The Spiritual Side of Capitalism – Part 4
The Spiritual Side of Capitalism – Part 4
This is the concluding part of a 4-part series by Brink Lindsey
In his provocative book The End of History and the Last Man, Francis Fukuyama identifies ambition, which he calls thymus, or the desire to for “recognition” as crux of historical conflict. He bases his philosophy of history on vision of state of nature in which people battle not for simple self-preservation but to have their dignity as human beings recognized by others.
The initial resolution of the struggle for recognition, writes Fukuyama, resulted in the once traditional social order the large class of peasant “slaves” underneath, and the small band of aristocratic “master” on top. The dispensation was inherently unstable, though, for it was raven with internal contradiction: the vast majority of the population was denied recognition altogether, only from their inferiors, whom they did not regard as fully human.
The historical solution to this dilemma emerged in form of liberal commercial society. This new order abolished the distinction between master and slave by making the former slaves their own maters by establishing the principles of popular sovereignty and rule of law. The inherently unequal recognition of masters and slaves was replaced by universal and reciprocal recognition, where every citizen recognizes the dignity and humanity of every other citizen and where that dignity is recognized in turn by the state through the granting of rights.
With ambition thus stated and defined, historical conflicts comes to an end, according to Fukuyama, in the modern commercial republic: “The historical process that begin with the master’s bloody battle, ends in some sense with the modern bourgeois inhabitants of the contemporary liberal democracies, who pursues material gain rather than glory.”
Fukuyama wonders, though, whether this is such a good thing. He questions whether history’s end point is the German philosopher Nietzsche’s contemptible “last man” who seeks nothing but comfortable self-preservation and forsakes everything noble about humanity daring risk, inspiration, and struggle. In the end, Fukuyama defends liberalism against the Nietzschean critique, arguing that modern commercial society contain sufficient outlets for ambition namely, entrepreneurship, democratic politics and such purely formal activities of athletics competition for it to remain at least a modern vitality.
It is certainly appropriate to worry about the banality of modern life, and the Fukuyama’s view of liberalism’s triumph as problematic is refreshingly bracing. Nevertheless, I believe he misconstrues the role of ambition in commercial society and, accordingly, takes a bit too dim a view of the capitalism ascendancy.
Fukuyama properly regards commercial society as having domesticated ambition. Where ambition once sought material glory, it now serves as the pursuit of gain. But this a crucial point: ambition has not been replaced by desire, as Fukuyama contends; it has been married to it. As discussed earlier, commercial life is motivated as much by competitive spirit, the desire to win, to improve mundane acquisitiveness. Ambition that risks money may be less lofty than that which risks life, but it is no less real.
Accordingly, liberalism has in fact ushered in a fantastic expansion of ambition’s role in social affairs. Where once it was the preserve of a tiny aristocratic minority, it is now ubiquitous. Daring risk, inspiration, and struggle have not been extinguished, they can be found in every nook and cranny of the capitalist economy.
This wonder view of liberalism, and greater goods it serves, was movingly describe by the French statesmanship Alex de Tocqueville in his Democracy in America: “When the world was full of men of great importance and extreme insignificance, very wealthy and very poor, very learned and very ignorant, I turned my attention from the latter to concentrate on the pleasure of contemplating the former. But I see that this pleasure arouses from my weakness.
“It is natural to suppose that not the particular prosperity of the few, but the greater wellbeing of all, is most pleasing in the sight of the creator and preserver of men. What seems to me decay, is thus in his eyes, progress; what pains me is acceptable to him. Equality may be less elevated, but is more just, and in its justice lies its greatness and beauty.”
Let us descend now from these metaphysical heights and, in closing, consider the issue again in a more concrete way. The skeptical reader may still harbor the suspicion that all this rhetoric about creative genius and self-actualization vaulting ambition is just whistling in the dark, that at bottom there still the reality of fast-food restaurants, accountants, and toaster salesmen.
Fair enough, to a degree. I never wanted to argue that commerce could replace art or religion or philosophy in the quest for transcendent meaning. Commerce thus concerns the worldly, and thus we always have a practical and prosaic quality to it. But if you think this means capitalism is spiritual empty you are wrong as any sports fan should understand.
If you are a sports fan-say, a devoted follower of basketball then you understand that what makes the game enjoyable and worthwhile has very little to do with its immediate object. The standard complaint of the non-fan, “why would anyone want to watch a bunch of over-grown men running around and bouncing a ball and trying to stick it through a hoop?” will convince you of nothing except that the speaker does not understand the game. If you were feeling analytical, you might explain to him that his grasp of the game is stuck in reductionism rut, that what makes the fun is the amazing skill. The fluidity of teamwork, the excitement of competition. So, it is with commerce. Yes, it’s about buying and selling things. But it’s also about much more: it too is about amazing skill, fluidity of teamwork, the excitement of competition.
Brink Lindsey was the Director of Regulatory Studies at the Cato Institute in Washington.
Reprinted from Topic Magazine No.202
