place is unique, however, never to be repeated.
For this reason, the driving force behind a certain historical constellation can only be re-
vealed through qualitative research.
23. More than sixty years later, the Harvard sociologist Orlando Patterson expressed himself
in virtually the same wording. The “intellectual vacuum” that has come into being be-
cause sociologists and political scientists have become preoccupied with quantitative re-
search and “rational choice” has been filled by commentators, most of whom “have little
insight into social, political or cultural issues.” Americans who have a need for informed
and thoughtful reflections on our social condition “turn to literary commentators or, less
helpfully, to writers of self-help books or hosts of television talk shows” (New York Times,
19 May 2002). Partly out of discontent with the political irrelevance of their discipline,
American political scientists started up the Perestroika movement in 2000. Among other
things, the movement’s members called for a publication, research, and appointment
policy that was determined less by behavioralistic assumptions and more by political rel-
evance. For an overview of this debate, see Political Science and Politics 35, no. 2 (2002).
24. Here and in the continuation of Mannheim’s argument, compare the analysis that pre-
sent-day leading sociologists, such as Anthony Giddens, Ulrich Beck, and Claus Offe,
make of the “late modern” or “posttraditional” phase in which our society supposedly
ended up a short time ago. In their view, typical of this phase is that institutional inter-
ventions increasingly evoke unintended and unforeseen effects; and that individualiza-
tion and globalization have created novel social problems. To Giddens, globalization
means that “our day to day activities are increasingly influenced by events happening on
the other side of the world. Conversely, local lifestyle habits have become globally conse-
quential” (1994: 5). Individualization means that more than before people must (and
can) imbue their own lives with content and significance. Both processes are promoted,
according to Giddens, by “detraditionalization”: the erosion of tradition and religion.
Thereby, the expansion of capitalism is enormously accelerated. In Giddens’s view, what
we have to do today is, among other things, to use all possible means to prepare individ-
uals for this new imperative of constantly having to make their own choices in life.
25. In his words, “The more industrialized a society is and the more advanced its division of
labour and organization, the greater will be the number of spheres of human activity
which will be functionally rational and hence also calculable in advance. Whereas the in-
dividual in earlier societies acted only occasionally and in limited spheres in a function-
 Notes to Pages 81–86 225

ally rational manner, in contemporary society he is compelled to act this way in more
and more spheres of life” (1940: 55).
26. The spread of the functionally rational organization leads, in this connection, to what
Mannheim elsewhere calls the “self-rationalization” of individuals: in order to function
within it, they have to control and regulate their immediate impulses. The more cog-
wheels a machine contains, the more accurately and predictably each cog has to turn and
thus the less room there is for individuality. After a while, people internalize the restric-
tions that had once been imposed on them and no longer experience these as such. This
theme forms the crux of Norbert Elias’s theory of civilization. See especially his Über den
Prozess der Zivilisation: Soziogenetische und psychogenetische Untersuchungen (1939). Be-
tween 1930 and 1933, Elias was an assistant to Mannheim at the University of Frankfurt.
27. This distinction seems hard to defend. When substantial rationality in the intellectual
sphere constitutes a capacity of independent judgment, what could this judgment possi-
bly be based on if not a morality? It is no coincidence that Mannheim later dropped this
distinction, leaving it out of his Diagnosis of Our Time. Instead of substantial rationality
and morality, here he introduced the more general notion of “social awareness.” He
wrote: “Social awareness means both in the life of the individual and in that of the com-
munity the readiness to see the whole situation in which one finds oneself, and not only
to orientate one’s action on immediate tasks and purposes but to base them on a more
comprehensive vision” (1941b: 61).
28. In Weber’s terms, this is about Wertrationalität. Weber, then, saw Mannheim’s functional
morality as a form of Zweckrationalität.
29. Here, he is naturally referring not only to substantial irrationality but also to substantial
rationality.
30. In present-day political theory, we encounter this question in the communitarian cri-
tique of the liberal neutrality principle. This principle implies that the government re-
frains from (or assumes it is refraining from) passing any substantive judgment on the
way in which people (might) run their lives. The government only develops (or assumes
it is only developing) formal, empty principles of justice. Liberal political philosophy is
grounded on these principles. Then too, pluralism and the “procedural” conception of
democracy formulated by Dahl and Lindblom are often seen as an outcome of the emer-
gence of functional morality and a translation of the neutrality principle. For a critique
of the idea of neutralism within liberalism, see, among others, Charles Taylor (1989,
1992), who seems to be strongly influenced by Mannheim, and Michael Sandel (1996).
31. A (Weberian) question that Mannheim left unanswered is why people in the Western
world, after living a long time in the context of a community characterized by reciproc-
ity, shifted to mutual competition.
32. One may assume that in Mannheim’s view this is substantial in nature. It is unclear how
this relates to his earlier assertion that industrialization in fact promotes the dissemina-
tion of functional morality.
33. Schumpeter, as we shall see in the next chapter, asserted the opposite: the larger and
stronger the enterprise, the more it can withstand changes in the environment.
34. Of course, the question is if this kind of imagery can be translated directly into other
spheres. For instance, for a market economy, one can state that a market actually requires
226 Notes to Pages 87–91

more regulation (such as antitrust legislation) as the number of parties becomes less. Like-
wise, two express trains need more planning to prevent a collision than a hundred horse-
drawn carriages.
35. Incidentally, Mannheim emphasizes that the means whereby and the degree to which we
can transform human beings is not a philosophical question but an empirical one, which
we have to answer by conducting interdisciplinary research (see section 3.2). In this re-
gard, he ardently criticizes the political philosophical discussions in which the partici-
pants make little if any use of insights from the fields of psychology, sociology, and an-
thropology. Therefore, theories in social and political philosophy are, in his view,
regularly based on assumptions about man and society that have been made obsolete by
research in these fields of science (1940: 223). Incidentally, hardly any progress has been
made in this situation since his time. In fact, things have even grown worse (cf. Taylor
1979 and Blokland 1999).
36. In Mannheim’s words, “People and things exist in their own right and not simply as
functions of other entities. Their very existence is a fulfilment of their inner nature. The
only proper way to treat them is to approach them directly and not by roundabout
routes, as a function of something else” (140: 241).
37. Mannheim’s (partial) agreement with the criticism of a functionalist interpretation of
values illustrates his gradual retreat from his original sociology of knowledge. In contrast
to what he had argued earlier (but still does in other places in Man and Society), values are
no longer purely social products, the content of which we can manipulate as we please.
Ultimately, he looked for firm ground in a religious foundation of values, as in Diagnosis
of Our Time, for instance. Incidentally, there is a strong resemblance between Taylor’s
(1989, 1991) and Mannheim’s criticism of functionalism as well between the case each
one makes for seeing direct spiritual experience as a basis for morality.
38. The other two are, according to him, the transition from laissez-faire to planning and
from a “democracy of the few” to a “mass society.” These have already been discussed. In-
cidentally, in section 4.1 we saw that earlier in his book Mannheim named the growing
social interdependence, alongside democratization, as the primary force behind present-
day social events. In his essay “Diagnosis of Our Time” Mannheim once again named
the development of new social techniques as by far the most important force behind
these events (1941: 2ff.). Thus, that which Mannheim deemed crucial varies, even within
one and the same book.
39. In his words, “In these small groups in which everyone feels that a great deal depends on
his actions, and learns to act upon his own responsibility instead of losing himself in the
anonymity of the mass, social patterns grow up in which individuality can almost cer-
tainly develop” (1940: 265; cf. 60).
40. They can nonetheless change. “In some of the feelings we acquire,” wrote Mannheim,
“there are mental explosives hidden, which under favourable circumstances may con-
vulse our whole system of habits. Small hidden resentments, repressed longings, may be-
come revitalized. In this sense every conversation, every method of teaching either en-
courages or discourages such mental rebellions” (1940: 279). Reconsidering habits is
therefore never a purely intellectual exercise: it is always preceded by an emotion. Com-
 Notes to Pages 92–98 227

