Jeffrey Friedman

In How States Think, John Mearsheimer and Sebastian Rosato argue that expected-utility maximization is too subjective to serve as the basis for making rational decisions in the realm of national security. They claim that rationality in security studies should instead be defined by whether leaders conduct deliberative, theory-driven reasoning. This essay explains why Mearsheimer and Rosato’s critique of expected-utility theory is unpersuasive, and how their conception of theory-driven reasoning ignores key aspects of decision-making that national security officials can feasibly address. Lyndon Johnson’s decision to take the United States to war in Vietnam provides a vivid example of how leaders can meet Mearsheimer and Rosato’s criteria for rationality despite clear shortfalls of analytic reasoning.

ABSTRACT An intellectually charitable understanding of populism might begin by recognizing that, since populist citizens tend to be politically uninformed and lacking in higher education, populist ideas are likely to be inarticulate reproductions of the tacit assumptions undergirding non-populist or “mainstream” culture rather than stemming from explicit theoretical constructs, such as an apotheosis of the unity or the will of “the people.” What features of our ambient culture, then, could explain the simplistic and combative approach that populists seem to take to politics and policy, their impatience with political debate and deliberation, their willingness to set aside democratic legal forms and political norms, their nationalism, their personalization of politics, their inclination toward conspiracy theorizing, their fondness for fringe sources of information, and their suspicion of political, scientific, and media elites? Using focus group and survey data, we can understand these populist traits as reflections of the culture of “democratic technocracy”: a regime in which we, the people, are assumed capable of rendering sound judgments about how to solve our social and economic problems. Whether or not this assumption is warranted, its cultural dominance seems likely to generate the ideas that populist citizens apparently take for granted.

The polarization and charges of “post-truth” that mark contemporary politics may have its source, ultimately, in a crisis of epistemology, which is characterized by a tension between different forms of naïve realism—the view that reality appears to us directly, unmediated by interpretation. Perhaps too schematically, those on the right tend to be first-person naïve realists in treating economic and social realities as accessible to the ordinary political participant by simple common sense, while those on the left tend to be third-person naïve realists in treating credentialed experts as forming a consensus—a new common sense. In treating reality as transparent enough to be legible either to oneself or to a group of experts, both sides tend to treat disagreement as a motivational problem—a problem of bad faith, motivated reasoning, perversity, and refusal to see the truth—rather than as an epistemic problem caused by the possibility that each side may hold a different set of interpretive frameworks that determines how and what it sees of reality. In obviating the possibility of genuine disagreement, the epistemological crisis is quite naturally transformed into a political crisis.

A political epistemology that enables us to determine if political actors are likely to know what they need to know must be rooted in an ontology of the actors and of the human objects of their knowledge; that is, a political anthropology. The political anthropology developed in Power Without Knowledge envisions human beings as creatures whose conscious actions are determined by their interpretations of what seem to them to be relevant circumstances; and whose interpretations are, in turn, determined by webs of belief built from somewhat heterogeneous streams of incoming ideas. This anthropology, then, has two components. Ideational heterogeneity undermines the aspiration of technocracy to predict human behavior and the aspiration of social science to arrive at lawlike generalizations about it. Ideational determinism, however, which is less important than ideational heterogeneity to the critique of technocracy, may be more important to generating epistemological approaches to other forms of politics, all of which involve the actions of human beings who, as such, are largely at the mercy of the fallible ideas to which they have been exposed.

Robert Jervis's System Effects (1997) shares a great deal with game theory, complex-systems theory, and systems theory in international relations, yet it transcends them all by taking account of the role of ideas in human behavior. The ideational element inserts unpredictability into Jervis's understanding of system effects. Each member of a ?system? of interrelated actors interprets her situation to require certain actions based on the effects these will cause among other members of the system, but these other actors' responses to one's action will be based on their own perceptions of their situation and their interpretations of what it requires. These ideas are fallible, but we cannot predict the mistakes people will make if the errors are based on information we do not have or do not interpret in the same way they do. Not only members of a system but social-scientific observers and policy makers are ignorant of others' information and interpretations, and therefore are as likely to err in their behavioral predictions as are members of the system. Thus, Jervis's book raises serious questions about how to evaluate policies directed toward producing positive system effects. The questions are unanswerable at this point, but they might be susceptible to analysis by an ambitious form of political theory

Environmental issues imperil the libertarian utopia of a society in which the individual is completely sovereign over his or her private domain. Taken seriously, this aspiration would lead to an environmentalism so extreme that it would preclude human life, since most human activity entails incursions against the sovereign realms of other human beings. The fallback position many libertarians have adopted—free‐market environmentalism—retreats from libertarian ideals by permitting some of the physical aggression of pollution to continue. Free‐market environmentalism does embody the postlibertarian insight that collective decisions in mass democracies tend to be inferior to individual decisions in market economies. But so far, free‐market environmentalism has stopped short of carrying this insight to its logical conclusion by proposing the complete depoliticization of environmental decision making. A thought experiment in environmental depoliticization reveals the practical limits of free‐market environmentalism. The upshot is that neither libertarianism nor free‐market environmentalism can culminate in anything close to the abolition of the modern state; they can, however, by problematizing certain aspects of that state, allow us a clearer understanding of political and cultural life.

