A Prescription for Cynicism

I recently had occasion to advise an old university friend to take up bird-watching as a matter of urgency. Now, I am no dabbler in ornithology myself, you understand. But his need seemed acute. The guy had a serious case of the Trumps, and this was the only remedy that came to mind. The affliction appears in various forms, but the signs in my friend were evident from a long Facebook post, which can be summarised as follows: ‘I don’t trust politicians. They lie, make false promises, deceive and manipulate people, and they will do whatever it takes to advance their own careers.’

Lots of people seem to share this view, hence the attraction of so-called ‘anti-politics’. But to me it is one of the most inaccurate and corrosive ideas around, and I’ll give you two good reasons why:

1.     My friend’s view presents a classic example of what ought to be called ‘the politician’s fallacy’. You see, the thing about politicians is we tend to hear a lot about them, especially when they are accused of deception or unbridled ambition. Naturally, therefore, we make the assumption that these are the defining characteristics of the breed, whereas in truth they are simply the characteristics that we are most interested in. By contrast, the vices, contradictions and faults of most people are likely to be just as prevalent, but are obviously less newsworthy, and so it becomes possible to believe that politicians are some kind of breed apart. However, once you recognise that the working lives of most politicians are not particularly newsworthy, a different and much more optimistic view of the whole political process emerges. Hands up if you had heard of Jo Cox MP before 20 June 2016? Me, neither. Maybe my friend thinks she was a rotten apple too, but all the evidence I could find suggested that she was a diligent, engaged and popular local MP, and would have gone on being so. I think there are a good grounds to suppose that she was not especially uncommon in this regard.

2.     The belief that ‘all politicians are liars’ is a counsel of despair that is likely to cause people to reject the possibility that politics can make their lives better. This becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy: if politics makes no difference, who will seek political solutions to their problems? And this, of course, is where things get dangerous. In every democracy around the world, there are ‘maverick’ politicians who relentlessly push the argument that all ‘mainstream’ politicians will do and say whatever it takes to advance their careers, and aren’t interested in public service. They can therefore make a virtue of saying and doing outrageous things, precisely because other politicians won’t. This not only tends to encourage divisive and inflammatory political rhetoric to gain traction, but also enables the ‘maverick’ to get a relatively easy ride. As long as they continue to defy convention, they will be forgiven by their supporters for making unrealistic promises, abusing their opponents and ineffective leadership. In short, a generally cynical attitude towards the political class will not encourage higher standards amongst politicians, but instead helps to lower the bar for leaders who are high on charisma but low on substance.

Here’s the thing that I really don’t understand. My friend is not politically apathetic or disengaged: in fact he posts regularly about politics, often commenting on the faults and flaws of various candidates and parties. So, what I want to know is: why? If he thinks that pretty much all politicians are dangerously manipulative and deceitful, then surely the whole process of following it can only be a stressful and frustrating one, with little hope of achieving any meaningful change.
The best prescription for cynicism of this kind is to study History. Not the kind which uses the past as a stick with which to bludgeon the present, but the kind that humanises politicians, acknowledges both great achievements and fatal flaws and reminds us that, whilst calculation and compromise are intrinsic to politics, it isn’t the whole story: crooked methods have often facilitated vital progress. Daniel Finkelstein’s analysis of recent British Prime Ministers provides a perfect illustration:

'Lloyd George, bounder and opportunist or great radical leader? Bonar Law, unimaginative minnow or great war leader? The Duke of Newcastle, old fool or master of the patronage system? Both, both, both. The idea that there are simple heroes and villains collapses under the weight of evidence. As does the idea that politicians were so much better in the past. No, they weren’t. They were less experienced, less in touch, less broad-minded and less accountable. We are much better served now.'

I agree. Today’s politicians are more open-minded and more collaborative than those of previous generations. If you are one of those who sneer at the ‘political class’ and condemn the ‘mainstream media’, you are simply repeating a charge that has been made throughout history, at a time when it has never been less justified. You also leaving yourself with an unpalatable choice: despairing cynicism, or blind faith in a single leader who promises to sweep away corruption and put an end to ‘politics as usual’. Either way, history has a lesson for you too.

But, perhaps, like my friend, you just need a break from the Twitterstorms and the social media frenzies. A spot of bird-watching to remind you that, in life as in politics, beauty and darkness are intertwined.

Where will it end? Maximilen Robespierre and the politics of purity

Political purity, in any form, is both impossible and undesirable. People who put their faith in an individual or an ideology that promises to remedy all evils and achieve an ideal society, are not only setting themselves up for a disappointment, they are also guilty of a form of moral blindness, which prevents them from seeing either the good in their political opponents or the weaknesses in their own side.