pare the means by which Benton (1981) hopes to resolve the “emancipation paradox” that
he discerns. For a commentary, see Blokland 1997: chap. 5.
41. Here, compare the third conception of power that Lukes (1974) formulates. In his per-
ception of the concept of power, Mannheim is years ahead of the discussion that politi-
cal scientists like Dahl, Polsby, Bachrach, Baratz, Crenson, and Lukes were later to en-
gage in during the 1950s and 1960s. See Blokland 2005: chaps. 7 and 9.
42. The soft boundary between direct and indirect social control can be discerned in this
summary. The habits that Mannheim treated as a product of direct social control consti-
tute a source of indirect social control themselves. The less evidence there is of deliberate
control, the harder it is to say there is also a “technique” in play. The concept of “process”
would then seem to be more appropriate.
43. This choice is unnecessarily restrictive and definitely does not emanate from his earlier
analysis of the techniques of social control that are available to us.
44. This is partly a cultural problem too (which, according to Mannheim, is determined in
turn by socioeconomic relations). He gave a fascinating explanation of the friendliness of
the American shop assistant who was not born into this position and can always cherish
the hope that one day he will own the business. This is the basis for his self-respect, and
it is this respect that allows him to treat his customers on equal footing and in a helpful
manner. The situation is different for his English counterpart. Mannheim saw his mood-
iness as a form of resistance to the class society and as a means to retain his own self-re-
spect (1940: 322–24).
45. Street-Level Bureaucracy: Dilemmas of the Individual in Public Services (1980) by Michael
Lipsky is perhaps the standard work on the choices that bureaucrats, mainly those in
lower positions, constantly have to make between getting personally involved and re-
taining a sense of objectivity or equality. Incidentally, it is interesting that research cited
by Robert Lane demonstrates that people’s personal experiences with government bu-
reaucracies are as a rule positive. However, if one asks in general about their opinion of
this organization, the average assessment is extremely negative (2000: 225). The wide-
spread antigovernment and antibureaucracy ideology proves to be stronger than real ex-
perience.
46. We are left in the dark about how Mannheim thought he could sell such a constellation
politically—both in practical and in theoretical terms—to the owners of capital and the
working class. Nor is it clear how he thought he could prevent their claims on assets and
their managerial positions from affecting economic decision-making power. Especially
with regard to issues of this kind, lying as they do at the core of politics, Mannheim’s ex-
planation is, as I stated earlier, often surprisingly naïve and superficial. In this respect,
Schumpeter proves to be considerably more to the point, as we shall see.
47. It would be natural in this context for Mannheim to refer to his earlier discussion of the
emergence of public morality and thinking at the level of planning. Yet he does not do so.
Whereas earlier in his book his point of departure seems to be an autonomous
“Hegelian” development of the public capacity to see the big picture and to think in
moral terms, here he sees society’s differences of opinion on values and goals only in-
creasing and he pins his hopes on practical self-interest, which is stimulated by social
228 Notes to Pages 100–111

crises. Subsequently, he thus proves to want actively to promote the social consensus. A
historical determinism makes way for voluntarism.
48. Of course, the question remains whether scientific discoveries can make all kinds of reli-
gious standpoints implausible. People can always see the hand of God in picking up an
infection and blasphemy in avoiding contagion.
49. It is not hard to guess what Mannheim’s own preferences would be in this regard. He re-
jects “the emerging hedonistic cult of vitality and health” and asserts that the “idea of pri-
vacy and contemplation, and of their value, is at war with that of mass enjoyment and
mass ecstasy” (1942: 14). For more on this, see chap. 11 in Freedom, Power and Democrat-
ic Planning (1951).
50. This Durkheimian conception of values does not fit in well with Mannheim’s critique of
functional morality and his criticism of philosophers who concern themselves exclu-
sively with formal principles of justice (see sections 4.4 and 5.1).
51. In an interview in the social-science magazine Facta, I asked Lindblom why so many
people seem to feel no moral obligation to get interested and involved in national poli-
tics. He answered: “We have been taught to respect our neighbors and family members
and to feel strong moral obligations for specific persons known to us. Our whole moral-
ity is closely tied to the social interactions in the small groups in which we live. At the
same time, people are in many ways impaired in their political thinking: politics are not
interesting, confer little prestige, and offer little satisfaction. Certainly in the United
States, people have learned since secondary school to see politically active individuals as
somewhat destructive elements of social life. Thus, on the one hand, we teach our chil-
dren that they must vote, but on the other hand we tell them ‘never do any more than
that, because politics is a dirty business!’” (2001: 13).
52. Nowadays, certainly after the attacks on the World Trade Center, this issue is translated
into the question of the extent to which Western pluralistic democracies can offer resis-
tance to mainly religiously inspired social and political movements. For an early example
of this discussion, see the anthology edited by Nancy Ammerman, The Limits of Plural-
ism: Neo-Absolutisms and Relativism (1995), with contributions by Ernest Gellner and
Clifford Geertz, among others.
53. Here, compare the ideas underlying for instance the current research of Robert Putnam
(1993 and 2000) on citizenship and democratic culture. Among others, Gabriel Almond
and Sidney Verba (1963) and Harry Eckstein (1966) preceded him in the 1960s. Various
authors, among whom Dahl in his Polyarchy (1971: 208ff.), have noted the impossibility
of establishing a democracy in countries where this political culture did not (yet) exist.
Nonetheless, this insight rarely prevents the Western powers from optimistically inter-
vening with this aim in foreign countries.
54. In his earlier cited review of Mannheim’s thinking, Dahl too asserts that Mannheim de-
voted little attention to the translation of abstract ideals and ideas into clear, concrete
policy recommendations. As he writes, it is “precisely the complicated and frequently
dull task of discovering specific means to the ‘general vision’ that is . . . of vital impor-
tance. The prescription of general goals, or even of general means, is not enough” (1950b:
808). Particularly in this sphere Dahl and Lindblom’s Politics, Economics, and Welfare
(1953) is an important improvement on the work of Mannheim.
 Notes to Pages 114–122 229

CHAPTER FOUR. JOSEPH SCHUMPETER

1. One indication of this is the incredibly large amount of literature that Capitalism, So-
cialism and Democracy has provoked. For an overview, see Augello 1990.
2. Interview on 2 February 1998. I think that Schumpeter is given too much honor here. See
my Pluralisme, Democratie en Politieke Kennis, chaps. 4 and 8.
3. With this assertion, Pateman, in turn, has had an enormous influence, mainly on those
who have defined pluralism and written its history. Nonetheless, her assertion should
be put in perspective. See again my Pluralisme, Democratie en Politieke Kennis, chaps. 4
and 8.
4. Nearly twenty-five years later, Schumpeter was still clearly bothered by this whole course
of events. In Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy, he asserted that the (short-lived) gov-
ernment in question, under Béla Kun, consisted of a small group of intellectuals who
were able to make clever use of the power vacuum that was created by the postwar paral-
ysis of the higher classes and the indifference of the peasantry. And, as he continues,
“They were a strange crowd—some of them displaying . . . unmistakably pathological
symptoms—and utterly unequal to . . . any . . . serious task. But they had unbounded
confidence in themselves and their creed and no objection whatever to terrorist meth-
ods” (1942: 360n).
5. Shionoya summarizes the assessment of one of Schumpeter’s biographers, Robert Allen
(1991: 1:55), in the following way: “Pretentious arrogance, a sense of self-importance and
superiority, elaborate manners, omniscient attitude, elitist, a snob’s snob, conspicuity,
ambition; spats, an unusual vest or cravat, a bracelet, colored or two-toned shoes, a sil-
ver-headed cane; flamboyant yet impeccable manners” (1997: 314). Some of the charac-
ter traits that Allen noted correspond with the personal experience that the young Lind-
blom had with Schumpeter. At the end of the 1940s, Schumpeter delivered a public
lecture at Yale. He had apparently not done much if any preparation, gave an incoherent
and superficial presentation, and, when Lindblom found the courage to ask a few ques-
tions in order to get something of a discussion going, Schumpeter almost exploded in in-
dignation over such an insolent show of disrespect (interview 9 December 1999). Robert
E. Lane, one of Schumpeter’s students at Harvard, nonetheless emphasizes that he was
an extraordinarily engaging and helpful teacher (interview 10 February 2000).
6. See for example his “John Maynard Keynes, 1883 –1946” (1946c). He also had deep re-
spect for the Dutch Nobel laureate Jan Tinbergen. In a letter he wrote to Alvin Johnson
in 1940, he stated that he considered the latter to be “one of the foremost and most sig-
nificant figures among economists alive or dead” (cited in Stolper 1994: 16). He also de-
clared beforehand that he would be willing to abandon immediately any standpoints
that might conflict with those of Tinbergen. The latter, incidentally, was a socialist with
strong convictions.
7. In the following discussion, I base my argument largely on the analysis that Robert Heil-
broner presents in his article “Was Schumpeter Right after All?” (1993). For Schum-
peter’s standpoints on science, see also his lecture “Science and Ideology” (1949).
8. It is worth noting that in 1913 Schumpeter entered into a debate with Max Weber on this
question. This took place at a meeting of an organization led by Weber, among others,
230 Notes to Pages 122–129