Taber and Lodge's 2006 paper provides powerful evidence that one's prior beliefs shape one's reception of new evidence in a manner that can best be described as “inadvertently dogmatic.” This is especially true for people who are well informed, which dovetails with findings going back to Converse (1964) showing political beliefs to be ideologically constrained (rigid) among the relatively well informed. What may explain the coincidence of dogmatism and knowledgeability is the very process of learning about politics, which must use theories, schemas, ideologies, or Lippmannesque “stereotypes” to target certain political information as germane by putting it into an interpretive framework. This interpretive process is likely to create for each of us a growing database of information that is congruent with our extant convictions but that excludes incongruent information: in light of the data we have already processed, incongruent information seems increasingly implausible (if not incomprehensible), and is therefore rationally ignored or dismissed. But this does not necessarily mean, as Taber and Lodge follow Robert Abelson in suggesting, that people are “motivated” to be dogmatic rather than being unintentionally closed minded as a result of the plausibility they involuntarily accord to their priors. Recognizing the inadvertent (unmotivated) nature of dogmatism is essential if political science is to take seriously political actors' beliefs—and to assess the gravity of the problem posed by dogmatism.

Bernard Yack’s The Longing for Total Revolution is not just an important study of an extremely influential strain of post-Kantian philosophy, which according to Yack culminated in both Marx and Nietzsche. It also exemplifies an unusual approach to the history of thought: a form of critical genealogy that, unlike the Nietzschean and Foucauldian variants, seeks intellectual charity by ascribing mistaken ideas not to non-ideational psychological or social sources, but to a web of beliefs that would have obscured from fully rational historical actors the mistakenness of the idea being genealogized. This approach to intellectual history can justify the history of thought on logical grounds that are unavailable to those who attempt to justify it on the basis of the inherent interest of the past or the usefulness of intellectual history in providing resources for present-day use.

Hayek developed two contradictory epistemologies. The epistemology for which he is famous attributed dispersed knowledge to economic actors and credited the price system for aggregating and communicating this knowledge. The other epistemology attributed to human and non-human organisms alike the error-prone interpretation of stimuli, which could never truly be said to be “knowledge.” Several of the paradoxes of Hayek's economic and political thought that are explored in this symposium can be explained by the triumph of the first epistemology over the second, including his historical interpretation of socialism as a planning mentality; his tendentious definitions of “liberty” and “justice”; and his opposition to economic redistribution even as he endorsed all manner of economic and social regulations.

Deontological (as opposed to consequentialist) liberals treat freedom of action as an end in itself, not a means to other ends. Yet logically, when one makes a deliberate choice, one treats freedom of action as if it were not an end in itself, for one uses this freedom as a means to the ends one hopes to achieve through one's action. The tension between deontology and the logic of choice is reflected in the paradoxical nature of the ?right to do wrong?; and in Rawls's unsuccessful attempts to justify to acting agents their interest in such a right, embodied in his conception of agents as ?self-validating sources of claims.? A self-validating source of claims is akin to God as envisioned by voluntarist theologians such as Ockham. Leibniz's critique of voluntarism, then, is applicable to the Rawlsian subject: like the voluntarist God, she would be unable to act if it were indeed the case that her action validated itself

In Capitalism and the Jews, Jerry Z. Muller attempts to resolve Milton Friedman's paradox: Why is it that Jewish intellectuals have been so hostile to capitalism even though capitalism has so greatly benefited the Jews? In one chapter Muller answers, in effect, that Jewish intellectuals have not been anticapitalist. Elsewhere, however, Muller implicitly explains the leftist tendencies of most intellectuals—Jewish and gentile—by unspooling the anticapitalist thread in the main lines of Western thought, culminating in Marx but by no means ending with him. Thus, Milton Friedman saw a paradox where none existed. This may have been because Friedman was an economist, and economics is the one strand of Western thought that is, by and large, procapitalist. To an economist, opposition to capitalism may be paradoxical; to noneconomists, economics is alienating in its form and in its content. There is thus no mystery as to why intellectuals, including Jewish intellectuals, tend to shun economics and therefore gravitate to the left.

Postlibertarianism means abandoning defenses of the intrinsic justice of laissez‐faire capitalism, the better to investigate whether the systemic consequences of interfering with capitalism are severe enough to justify laissez‐faire. Any sound case for laissez‐faire is likely to build on postlibertarian research, for the conviction that laissez‐faire is intrinsically just rests upon unsound philosophical assumptions. Conversely, these assumptions, if sound, would make empirical studies of capitalism by libertarian scholars superfluous. Moreover, postmodern approaches to “libertarianism” perpetuate the same assumptions, in the guise of a critique of the rationalist hubris that has supposedly led to the tragedies of the twentieth century. The “libertarian” and postmodernist critics of postlibertarianism either ignore the assumptions undergirding their views, or they contend that these assumptions are not necessary when “freedom” and “morality” are properly defined. The latter contention amounts to an attempt to define the challenge to “libertarianism” out of existence.