"Maximilien was once a … child, and when children become adults they do not grow into saints and devils, but into men and women."

(Peter McPhee, biographer of Robespierre)

The political career of Maximilien Robespierre, one of the most important and divisive figures of the French Revolution,  provides a powerful illustration of the destructive effect of the politics of purity. Over the course of five years, Robespierre went from advocating freedom of speech, defending minority rights, and promoting the cause of peace, to supporting the death penalty for political opponents, removing due process of law in political trials and successfully silencing and destroying former political allies. The closer he came to believing that France required ‘purification’ in order to revive a lost spirit of civic virtue, the more he became, in McPhee's words, "prone to understanding the revolutionary world in terms of a binary opposition: the good and the evil, ‘patriots’ and ‘counter-revolutionaries’".

"This man will go far: he believes everything he says."

(Mirabeau on Robespierre)

However, Robespierre’s early political career provided little indication of his later willingness to act ruthlessly in pursuit of his ideals. A man of austere habits and strongly-held principles, Robespierre was no spittle-flecked ranter; instead, his oratorical style was measured and sincere. Before he was drawn in to the maelstrom of Parisian politics, he had been a relatively unknown provincial lawyer, and this enabled him to present himself as an independent-minded and impartial voice above the political fray. This gave weight to Robespierre’s claim to speak on behalf of the ordinary people of France, rather than gilded members of the aristocracy, clergy or bourgeoisie. Robespierre’s most celebrated early speeches to the National Assembly attacked privilege, upheld freedom of conscience and attacked the compromises made by the revolution’s self-appointed leaders. He criticised the death penalty and, later, the drive for war against the external enemies of the revolution.

"In the midst of corruption, you have remained the unshakeable support of truth... you have fought to maintain the purity of a constitution dictated by philosophy for the good of humankind."

(Speech in praise of Robespierre)

Robespierre’s idealism was founded above all on the work of two great writers, Rousseau and Plutarch, who attacked the corruption around them by sanctifying an earlier, purer society. Jean-Jacques Rousseau argued that human society had once been based on virtue and brotherhood, but these principles had been eroded by the pursuit of ambition and material wealth. Centuries earlier, the Roman historian Plutarch praised the courageous and self-sacrificing defenders of liberty who had struck down internal enemies and would-be tyrants in order to preserve the Roman Republic. As the political crises facing the revolutionary state deepened between 1792 and 1794, Robespierre used speech after speech to set forth this vision of purer, ennobled society that would truly meet the high-minded aspirations of 1789. To his supporters, he became ‘L’incorruptible’ – the deputy who could not be swayed by calls for calculation or compromise.

"Citizens, there is too much reason to believe that the Revolution, like Saturn, will progressively devour all of its children…"

(Pierre Vergniaud, speech to the National Convention, January 1793)

But almost from the moment that Robespierre began to articulate this powerful vision, he and his supporters were faced with a nagging problem. Purification is an all-encompassing process; half-measures are impossible, and there is no place for small doubts or sceptical analysis. If Robespierre was the courageous truth-teller who was liberating France, any challenge was seen as a fundamental attack on his integrity, and therefore of the revolution as a whole. Cautious, detached critics who warned about the radical pace of change were no better than the most ardent conservatives, indeed they were in practice worse, since they disguised themselves as radicals only in order to prevent a true transformation from taking place, and thus to protect their own positions. As the revolution radicalised, so the apparent conspiracy worsened; more of Robespierre’s former colleagues and allies expressed doubts and urged caution. All traitors, all hypocrites, all, one by one, destined for the scaffold.

"He has all the characteristics, not of a religious leader, but of the leader of a sect."

(Condorcet on Robespierre)

You do not have to search far to find the same kind of political dynamic working itself out in contemporary politics (even if most of the violence is now online). The champions of ‘anti-politics’ are, in one form or another, descendants of Robespierre: not all are great orators, nor as austere, nor as astute, but all claim to speak on behalf of the marginalised and ignored, envisaging a society in which the corruption can be defeated by the force of their idealism. Their devoted supporters will seize on the merest scraps of evidence to legitimise their political programme, and use personal insults or violent rhetoric to trash anyone who challenges them. The purification of politics ensures that there can be no compromise with the status quo and no room for doubt. Complex questions are simplified into a binary choice, and those on the wrong side of the debate are vilified and purged.

In the end, the trouble with the politics of purity is that everyone ends up covered in filth.