the Verein für Sozialpolitik, a society that Schumpeter incidentally did not hold in high
esteem.
9. Schumpeter developed this theory in subsequent works: Das Wesen und der Hauptinhalt
der theoretischen Nationalökonomie (1908), Theorie der wirtschaftlichen Entwicklung
(1912) (published in English in 1934 as The Theory of Economic Development), and, the
most fundamental of these works, Business Cycles: A Theoretical, Historical, and Statisti-
cal Analysis of the Capitalist Process (1939).
10. This is certainly true of Marx the economist. From Schumpeter’s perspective, Marx was
first of all “a very learned man” and “a voracious reader and an indefatigable worker. He
missed very few contributions of significance. And whatever he read he digested, wres-
tling with every fact or argument with a passion for detail most unusual in one whose
glance habitually encompassed entire civilizations and secular developments” (1942: 21).
This does not detract from the fact, said Schumpeter, that Marx’s theory of value, the
cornerstone of his theoretical structure, is economically untenable.
11. Schumpeter’s analysis of Marx’s thought is only treated here when it is pertinent to an
understanding of his central theses and assumptions (see section 2.3).
12. The fall of the Weimar Republic certainly made a strong impression on Schumpeter, as
it did on Mannheim, who saw it happen from close quarters. Even so, the political paral-
ysis and powerlessness that preceded it were so disgusting to him that he initially looked
favorably on the takeover of power by the national socialists. In this respect too, he was
not alone at the beginning of the 1930s. Moreover, many of the horror stories that
reached him from Germany were hard to believe. Once Schumpeter came to understand
how serious the situation was (starting in the spring of 1933), however, he personally took
steps to help Jewish and other scholars who had run into trouble by arranging for them
to leave the country. Among the names on the list of scholars that Schumpeter had made
for the action committee, which he himself had set up, were Emil Lederer, Karl Bode,
Adolf Löwe, and, notably, Karl Mannheim (Stolper 1994: 11–12; cf. Swedberg 1994: xiv).
13. Of course, something that Schumpeter forgot to mention is that the same expansion had
also made much of this legislation necessary.
14. According to Schumpeter, cartels can also provide effective methods to prevent more
and more companies from failure as a result of competition in a period of economic de-
pression and in so doing prevent the depression from deepening endlessly (1942: 91). By
keeping the basic structure of a particular sector more or less in operation, the economic
expansion after the decline may be easier and smoother. Cartel arrangements thus stabi-
lize the business cycle. Even so, they too can stand in the way of progress by frustrating
innovation. Just how this works out in practice, however, has to be determined in each
individual case. The ease with which many politicians and journalists condemn any and
all cartel arrangements and call for government intervention irritated Schumpeter no
end.
15. With reference to Schumpeter, yet using somewhat different arguments, Galbraith
writes in the same spirit in his American Capitalism that “the modern industry of a few
large firms [is] an excellent instrument for inducing technical change. It is admirably
equipped for financing technical development. Its organization provides strong incen-
tives for undertaking development and for putting it into use. The competition of the
 Notes to Pages 130–140 231

competitive model, by contrast, almost completely precludes technical development”

(1956: 100). According to Galbraith, the main advantage to the oligopolist is that he can
derive profit himself from the innovations that he finances, whereas in a competitive
market these innovations form a collective good, as it were, of which some profit accrues
to everyone, even if they had not contributed to its creation (1956: 101).
16. In the same vein, he wrote elsewhere that “if we take account of the fact that, as higher
standards of life are attained, . . . wants automatically expand and new wants emerge or
are created, satiety becomes a flying goal, particularly if we include leisure among con-
sumers’ goods” (1942: 131). Much postwar psychological research has confirmed this sup-
position about the insatiableness of needs: people are constantly adjusting their desires
and for this reason they run around on a “hedonic treadmill.” Until now, however,
leisure time has barely been recognized as a need, the satisfaction of which has a price.
Thus, the pursuit of material goods has continuously reduced the amount of leisure
time, with considerable negative consequences for our well-being. See Lane 2000: 61, 72,
303 –05.
17. Compare on this point Weber’s observation discussed in section 2.5 that rationalism ul-
timately undermines all efforts to give meaning to something, and compare also
Mannheim’s remark, discussed in section 6.2, on the causes of what he perceived to be
the current moral confusion.
18. As Schumpeter asserted, “Whatever democracy there was, outside of peasant communi-
ties, developed historically in the wake of both modern and ancient capitalism” (1942:
126). Except when we interpret the restriction “peasant communities” in a very broad
sense, this assertion is in fact untrue. See Dahl (1989).
19. In some instances, as in the case of imperial Germany, the bourgeoisie imagined itself to
be so safe in the course of time that, according to Schumpeter, it felt it could afford the
luxury of launching an attack on the aristocratic structure. The consequences, Schum-
peter asserted, are by now well known. In essence, this analysis of the events that took
place in Germany corresponds to that made by Weber. As we have already seen, Weber
accused the German bourgeoisie of not vigorously taking over the position of its societal
predecessor. In that way, the bourgeoisie left society in a leaderless vacuum. Schumpeter
thought that the bourgeoisie, for lack of talent, was unable to assume power. According
to Weber, it did not thoroughly understand the severity of the situation and for that rea-
son did not want to take over. This could also be interpreted as a lack of talent. Either
way, the result, a societal power vacuum, is the same.
20. Weber called the persons in question “literates”: irresponsible dilettantes who created an
ironic climate of opinion in which it was impossible for any “positive politics” to reach
maturity, with all this implies for the development of democracy.
21. Current research on people’s sense of well-being seems to confirm these observations.
For instance, the sociologist Ruut Veenhoven found that, of all age cohorts, people in
their thirties indicate they are the least happy. In his view, this can be explained by their
excessively busy life, which is dominated by work and children. Having and raising chil-
dren offers “evident joys,” but along with them come great fears and worries. When they
have children, the partners “have less time for each other, which makes them less satisfied
with their marriage and less content with their life. For the rest, children wear you out.
232 Notes to Pages 140–146

Especially if you both work.” Once the children are out of the house, however, “things
get better quickly.” There is no “empty-nest” syndrome among the parents who are left
behind: “Most people actually perk up again when the children leave the nest. They be-
come happier because they have more time for themselves. It is really a misunderstand-
ing that children make you happy” (Carp, 3 August 1999, p. 15).
22. Schumpeter held, as we also see in this passage, somewhat conservative standpoints on
the family and the place of the mother within it. However, he was certainly not antifem-
inist. Stolper shows, for example, how Schumpeter at a very early date and on various oc-
casions already made efforts to give women equal opportunities for a career. In 1936, he
wrote letters of recommendation to the president of Harvard for several female econo-
mists (one of whom was Joan Robinson) and complained about the “apparently invinci-
ble Harvard prejudice against women” and an “antifeminist tradition, which seems to
me, frankly, to be somewhat reactionary” (cited in Stolper 1994: 13).
23. Earlier, Schumpeter described capitalistic civilization as rationalistic, individualistic,
and utilitarian. In that light, working and saving for his family, for the future well-being
of others, cannot be considered as typical of capitalist ethics. Here, it seems that Schum-
peter’s aristocratic background was getting in his way.
24. The main reason why we actually are able to draw causal relations between economic de-
velopments and capitalistic civilization is, according to Schumpeter, that “we have a his-
toric reality before us that supplies us with all the additional data we need and via facti
excludes an infinite number of possibilities” (1942: 171). This does not quite add up,
though. The problem is that, in another connection, he falls into line with Marx’s eco-
nomic interpretation of history and states that economic variables impose drastic con-
straints on the possibilities among which people can choose (see section 2.3). If this is in-
deed the case, there must also be more to say about socialist civilization, particularly
because this flows seamlessly from the tendencies that one can observe in its capitalist
predecessor
25. See in particular his article “Die Wirtschaftsrechnung im sozialistischen Gemeinwesen”
(1920) and his more probing book Die Gemeinwirtschaft: Untersuchungen über den
Sozialismus (1922). Von Mises, who like Schumpeter was educated in the Austrian
School and emigrated to the United States, became, after the Second World War, one of
the most prominent representatives of neoliberalism. His article dating from 1920 was
reprinted in a collection that Friedrich Hayek compiled, Collectivist Economic Planning
(London: Routledge, 1935), and at the time set the stage for an ardent debate on socialis-
tic planning. The most fundamental criticism of his “logical” refutation of the planning
concept — a criticism that in the meantime has become widely accepted in economic
circles — came from Oskar Lange (1936) and Abba Lerner (1934, 1944). For recent
overviews of this debate, see Brus 1990 and Nove 1983. It is worth mentioning that this
debate was also the subject of Dahl’s doctoral dissertation, “Socialist Programs and Dem-
ocratic Politics: An Analysis” (1940).
26. Schumpeter left out another possible advantage: under capitalism, competing firms of-
ten incur comparable unnecessary costs for research and development. Sometimes the
expenditure is enormous, as it is in such branches as the automotive, aeronautic, and
electronics industries. The results of this research are often identical—see, for instance,
 Notes to Pages 147–151 233

