In talking politics with others, the premises that shape the logic of our opinions often go unspoken. We may be unaware of them ourselves. Perhaps you’ve sensed this while debating politics with a friend or relative: there’s a disconnect you can’t pin down; you’re somehow talking past each other but unable to correct it. When the foundational assumptions of our opinions are out of alignment with each other, everything built on them will be misaligned as well.
That’s roughly what Thomas Sowell’s book is about. Specifically, it’s about two incompatible “visions” of human nature that he argues have been at work in the politics of the West for the past three centuries. He calls these the “constrained” and the “unconstrained” visions. Often unacknowledged, they respectively inform, in varying measures, conservative and progressive politics. Sowell does not argue for one or the other here; he only wants to identify them historically and show how even the most well-intentioned interlocuters proceed from the logic of their assumptions to contradictory ends.
According to the constrained vision, human nature is a what-you-see-is-what-you-get proposition. It is constant over time and not susceptible to improvement, though it may express itself differently one generation to the next. Among individuals, the distance between the best and the worst of us (intellectually and morally) is not deemed to be very great. This low view of human nature encourages a cautious view of social institutions. They are honored as the consolidated experience and wisdom of prior generations, and they may be valuable in restraining our worst impulses, but they may also need checks, since those who lead them are made of the same troublesome stuff as the rest of us. Changes are made cautiously and incrementally. Tolerant of unequal outcomes, the constrained vision emphasizes procedural equality (e.g. equality before the law).
By contrast, the unconstrained vision has a higher view of human nature and potential, seeing it as essentially good and capable of improvement. If society is burdened by poverty, drug addiction, crime, etc., the fault (according to this vision) is generally found in our inherited institutions. The distance of the morally and intellectually best from the worst is assumed to be greater, and it becomes the duty of those at the vanguard to abolish or radically reshape institutions to engineer the moral and material betterment of all. Change is embraced rapturously. Unlike the constrained vision, which looks for trade-offs in the management of social ills, the unconstrained vision looks for solutions to eliminate them. Less concerned with procedural equality, it makes equality of outcomes a primary goal.
Those are the basics. Sowell quotes historical champions of each vision, and some of the passages he cites – most of them from the 18th and 19th centuries – are fascinating. He teases out the implications (and sometimes the ironies) of each side when it comes to views on law, education, poverty, race, class, business, crime, and war.
What Sowell doesn’t address and what especially interests me, is the origin of the dichotomy he describes. Perhaps he attacks the historical question elsewhere, but halfway through reading A Conflict of Visions, I began to wonder: Was one vision born as a reaction to the other (and if so, what provoked it?), or did both arise simultaneously in the decay of a prior consensus?
I suspect the latter is the case. Absent in Sowell’s survey is any consideration of religion, and perhaps that’s a clue. As Sowell describes it, the cleavage first became apparent in the Enlightenment era when the influence of Christianity began to fade in the West, modern science was born, and democratic impulses began to assert themselves. Both visions are in their bare terms essentially secular rather than religious; neither involves transcendent claims. And yet it’s not difficult to see in each a fractured expression of the Christian religious inheritance.
You might say, for example, that the constrained vision coalesces around the Christian notion that human nature as we know it is broken, that man is fallen, given to sin, and with no checks on his passions will be the destruction of himself and those around him; that, unaided by grace, there are hard limits to moral improvement; that the final elimination of the evils of our condition can only be a divine act, and will only be achieved beyond this life.
The unconstrained vision, on the other hand, preserves an echo of the Christian understanding that human nature was good as originally created by God; that we were meant for higher and better things than we see around us in the human condition; that it is our duty to love our neighbor; and that God is offended by injustice.
Certain paradoxes present themselves. For one, orthodox Christians today will typically adopt the politics of the constrained vision, and yet that vision in its basic terms is the more strictly secular of the two. In politics it aims to restrain the worst in us and cautiously manage relative evils; it does not enjoin positive moral actions. Which is not to say that sharers of the constrained vision imagine there are no moral imperatives, they’re just less likely to root them in the realm of politics. As such, in its basic outline (see my third paragraph above) the constrained vision might just as easily be embraced by a Roman Stoic as a Roman Catholic.
By contrast the unconstrained model retains, in subtly altered forms, more easily recognizable elements of the old Christian moral vision. The perfected society it strives to achieve resembles nothing so much as the Church of the Book of Acts or the heavenly New Jersualem. What’s more, as Sowell argues, it’s through the unconstrained vision that secular Western societies derive their notion that human rights inhere in individuals unconditionally, which is very nearly a transcendent claim. Why, then, should the politics of the unconstrained vision be more commonly the default of secular, non-religious people rather than of devout Christians?
The answer, I think, is that while the unconstrained vision is the more “Christian” at first glance, it is a Christian heresy: inherited institutions are made the cause of suffering, rather than human sin; the division between the pre- and postlapsarian condition of human nature is erased; the moral and intellectual perfection of human beings and society, which the orthodox faithful look for in the life of the world to come, is made the goal of a political agenda here and now, and man usurps the place of God as the agent of that transformation. Liberal Christians may willingly trim their creeds to suit their politics, but these things are irreconcilable with the traditional faith.
In fact, the unconstrained vision is a form of atheism dressed up in the second-hand rags of Christianity. And yet for many of its adherents, it is a substitute faith worth every sacrifice, summoning them to a great and revolutionary struggle – nothing less than secular salvation – in the remaking, on improved lines, of man and society. They pursue it with zeal. There is less zeal for politics as politics on the other side because the ambitions of the constrained vision are more circumscribed. Those who hold to it may look at the passionate intensity of their counterparts and see a new Tower of Babel in the works. Often (perhaps too often) their only response is to mutter to themselves with dark foreboding.