the attempts made by automobile manufacturers to cut back on fuel use by developing
aerodynamic designs. One might say that different companies are allocating many re-
sources at the same time to the same task: they are all trying to reinvent the same wheel.
It is self-evident that they could sharply cut back on the cost by combining such research.
This is precisely the justification for the current upsurge in takeovers or mergers within
the airplane, truck, and steel industries. Whether it is a good idea to eliminate all com-
petition is another question. Some believe that NASA is rather inefficient and not very
innovative due to a lack of competition. For this very reason, at CERN, the European
Particle Physics Laboratory in Geneva where research is conducted on high-energy par-
ticles, it was a deliberate decision to create two competing groups that in principle carry
out the same studies. Whether or not the benefits outweigh the enormous costs is un-
known, nor can it be established for the most part: there is no standard by which to mea-
sure the relative speed of knowledge accumulation.
27. As Schumpeter wrote, the modal bourgeois “is superior as to intellectual and volitional
aptitudes to the modal individual in any other of the classes of industrial society” (1942:
204n). Incidentally, this applies, according to him, to all social elites: the social selection
criterion that typifies the society in question ensures that precisely these persons rise to
the top. Capitalism requires energetic, enterprising, and intelligent people, and those
who meet these criteria will then automatically climb up the social ladder within the
course of a generation.
28. On workers’ discipline under capitalism, see Weber (1905: 60ff.) and Gorz (1989: 21–22),
among others.
29. Schumpeter estimates their share at a quarter of the population. As he continues, to the
extent that this particular “subnormal performance is due to moral or volitional defects,
it is perfectly unrealistic to expect that it will vanish with capitalism.* The great problem
and the enemy of humanity, the subnormal, will be as much with us as he is now” (1942:
213). *Schumpeter means socialism, obviously.
30. Here, Schumpeter (like many others) has grossly exaggerated the extent to which a gov-
ernment that wants to be reelected can permit itself under capitalism to neglect or even
frustrate the performance of the economic system (cf. Lindblom 1977).
31. It is well known that the Marxist movement played a prominent role in this rebellion. To
Schumpeter, the prominence of Marxism in Germany was incomprehensible. An exten-
sive system of social services had been created here, earlier than anywhere else in the
world, and there was an excellent bureaucracy in place to administer it fairly; there was
the Verein für Sozialpolitik, which came up with ideas on how to improve the life of the
workers, and the monarchy applauded these ideas; and so on. Schumpeter saw only one
possible explanation: the propensity of the Germans to drive everything to its absolute
limits. The most important factor was Bismarck’s Sozialistengesetz, on which basis social-
ist activities were suppressed from 1878 to 1890. As a consequence, all the socialist leaders
from before the First World War had had a history of imprisonment or banishment and
retained a mentality befitting that status till the day they died. According to Schumpeter,
Bismarck completely miscalculated the danger posed by the socialists. In so doing, he
only strengthened them. Add to that the fact that socialist parties were never allowed to
share in governmental power, and the explanation of why they held onto the orthodox
234 Notes to Pages 151–158

doctrine of Marxism for so long is obvious: there was no point in relinquishing it because
in so doing the parties’ appeal would only decline (1942: 341–47).
32. Also, according to Marxist doctrine, Schumpeter asserted, conditions in Russia ab-
solutely did not lend themselves to socialism: it was barely industrialized, and the size of
the proletarian class was virtually negligible. Moreover, the reforms that the czar gradu-
ally carried out were completely reasonable. It would be hard to expect much more than
this from him, according to Schumpeter. There were only dissatisfied, unemployed in-
tellectuals who, thanks to Marxism, were able to abandon their nihilism. Indeed, it was
this group that turned Lenin into the midwife of the revolution (1942: 328 –29).
33. The majority of the historical sources that have been written on this subject confirm this
impression. However, Howard Zinn demonstrates that reality was considerably more
differentiated (1998: 77–99). For instance, the number of volunteers in the United States
was so small that the draft had to be instated. The news on the home front about events
on the battlefield was consistently false (“Am westen nichts Neues”) in order to prevent
even more people from trying to dodge the draft than were already doing so. Protest
against taking part in the war was widespread, even though such activities were sup-
pressed. And at the end of the war, the allies had to bomb their own trenches to get the
soldiers to mount an attack.
34. Their support for the effort and their loyalty to their nation was, in Schumpeter’s opin-
ion, considerably greater than one might have expected from them. The fact that we
think differently about this today, as he wrote, “merely shows how far we have traveled
from the old moorings of liberal democracy. To exalt national unity into a moral precept
spells acceptance of one of the most important principles of fascism” (1942: 352n).
35. In the meantime, we can also observe the opposite trend in many countries: numerous
public enterprises, ranging from railroads to electricity companies, have been “priva-
tized,” but since then they have remained bureaucratic monopolists. The difference, at
the very most, is that their policy is no longer subject to democratic control and that the
salaries of the top managers have risen exorbitantly.
36. Guenther Roth even asserts that Schumpeter merely copied Weber (1978: xcii), but to
me this is going too far. Moreover, many of Schumpeter’s ideas on democracy can already
be found in the prewar American political science literature, of which he too makes
demonstrable use (for instance, works by Graham Wallas, Walter Lippmann, Charles
Merriam, Pendleton Herring, and Harold Lasswell). It is striking that present-day polit-
ical scientists apparently never consult this literature when they are looking for Schum-
peter’s sources of inspiration, and they generally seem to think that this particular per-
spective on democracy begins with Schumpeter (see Blokland 2005: chaps. 2 and 3).
37. In a footnote, Schumpeter gave two examples: Germany, where Jews were excluded on
these grounds; and the United States, where Asians and, in the South, blacks did not
have the right to vote.
38. To the Bolshevik, wrote Schumpeter, every non-Bolshevik is likewise a lunatic. “Hence
the rule of the Bolshevik party would not per se entitle us to call the Soviet republic
undemocratic” (1942: 245). We can only do this if the Bolshevist party itself would be
undemocratically run, which, as Schumpeter asserted, is actually the case.
39. Needless to say, we should note that in discussing the classical theory, Schumpeter was
 Notes to Pages 158–165 235

not referring to the Greek conceptions of democracy, conceptions revolving around the
active exchange of standpoints and ideas. In the 1960s, it was mostly because of their ig-
noring the importance of this participation that criticism was leveled at Schumpeter’s
ideas and those of his followers.
40. In contrast to what Schumpeter suggested, there is no causal relation between the defini-
tion of democracy given by the classical theorists and this monistic assumption. Al-
though many upheld this assumption, it does not have to have any implications for the
concept of democracy. See Blokland 1995: 54 – 58, 68 – 69.
41. Earlier (see section 5.1.1) Schumpeter nonetheless suggested that there are fundamental
values to which we attach more importance than democracy, and that democracy can
therefore be nothing more than a method for making decisions.
42. Here, compare Walter Lippmann’s Public Opinion (1922) and The Phantom Public (1925).
43. Schumpeter also pointed out that even if this were indeed the case, it would by no
means guarantee that the citizens would get what they want. The chance of that hap-
pening is greatest in the case of quantitative questions — how much the government
should spend on unemployment benefits — because in such cases it is possible to reach
a straightforward compromise. By qualitative questions — whether to declare war or
not — the results of the democratic process are occasionally of a nature that no one is
comfortable with them in the end. Later, this theme was to be elaborated by others,
most notably Kenneth Arrow. See, among other sources, his Social Choice and Individ-
ual Values (1951).
44. Le Bon (1841–1931) made a name for himself largely with his book Psychologie des Foules
(1895) in which he argued, in an engaging yet weakly substantiated fashion, that all peo-
ple are inclined for the most part to lose their moral and rational capacities as soon as
they are taken up into a mass populace. Moreover, those who can manipulate the masses
are usually psychopaths. His ideas became quite popular in the first half of the twentieth
century, but afterward they were taken less and less seriously. Mannheim also cited Le
Bon, though he said he was “simplistic” and “lacking in subtlety” (1940: 61).
45. The hope that many have pinned nowadays on the democratic potentials of the Internet
should be seen in perspective from this angle: the Internet certainly makes it easier to ob-
tain information and to communicate, but it does nothing to change the abstract nature
of politics in a large-scale society, a scale that is moreover constantly increasing due to
globalization.
46. It is self-evident that there is no empirical evidence for the opposite standpoint either.
Schumpeter’s argument is also weakened by the logical gap between what is and what
should be.
47. Held (1987: 183), following Macpherson (1977: 89), asserts that Schumpeter considered
the democratic system that he described to be essentially “competitive.” In reality, how-
ever, this system is said to be oligopoloid in character. This criticism is misplaced;
Schumpeter made it absolutely clear that there are only a small number of suppliers who
can largely determine the supply and are able to manipulate the preferences of the con-
sumers. The regularly posited assertion that Schumpeter drew an integral analogy be-
tween the economic and the political market is therefore equally false (see, among others,
Lively 1975: 38; Bottomore 1976: xi).
236 Notes to Pages 166–171

48. In his analysis of democracy in general and of political parties in particular, Schumpeter
seems to be strongly influenced by Graham Wallas (1858 –1932). In Human Nature in
Politics (first published in 1908), Wallas also began his critique of the existing conception
of political parties with the quotation from Burke cited above. The motivation for
founding a party may be intellectual or moral, as Wallas continued, but afterward psy-
chological processes soon take over. The party is above all a name that evokes irrational
associations, and it is up to the party managers “to secure that these automatic associa-
tions shall be as clear as possible, shall be shared by as large a number as possible, and
shall call up as many and as strong emotions as possible” (1908: 104). To do so, as in the
advertising business, they use party colors, party music, and pleasing words in the name
(e.g., the People’s Freedom Party). Thus, as Wallas emphasized, people do not vote for a
political program or a candidate but for a party with specific associations. These associa-
tions are extremely stable and have to be built up gradually and carefully. “The indiffer-
ent and half-attentive mind which most men turn towards politics,” wrote Wallas, “is
like a very slow photograph plate. He who wishes to be clearly photographed must stand
before it in the same attitude for a long time” (1908: 13). Similar analyses of democracy in
the interbellum have been written by, among others, Lawrence Lowell, Frank Kent, and
Walter Lippmann (see Blokland 2005: chap. 2).
49. The conditions under which a stable democracy can exist have been the object of exten-
sive and systematic empirical study. Schumpeter was not yet able to make any use of that
body of literature. He based his arguments on his own experiences and observations, and
his reasoning was grounded in his knowledge of history. In Pluralisme, Democratie en
Politieke Kennis (2005: chap. 10), I confront his theses with political science findings. It
will become apparent that, among other things, none of Schumpeter’s theses may be said
to be false or outdated and that scientific progress consists mainly of continually adding
nuance or specificity to general theses.
50. According to Schumpeter, the politicians in all parties were no doubt honest, reasonable,
and conscientious people. Yet most were distinctly mediocre. The reason was that “there
was no class or group whose members looked upon politics as their predestined career”
(1942: 291). This analysis coincides largely with that made by Weber (see section 5 in
chap. 2, above). In this connection, Weber—whom Schumpeter, as was his custom, did
not mention anywhere—spoke of needing politicians who live for (and not on) politics.
51. In 1998, the value of company mergers in the United States amounted to nearly 20 per-
cent of the gross national product (The Economist, 11 September 1999: 38 – 40). S. Ander-
son and J. Kavanagh, both at the Institute for Policy Studies, warn against the enormous
concentration of power this has created. In 1996, the total revenues of the two hundred
biggest companies amounted to a quarter of the total economic activity in the world.
The turnover of Wal-Mart in that year was higher than the economic output of 161
different countries. General Motors employs 700,000 people, and its sales figures are
higher than the gross national product of Denmark (NRC Handelsblad, 26 October
1996). An overview in the New York Times (26 December 1999) reveals that in December
1999, the value of Microsoft on the stock exchange was just about the same as the gross
national product of Spain (593 billion dollars), while the value of Hewlett-Packard was
 Notes to Pages 175–177 237

equal to the GNP of Greece (107 billion dollars), the value of Wal-Mart Stores was equal
to the GNP of Argentina (296 billion), that of American Express was the same as the
GNP of New Zealand (66 billion), Lucent Technologies was as big as the GNP of the Re-
public of South Africa (227 billion), and the value of Intel was as high as the GNP of
Poland (246 billion).
52. Schumpeter’s assertion that his predictions had for the most part come true was con-
firmed in 1950 by the Chicago economist Donald Dewey; according to him, the signifi-
cance of government in Western society has increased greatly, certainly in England.
Specifically, in 1950, one out of every four members of the English working population
was a government employee in one or another capacity, compared to fewer than one out
of ten in 1930 (1950: 188). Dewey also endorses the majority of the reasons that Schum-
peter gave to explain why advanced capitalist economies like England were gradually be-
ing transformed into socialist economies. Even more forcefully than Schumpeter, how-
ever, he emphasizes the role of culture. The intellectual and political elites in England
during the 1930s and 1940s, as he amply demonstrates with figures, were bred and edu-
cated at a small number of elite schools and universities in which the aristocratic culture
traditionally predominates. Along with other matters, this culture embraces “the convic-
tion that politics, the learned professions, and the civil service offered at least as good, if
not a better, way of life than profit-making business; that the ethics of profit-making
business were of doubtful morality; and that people who enjoyed the advantages of
wealth and education were morally obligated to superintend the welfare of the low-pro-
ductivity members of the community” (1950: 205). In the country of Adam Smith, the
aristocracy ensured, in Dewey’s opinion, that never again after the eighteenth century
was a deeply probing argument formulated for the idea that the purpose of schooling is
to prepare the individual to make an independent living (1950: 206). Just as the better-off
grew up in the conviction they had to protect those who were less well off, the latter were
taught that they had a right to that protection too. What Dewey sees as a result of all this
is that in England the entrepreneurial class never succeeded in gaining political influence
or disseminating its values and that the socialization of the private sector met little resis-
tance. Thus, capitalism was extremely vulnerable in England because the aristocratic cul-
ture was never challenged by the bourgeoisie. By 1950, it seemed to Dewey “that Profes-
sor Schumpeter’s prophesy that ‘eventually there will be nobody who really cares about
capitalism . . .’ has already been fulfilled for Britain” (1950: 210). Incidentally, one prob-
lem with this interpretation would seem to be that it was precisely in England that capi-
talism had been able to develop early and rapidly. If the aristocratic culture had indeed
been so strong, then why did it not frustrate the development of capitalism from the out-
set, as it did in Germany? For further discussion of the postwar socialization of the econ-
omy, see Dahl (1947), Sturmthal (1953), Yergin and Stanislaw (1998: chap. 2), and Blok-
land (2005: chap. 2).
53. Among other orders, Schumpeter mentioned a Catholic corporatist system, based on the
papal encyclical Quadragesimo anno dated 15 May 1931. He did not explain how the ten-
dencies he noted could lead to this order, though.
54. Consistent with this is his harsh criticism of The Road to Serfdom (1944) by Friedrich
238 Notes to Pages 178–197

Hayek. In his view, Hayek does not perceive the inevitability of (the electoral preference
for) socialism and therefore fights a rearguard action that is completely pointless (1946b:
269).
55. The same is true of his source of inspiration, Marx (cf. Kolakowski 1978: 1:422ff.). Berlin
offers a fine critique of historical determinism in “Historical Inevitability” (1953).
56. In this respect too, it is apparently not as imperative for history to develop in a certain di-
rection as Schumpeter suggested at other places.
57. If parties really do compete on the grounds of ideas, a subsequent, technical question
arises: whether the final election results provide any basis on which to determine which
specific ideas would be supported by the majority of the electorate. This question, which
was first raised in a fundamental way by Kenneth Arrow in his book Social Choice and In-
dividual Values (1951), has led others—Adam Przeworski (1999) and John Roemer
(1999), for example—to endorse a “minimalist” conception of democracy based on
Schumpeter in which democracy means nothing more than the possibility to vote the
sitting government out of office. Nonetheless, this seems to be unnecessarily pessimistic,
since fundamental political values and preferences to a large extent form coherent clus-
ters. It is in this light that the function of political parties would be to strengthen this co-
herence and make it clear to the electorate.

CHAPTER FIVE. SYNTHESIS: THE MODERNIZATION OF POLITICS AND SOCIETY

1. To Schumpeter, the force that the market can exert was a blind spot for the most part. He
associated the old-fashioned market of perfect competition above all with freedom (see,
for example, his remarks on the “free contract” in section 3.7). Besides, the current oli-
gopolistic markets are not, in his view, markets in the traditional sense. Therefore, the
concepts of market freedom and market forces do not apply here.
2. One reason why Weber devotes relatively little attention to private bureaucracies is that
these were much less pronounced in the Germany of his day than they were in the
United States twenty years later, the latter being Schumpeter’s frame of reference.
3. The importance that people attach to the range of remaining political choice depends on
their normative assumptions. What one perceives as important political issues, the other
may in hindsight see as trivial and trite. For this reason, any declaration that “the end of
politics” is nigh is to some degree a normative statement about what is important and
unimportant in one’s personal and social life. In other words, we cannot unambiguously
and objectively draw a boundary between “Big” and “small” politics.
4. The pluralism of values and interests that Schumpeter assumed here conflicts somewhat
with his conviction that economic circumstances and relations “are the fundamental de-
terminant of social structures which in turn breed attitudes, actions and civilizations”
(1942: 12; see my section 2.3). If Schumpeter took this determinism seriously, it must
have implied a significant limitation of pluralism and thus of the possible differences of
opinion and conflicts as well. But as I have already noted, Schumpeter took the eco-
nomic interpretation of history less seriously than he himself claimed.
5. Because Schumpeter accentuated the voter’s irrationality, it is hard so see him, as for in-
stance Coe and Wilber do, as a clear predecessor of the present-day “public choice” the-
 Notes to Pages 198–207 239

oretician. As they wrote, “Both are unsympathetic to the classical theory of democracy
and its emphasis on the ‘common good’ and the ‘will of the people’. Both see the demo-
cratic process as a competitive struggle for the control of political power. Both analyze
the actions of political actors from a self-interested perspective. Both see the struggle for
political leadership as a battle to win control of the government in order to use the gov-
ernment to promote one’s own interests” (1985: 28). Schumpeter’s ideas collide with
those of the “rational” or “public-choice” approach because this approach cannot deal
with an electorate that lets itself be led mainly by emotions and impulses, just as it can-
not cope with Weber’s unpredictable charismatic leader. In that light, Anthony Downs
(1957: 29n) is wrong to assume that he could base his Economic Theory of Democracy on
Schumpeter (cf. Blokland 2005: chap. 8).
6. All things considered, this concern had been around since the French and American
Revolutions. The American Constitution certainly shows signs of it: many of the insti-
tutions and regulations it legitimized were only designed to restrict the power of num-
bers as much as possible.
7. David Held criticizes Schumpeter because such issues as war and peace, unemployment,
social inequality, and social conflict are much less “distant” for ordinary citizens than he
suggested. Therefore, citizens definitely do have pronounced opinions on these topics
(1987: 181). This criticism misses the essence of Schumpeter’s observation: the problem
might well be close by, but the solution is not. Only if people were to be under the im-
pression that their opinions and activities could bring that solution within reach would
they be permanently motivated to find out more about the problems.
8. Obviously, this conflicts with Mannheim’s relativistic sociology of knowledge: How can
people ever reach agreement when their standpoints have no rational basis and merely
express their social position?
9. Obviously, because “democracy” is an “essentially contested concept” (Gallie 1956) that
inevitably gets its meaning in the framework of a normative political theory, a purely for-
mal definition of democracy is impossible. Also, a strictly procedural definition of de-
mocracy (Dahl 1979) is based on particular metaphysical, epistemological, and ethical
assumptions that might be worth dying for (cf. Blokland 2005: chap. 10).
10. A similar show of humility in the field of economic theory explains why, unlike Keynes,
Schumpeter had hardly any influence on policymakers (cf. Tobin 1990: x). His theories
on entrepreneurs, innovations, and business cycles have no predictive power and do not
offer any policy tools with which to combat an economic depression, such as the one in
the 1930s. Precisely when entrepreneurs will perform their creative-destructive work,
with what new products and production techniques and with what results, is in fact, by
the very nature of their work, unpredictable and not amenable to policy.
11. To illustrate the issues, it may be useful to consider the words of John Vidal, of which
Mannheim would surely have approved. Vidal established in 1998 that, according to fig-
ures provided by the United Nations, consumption levels had increased by a factor of six
in the Western world over the previous twenty-five years. The richest 20 percent of the
world population now consumes six times as much food, energy, water, transport, oil,
and minerals as their parents. It seems evident to Vidal that this cannot go on forever.
But, as he wrote, “no government or world body is able to address the situation. Progress,
240 Note to Page 207

happiness, satisfaction and the future—in the view of government and business—is
more than ever linked to increased consumption. This, in the West, results in environ-
mental pollution; the pressure for new roads, more quarries, larger airports, second cars,
bulkier packaging, more landfill sites, incinerators, supermarkets, the intensification of
agriculture, the loss of skills, and ever bigger leisure or shopping developments. Linked
to the inevitable erosion of the physical environment that this brings is social disintegra-
tion: breakdown of community life, health problems, job insecurity, the growth of mo-
nopolies and the ever-growing gap between rich and poor” (The Guardian, 30 Septem-
ber 1998).
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 Subject Index
Aristocracy, 58, 117, 134 –35, 149, 220, 231,
237
Ascetic Protestantism, 34 –37, 188, 216
Authenticity: and instrumental rational-
ity, 215
Behavioralism, 27, 67
Behaviorism, 87
Bourgeoisie, 67, 133, 135 – 36, 138, 140 – 41,
147, 149 – 52, 231, 237
Bureaucracy: defined, 38 –40; its bad rep-
utation, 147, 230; its endless persis-
tence, 44– 45; its indispensability, 46,
95, 147– 48, 168, 192; product and cata-
lyst of functional rationality, 17, 41– 44,
56 –57, 186, 189 – 91; threat to human-
ity, 43 – 44, 57– 58, 94 – 95, 111, 190 – 93
Bureaucratization, 3, 6, 17, 38, 50, 52–55,
58 – 60, 94, 153, 189 –94, 199, 206, 218,
222; its driving forces, 40 – 45, 85, 191–
92. See also Business, bureaucratization
of; Political party, bureaucratization of
Business: bureaucratization of, 38, 42– 43,
135, 139, 150 – 51, 171, 190, 194. See also
Socialization of private business; privi-
leged position of, 10, 233
Capitalism: catalyst of bureaucratization,
42– 43; catalyst and product of func-
tional rationality, 2–3, 32–38, 42– 43,
57, 78, 131– 34, 187– 88; defined, 32–33;
its civilization and ethos, 32– 33, 36 –37,
57, 124, 127, 131–34, 138, 141, 176, 217,
232
Charismatic leadership, 21, 46, 52–54, 59,
109 –10, 113, 180, 194, 197, 199, 205 –6,
217, 219, 239. See also Democracy, and
demagoguery; Masses, their manipula-
bility
Children, 105, 130, 140, 228, 231–32
251
252 Subject Index
Citizenship, 102, 110, 181, 200 –1, 207, 228
Classical economics, 115, 124, 127–29, 160,
171
Common good, 6, 10 –12, 14, 45, 95, 108,
149, 158 – 59, 195, 200, 239
Conservatism, 124 –25, 212
Control, types of, 53
Corporate capitalism, 179
Corporatism, 45, 58, 237
Creative destruction, 122, 128 –29, 146,
190, 239
Democracy: and bureaucratization, 43;
and demagoguery, 49, 54, 56, 197, 199;
and negative freedom, 102, 113, 165; and
responsiveness, 48 – 49, 56 – 57, 59, 115,
165, 180, 197– 98; and substantive nor-
mative debates, 106, 110, 168, 187, 203;
as a method to elect leaders, 48 –49, 59,
115, 164 – 65, 180, 197– 98, 218; as an
elected dictatorship, 54, 56, 198; classi-
cal theory of, 157–58, 181– 82, 200 –2;
effects of scale on, 46, 48, 97– 98, 103,
108, 112, 156, 159 – 61, 163, 197–202; in-
fluence of Schumpeter on post-war
theory of, 114 –15, 154; militant, 106– 8,
203; minimalist conception of, 238; so-
cial conditions of, 106–7, 167– 69,
202–3
Democratization, 15, 43, 79, 84, 192, 207
Differentiation, 2, 13, 15, 79 –81, 92–93,
101, 184, 200, 207– 8; defined, 4; politi-
cal consequences of, 6 –7. See also Plu-
ralism
Dilettantes and experts, 23, 40 –41, 48,
76, 107, 231
Disenchantment (Entzauberung ), 21, 24 –
25, 56, 59, 185, 188, 195
Elites, 76 –78. See also Intellectuals and
intelligentsia; Political leadership
Emancipation dilemma, 203– 5, 206 –7
End of politics or history, xii, 12, 73 –74,
86, 100, 112, 193 – 96, 205, 238
Free market (free enterprise), 15, 31, 175;
and anarchy, 60, 96, 98, 188, 190; and
community values, 91, 221; as guaran-
tor of freedom, innovation, and dy-
namism, 58, 190; as system of coercion,
2–3, 37, 58, 188 –89, see also Capitalism,
catalyst and product of functional ra-
tionality; capitalists’ dislike of the, 129,
192. See also Laissez-faire, Classical eco-
nomics
Freedom: negative, 5, 13, 59, 98, 113, 204;
positive, 13, 38, 101–2, 113, 178 –79, 208;
positive political, xi–xii, 1–2, 4–7, 10 –
11, 15, 46, 52, 58 – 59, 101–2, 109, 112–13,
170, 176 –81, 196, 205 – 9, see also Poli-
tics, big vs. small, Political powerless-
ness or malaise. See also Emancipation
dilemma
Führerdemokratie, 54, 199
General interest. See Common good
Gesinnungsethik vs.Verantwortungsethik,
28, 54 –55, 60, 108, 195, 220
Historical determinism, 57, 63, 123 –25,
174 –78, 180, 228, 238. See also Histori-
cal materialism, Positive political free-
dom
Historical materialism, 19, 57, 63, 123, 175,
177–78, 213, 216, 237
Historicism, 22–23, 63, 67, 120
Horsemanship: Schumpeter’s achieve-
ments in, 116, 119, 166
Ideology: and knowledge, 67–70, 121,
170 –74, 196, 208 –9, 223. See also
Utopia
Incrementalism, 7–12
Individualization, xi, 2, 12–15, 200, 207–
8, 224; defined, 4 – 5; political conse-
quences of, 6
Industrialization, 3, 79, 81, 84, 92, 109 –
10, 187, 189, 224 –25
Innovation: economic, 122, 128, 130, 135,

144, 146, 150, 171–74, 192, 230 – 31, 239,
see also Creative destruction; social, 3,
50, 58, 91, 111, 113, 189 – 91, 193, 205, 217,
219
Intellectuals and intelligentsia:
Mannheim on, 71–73, 76 –78; Weber
on, 220; Schumpeter on, 137– 40, 149,
229, 234
Interdependence, 76, 79 – 80, 83, 86, 109,
191, 200, 207, 226
Interest groups, 8 –11, 15, 40, 45, 50, 69,
83, 92–93, 122, 158 – 59, 201, 212. See
also Pluralism, political theory of, so-
cial
Iron Law of Oligarchy, 46 – 47, 50, 218
Laissez-faire, 78, 93, 106, 176, 207, 226.
See also Classical economics
Liberalism, xii, 4, 7, 10, 12–17, 49, 57, 91,
95, 98, 106, 187, 202– 3, 208, 212, 225,
234. See also Neo-liberalism
Masses, the: their irrationality, 49 – 50, 79,
99, 110, 136, 159 –61, 177–78, 199, 236,
238; their manipulability, 49, 56, 90,
96, 98, 160, 162, 179 – 80, 197, 199, 235;
their political (in)competence, 49, 56,
59, 136, 161, 178, 197–200, 208, 239. See
also Democracy, and demagoguery, ef-
fects of scale on; Charismatic leader-
ship; Public opinion
Modernization, defined, 2–7. See also Ra-
tionalization; Differentiation; Individ-
ualization
Monopolistic and oligopolistic practices,
128 –29, 146, 171–74, 190, 194, 230 – 31.
See also Innovation, economic
Moral confusion, 25, 57, 102– 4, 203, 231
Morality: functional vs. substantial, 82,
187, 203, 225, 228; historical develop-
ment of, 83 –84
Neo-Kantian idealist tradition, 20 –22,
64, 71, 75, 214
Subject Index 253
Neo-liberalism (market liberalism), xii,
13, 15, 173, 212, 220, 232
Neutrality principle, 8, 82, 106, 187, 202–
3; defined, 225
Orientations of social action, 29 – 32
Parliament: functions of, 46, 50 – 52, 56,
59, 96 –97, 165–66, 197, 220
Planning: and individual freedom, 58, 91,
96, 100 –2, 108, 111; and knowledge or
information, 66, 83, 85, 100, 112, 144 –
46; and pluralism, 7–13, 97– 99, 166,
207–8; and the end of history, 86, 112,
195; as a result of oligopolies, 171, 176,
179, 190; (awareness of) the need for,
83 – 85, 109, 191, 207– 8, 227; control of
the planners, 96, 111–12, 169, 193; de-
fined, 85 –86; of personalities, 86 –87;
of the economy, 58, 96, 142– 46, 171,
176, 190, 193; of the interactions be-
tween social techniques, 85, 109 –10,
191, 207. See also Social techniques
Pluralism: ethical, 7–8, 24 –25, 59, 195,
197, 215, 238; political theory of, xiii, 7–
13, 115, 212, 225, 229; social, 8 –12, 14,
52, 68, 97– 99, 201–2, see also Interest
groups
Political (dis)interest, xii, 1–2, 6, 12, 79,
159, 161, 201, 228. See also Democracy,
effects of scale on; Masses, their politi-
cal (in)competence
Political (in)competence. See Masses
Political leadership: and sense of responsi-
bility, 54 –55, 168 – 69, 195; its irrele-
vance, 193, 206. See also Charismatic
leadership, Democracy and dema-
goguerie, Führerdemokratie
Political participation, xiv, 6, 115, 181, 183,
198; and self-fulfillment and commu-
nity, 181– 82, 201–2, 235. See also
Democracy, Masses
Political party: its bureaucratization, 42,
46 – 47, 199, 218; its functions, 47, 50,
254 Subject Index
Political party (continued )
56, 165– 66, 180, 197, 201, 212, 238; the
meaning of its program, 6, 46, 59, 162,
164 – 66, 177, 180 – 81, 197, 236, 238
Political powerlessness or malaise, xii, 2,
6, 12–13, 50, 54, 62, 208, 218. See also
End of politics or history
Politics: Big vs. small, 193 –96, 205, 209.
See also End of politics or history
Polyarchy, 7–12, 15. See also Pluralism, po-
litical theory of
Positivism, 22, 62, 74, 119 –20, 214
Postmodernism, 15, 17, 215; and pluralism,
14
Pragmatism, 64, 70, 83, 87, 186
Privatization, xii, 2, 12, 15, 171–72, 174,
206, 211, 234. See also Neo-liberalism
Public choice, 238 – 39
Public interest. See Common good
Public opinion, 43, 48 – 49, 59, 90, 138,
159, 162, 197, 218. See also Masses
Rationality: value and instrumental, de-
fined, 29 –30, 186; substantial and
functional, defined, 80 – 81, 187; formal
and substantive, defined, 31– 32
Rationalization, xi, 28–34, 38, 45, 56 –60,
74, 81–82, 90, 99, 109 –11, 184 – 90,
200; controlling the process of, xii, 4,
6 –7, 52, 57, 109, 205 – 9; defined, 2– 3,
29 – 31; mental, 24 –25, 34, 105, 131– 34,
137, 140 –41, 157, 184 –85; of charis-
matic control, 53; of the economy, 33,
37, 58, 132, 135; of the political party, 47;
of the political sphere, 70, 73, 92, 193 –
94, see also End of politics or history; of
the self, 225; of the state, 41. See also
Bureaucratization, Disenchantment
Relativism, 14, 27–28, 64, 69, 73, 112, 155,
158, 167, 181–82, 195 – 96, 205, 215, 228,
239
Science: and interdisciplinarity, 75 –76,
106, 120, 226; and vision, 23, 76, 107,
121, 170; logical gap between facts and
values, 24 –25, 158, 185, 195, 214, 235;
natural vs. human sciences, 20 –24, 64,
71, 74, 119 –20, 214; progress in, xiii–
xiv, 16, 24, 71–74, 121, 170, 173, 212–13,
226, 236; purpose of, 24 –25, 71–72. See
also Ideology; Positivism; Pragmatism;
Sociology of knowledge
Scienticism, 62, 112. See also End of poli-
tics or history
Social consciousness, 109 –10, 187, 196,
208
Social consensus, 90, 102– 5, 107, 110,
169 –70, 203, 207– 8, 228. See also Plu-
ralism; Moral confusion; Social (dis)in-
tegration
Social democracy, xii, 13–16, 65; adminis-
trator of capitalism, 152– 53. See also So-
cialism
Social (dis)integration, 11, 90, 99, 102,
106, 184, 207– 8, 240
Social techniques, 90– 96, 100 –1, 105, 185,
207, 222, 227; and concentration of
power, 89 – 90, 100, 111, 193; defined,
89; unintended consequences of, 85,
101, 109 –10, 224, see also Interdepen-
dence
Socialism, 123, 141– 54, 159, 169, 174 – 81,
190, 193, 205 – 6, 222, 233 –34; and bu-
reaucratization, 45, 58, 147– 48, 193;
and democracy, 154, 169 –70; and mar-
ket system, 111, 142– 45, 193; and mod-
ernization, xii, 13, 58, 65, 212; defined,
141; discipline and motivation within,
45, 146 –49; its civilization, 141, 145,
178, 194 – 95, 232; its inevitability, 116,
124 –26, 149 – 51, 153, 174 –78, 190, 206,
238; rationality of its economy, 142– 47,
151
Socialization of private business, 45, 58,
149 – 53, 171, 175, 237, 239. See also Busi-
ness, bureaucratization of
Sociology of knowledge, 63, 66–74, 82,
109, 112, 123, 196, 208, 226

Sozial freischwebende Intelligenz, 71–73
State, the: and the legitimate use of force,
41, 56
Stimmungsdemokratie, 79, 110, 199
Struggle: between classes or social groups,
20, 33, 71, 91, 124, 138; between compa-
nies, 3, 33, 53, 128, see also Laissez-faire,
Classical economics, Capitalism; be-
tween gods or values, 25, 46, 149, see
also Pluralism, ethical; between inter-
est groups, 15, 58, 169 –70, 182, see also
Pluralism, political theory of; between
nations, 219; for political power, 45,
47– 49, 51, 53, 56, 111, 164 – 66, 169,
194, 197– 98, 219, 239; for survival, 58,
Subject Index 255
83, 148; with a bureaucracy, 44 – 45,
147, see also Bureaucracy, threat to hu-
manity
Tolerance, 82, 106, 156, 169, 187, 203, 208.
See also Neutrality principle
Utilitarianism, 36 – 37, 133, 140, 157, 159,
163, 232
Utopia, xii, 13, 15, 209, 223
Verantwortungsethik. See Gesinnungsethik
Welfare state, xii, 14, 42, 57– 58, 107, 176,
208
 Name Index
Adorno, Theodor, 221
Allen, Robert, 229
Almond, Gabriel, 28, 115, 228
Ammerman, Nancy, 228
Anderson, Perry, 212
Anderson, Sarah, 236
Arendt, Hannah, 217
Aristotle, 181
Aron, Raymond, 216
Arrow, Kenneth, 235, 238
Augello, Massimo, 229
Bachrach, Peter, 201, 227
Bakker, Wieger, 66
Banning, Willem, 66
Baratz, Morton, 227
Barone, Enrico, 142
Bartók, Bella, 62
Baudelaire, Charles, 25
Bauer, Otto, 117
Baxter, Richard, 34
Bay, Christian, 201
Beck, Ulrich, 224
Bellah, Robert, 207
Bendix, Reinhard, 213
Bentham, Jeremy, 201
Benton, Ted, 227
Berelson, Bernard, 115
Berger, Peter, 223
Berki, Robert, 212
Berlin, Sir Isaiah, 5, 113, 214, 238
Bernstein, Eduard, 123, 152
Bettelheim, Bruno, 215
Bismarck, Otto von, 18, 52, 233
Blair, Tony, 14
Bloch, Ernst, 20
Blokland, Talja, 5
Bode, Karl, 230
Böhm-Bawerk, Friedrich von, 117
Bon, Gustave le, 159, 235
257
258 Name Index

Bottomore, Tom, 201, 235 Engels, Friedrich, 57, 195

Bradley, Bill, 218 –19 Engelsdorp-Gastelaars, Phillippus van,
Brecht, Arnold, 27–28, 214 –15 221
Brus, Wlodzimierz, 232 Etzioni, Amitai, 207
Burke, Edmund, 165
Burnham, James, 178, 222 Farr, James, 212
Bush, George H.W., 173 Feyerabend, Paul, 170
Firuski, Elisabeth, 120
Calvin, John, 36 Fischer, Joschka, 218
Chaplin, Charlie, 217 Franklin, Benjamin, 36 – 37, 216
Coe, Richard, 115, 238 Freud, Sigmund, 64
Cole, G. H. D., 201 Fromm, Erich, 5, 215, 222
Comte, Auguste, 29 Fukuyama, Francis, 12, 193
Connolly, William, 223 –24
Coser, Lewis, 18 –20, 22, 62– 63, 73, 213, Galbraith, John Kenneth, 230 – 31
221 Gallie, Walter, 239
Court, Pieter de la, 36 Gans, Herbert, 213
Crenson, Matthew, 227 Gastelaars, Marja, 65
Cuperus, René, 212 Geertz, Clifford, 228
Gellner, Ernest, 228
Dahl, Robert, vi, xii–xv, 7, 9–11, 14 –16, Geras, Norman, 215
66, 111, 115, 181, 202, 222, 225, 227–28, Gerth, Hans, 20, 217
231, 237, 239 Giddens, Anthony, 14, 66, 207, 212, 224
Dahrendorf, Ralf, 207 Goethe, J. Wolfgang von, 38
Dao, James, 219 Goodin, Robert E., 213
Daudt, Hans, 115 Gore, Albert, 219
Davis, Lane, 201 Gorz, André, 233
Dewey, Donald, 237 Gray, John, 215
Dewey, John, 64, 94
Dilthey, Wilhelm, 22, 63, 65 Haberler, Gottfried, 114
Doorn, Jacques van, 2–3, 26, 65, 222 Habermas, Jürgen, 207
Dostoevsky, Fedor, 62 Hacker-Cordón, Casiano, 115, 154
Downs, Anthony, 115, 239 Hauser, Arnold, 62
Dryzek, John, 212 Hayek, Friedrich von, 144, 232, 238
Duffek, Karl, 212 Hegel, Georg W. F., 63, 112
Duncan, Graeme, 201 Heilbroner, Robert, 114, 116, 121, 170,
Durkheim, Emile, 29, 83, 184 172–73, 229
Held, David, 17, 114 –15, 181, 198, 235, 239
Eckstein, Harry, 115, 228 Herring, Pendleton, 234
Eichmann, Adolf, 217 Herzen, Alexandre, 223
El, Carla van, 65 Hindriks, Rik, 218
Elias, Norbert, 225 Hitler, Adolf, 118
Eliot, T. S., 221 Horkheimer, Max, 221
 Name Index 259

Houten, Douwinus J. van, 66 Lincoln, Abraham, 162

Howe, W. Stuart, 172 Lindblom, Charles, xii–xv, 7, 9–11, 14 –
Hughes, John A., 216 16, 22, 66, 75, 111, 114 –15, 174, 179, 181,
Huntington, Samuel, 115 212, 225, 228 –29, 233
Husserl, Edmund, 64 – 65 Lindsay, Lord of Birker, 221
Lippmann, Walter, 234 – 36
Jaspers, Karl, 20 Lipset, Seymour M., 115
Jefferson, Thomas, 162 Lipsky, Michael, 227
Jonker, Eduard, 65 Lively, Jack, 181, 235
Locke, John, 157
Kadt, Jacques de, 222 Lowell, Lawrence, 236
Kalma, Paul, 13, 65 Löwe, Adolf, 230
Kandel, Johannes, 212 Lowi, Theodore, 10
Kant, Immanuel, 22 Lubbers, Ruud, 212
Kavanagh, John, 236 Luckmann, Thomas, 223
Kelso, William, 198 Ludendorff, Erich, 218
Kent, Frank, 236 Luhmann, Niklas, 207
Keynes, John Maynard, 114, 116, 119 –20, Lukács, Georg, 20, 62, 221, 223
229, 239 Lukes, Steven, 201, 227
Kierkegaard, Søren, 62
Kimlicka, Will, 223 MacIntyre, Alasdair, 207
Klingemann, Hans-Dieter, 213 Macpherson, Crawford Brough, 235
Kodály, Zoltán, 62 MacRae, Donald, 20, 213
Kohl, Helmut, 212 Man, Hendrik de, 222
Kolakowski, Leszek, 221, 238 Mandelbaum, K., 222
Kristof, Nicholas, 219 Mann, Thomas, vi
Kuhn, Thomas, 223 Mao Tse-Tung, 17
Kun, Béla, 229 Marcuse, Herbert, 109, 221
Marshall, Alfred, 127
Laeyendecker, Leo, 66, 207 Marx, Karl, 3, 17, 20, 22, 29, 57, 63, 67–
Lakatos, Imre, 170 68, 116, 123 –25, 128, 134, 141, 145, 150,
Lane, Robert, 5, 11, 217, 227, 229, 231 152– 53, 177, 184, 195, 213, 216, 223, 230,
Lange, Oskar, 142, 232 232, 238
Laski, Harold, 4, 222 März, Eduard, 116
Lasswell, Harold, 4, 234 McPhee, William, 115
Lazarsfeld, Paul, 115 Mead, George Herbert, 64
Lederer, Emil, 230 Merriam, Charles, 234
Leeuw, Gerard van der, 66 Merton, Robert, 73
Lehmann, Hartmut, 216 Michels, Roberto, 20, 46, 49, 218, 222
Lenin, Vladimir Ilich, 175, 234 Mill, John, 201
Leonard, Stephen, 212 Mill, John Stuart, 17, 181, 201
Lerner, Abba, 142, 232 Mills, C. Wright, 20, 217
Levy, A. B., 222 Mises, Ludwig von, 142, 232
260 Name Index

Mommsen, Wolfgang, 19 –21, 49 –50, 57– Scheler, Max, 62, 65, 79

58, 213, 217–20 Scherer, Frederic M., 172–73
Moon, Donald, 214 Schiller, Friedrich, 24
Mumford, Lewis, 5 Schumacher, Ernst F., 222
Shapiro, Ian, 115, 154
Needham, Joseph, 215 Shaw, George Bernard, 221
Neurath, Otto, 221 Shionoya, Yuigi, 116, 119 –20, 229
Nietzsche, Friedrich, 20 –21, 25 Simmel, Georg, 5, 20, 62
Nisbet, Robert, 28 Smith, Adam, 127, 237
Nove, Alec, 232 Sombart, Werner, 20
Stalin, Joseph, 118
Oakeshott, Michael, 221 Stanislaw, Joseph, 211, 237
Offe, Claus, 224 Stolper, Wolfgang, 116, 118 –20, 122, 125,
Oldham, Joseph, 221 230, 232
Strauss, Leo, 27, 195
Parekh, Bhikhu, 212 Sturmthal, Adolf, 237
Parry, Geraint, 115 Swedberg, Richard, 114, 116, 118 –19, 179,
Pateman, Carole, 114–15, 201, 229 230
Patterson, Orlando, 224
Pharr, Susan, 12 Tawney, Richard H., 104
Polanyi, Michael, 62 Taylor, Charles, 2, 6, 66, 215, 223, 225 –26
Polsby, Nelson, 115, 227 Thatcher, Margaret, 212
Poole, Herbert, 221 Thoenes, Piet, 63, 222
Przeworski, Adam, 238 Tilly, Charles, 183–84
Putnam, Robert, 12, 228 Tinbergen, Jan, 120, 229
Tobin, James, 239
Reagan, Ronald, 173 Tocqueville, Alexis de, 221
Reich, Charles, 66 Tolstoy, Lev, 24
Reisinger, Anna, 119 Tönnies, Ferdinand, 5, 29, 184
Renner, Karl, 117 Troeltsch, Ernst, 20, 63, 213
Ricci, David, 212 Trotsky, Leon, 148
Rickert, Heinrich, 20, 22, 64 – 65 Truman, David, 115
Robbins, Lionel, 144 Turner, Brian, 20
Robinson, Joan, 232
Roemer, John, 238 Uyl, Joop den, 65
Roosevelt, Franklin D., 118
Rorty, Richard, 170 Valk, Koos de, 22, 25, 28, 213, 215
Roth, Günther, 216, 234 Veenhoven, Ruut, 231
Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 201 Verba, Sidney, 115, 228
Vidal, John, 239
Samuels, Warren, 179
Sandel, Michael, 225 Wallas, Graham, 234, 236
Sartori, Giovanni, 115 Weber, Alfred, 62, 71
Schaar, John, 215 Weber, Marianne, 213, 218

Wesley, John, 35 – 36
Wicksell, Knut, 127
Wieser, Eugon von, 117
Wilber, Charles, 115, 238
Williams, Gertrude, 222
Williams, Raymond, 201
Windelband, Wilhelm, 20, 22, 64
Name Index 261
Wirth, Louis, 5, 67
Woldring, Henk, 65, 221–22
Wolin, Sheldon S., 201
Yergin, Daniel, 211, 237
Zinn, Howard, 234