Politics and Policy Archive
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A Jewish Contribution to American Politics
By Michael Gottsegen
There is much talk these days about the new relation between religion and politics.
Some argue that a contemporary Jewish politics should be grounded upon a "Jewish
political conscience" that would help us to discern what stand we are to take on
issues of the day. Such a conscience would be
a solid keel to keep us from being tossed about by ever-changing political currents that,
almost randomly, push us now left and now right. Conscience,
by its inherent ability to focus upon what is really important and upon what really
matters, would keep us true to our Jewish vocation.
As
beautiful as this all sounds, I am nonetheless skeptical about awarding such preeminence
to conscience. Quite simply, conscience --
Jewish or otherwise -- is hardly up to the task. For
the idiom of conscience is, by its very nature, inimical to the kind of discourse that
enables the democratic political process to work as it should. For the lifeblood of the democratic process is the
sort of persuasive speech which gives reasons and makes appeals to principles and values
that are commonly held by the members of the body politic.
But the voice of conscience does not know this language game. Quite simply, conscience is too inward, too
private and too idiosyncratic. After all,
because something is a matter of conscience for me, this need not make it a matter of
conscience for you. Even worse, from a
political perspective, those who speak at the prompting of their conscience rarely give
reasons, but offer the call of conscience itself as their reason. Now, this may suffice for the individual who
indeed has experienced the call of conscience. But
the mere fact that conscience compels someone to speak is hardly reason for the community
to heed his counsel.
Of
course, those who recommend that we follow the call of conscience recommend not conscience
per se, but a Jewish conscience and, more particularly, a Jewish political conscience that
has been "cultivated" through exposure to "Jewish historical memories"
and "the Torah, a book of sacred ends." At
its best, then, such a conscience would be shorn of all that is idiosyncratic and would
speak, as the vivified and internalized sensibility of the tradition, to contemporary
political concerns. But even this would not
overcome all of the problems that beset the voice of conscience when it endeavors to make
itself heard in the public square.
For
even an articulate Jewish political conscience, if it is content to be no more than that,
will find that the public is deaf to its concerns. Even
when it deigns to give reasons, because its idiom remains foreign, its reasons will carry
little weight. They may strike a chord among
fellow Jews, but the general public will listen without comprehending.
In
practical terms, this means that we must decide whether, as Jews, we are more interested
in salving our own Jewish consciences or in moving America's political soul. If we only want to feel good about ourselves (and
conscience always wants to feel good about itself), we need only to heed the voice of
conscience (or the voice of the tradition) and practice a politics of moral purity and
good intentions. From this perspective, it
hardly matters whether or not we manage to persuade our fellow citizens to do x or y.
If,
however, we are intent upon influencing our fellow citizens, then, insuring our own clean
hands will not suffice. What, then, is
necessary?
First,
there is a need to begin to articulate the central principles that should inform a Jewish
political sensibility. Such is required, if
only to enable the Jewish community to articulately discuss what Jews should stand for in
politics. Second, there is a need to
translate these principles into the idiom of the principles that already have standing in
the secular public space of contemporary American public life. For it is only by so doing that we will have any
chance of influencing the national political conversation and thus the direction of our
common political life.
What
are the central principles that rightly inform a Jewish political sensibility, and how do
we translate them into the idiom of the American public space to constitute a politics
that is at once authentically Jewish and American? Reflection
upon the value commitments of the Jewish tradition suggests that the following four are
utterly essential.
First
in priority is the principle of the respect that is due the human being which the
Jewish tradition affirms when it speaks metaphorically of the human individual as having
been created b'tzelem elokhim, in the divine
image, a formulation that expresses the tradition’s opinion that the human person is
of inestimable worth. From this idea, the
political principles of justice and equity follow. In
the political realm, this first principle suggests the importance of procedural and
substantive due process. Thus of any proposed
policy, it can be asked whether it is compatible with the equal dignity of all who stand
to be affected by it. In American political
life, the corollary principles are those "self-evident truths" that are
articulated in the Declaration of Independence and reiterated in the Bill of Rights.
Second
in priority is the principle of the respect that is due to the entire non-human realm of
creation because it is ma'aseh b'reishit, or
"the work of the beginning" (i.e., the work of God) and as such possesses
intrinsic dignity. At the end of each act of
creation, the Bible declares that God looked upon what God had created and “saw that
it was good” -- not good-for-x but intrinsically so. From this principle, a Jewish
ecological orientation arises. In the
political realm, this principle leads us to ask whether a given policy would do gratuitous
damage to that part of nature that it would subordinate to human ends. There is no direct creedal American equivalent,
but contemporary secular ecological philosophy provides an appropriate public idiom.
Third
in priority is the principle of brit, or of
covenant, which signifies the covenantal basis of human society and the norms of
covenantal mutuality and covenantal reciprocity that should inform social and political
life. The practical implications of this
conception are too vast to specify briefly. Suffice
it to say that from the idea of brit we deduce
the principle of social solidarity and the correlative idea that society is a cooperative
and interdependent undertaking in which the well-being of each depends upon the efforts of
all (and vice-versa). The practical political
upshot of this principle would ask of any policy proposal whether it is compatible with
the principle of social solidarity and oriented toward the common good. In the American political heritage, Winthrop's
“Model of Christian Charity" and much colonial rhetoric is exemplary of this
idiom. In more recent years, neo-civic
republicans and left and right communitarians from Mario Cuomo to Amitai Etzioni have
invoked, and further refined, this principle.
Fourth
in priority is the principle of rachamim, or
mercy, which lays upon individual and society the obligation to care for the weak and
vulnerable. In the political realm, this
principle leads to the following question of any policy proposal: Does it trample upon, or
does it uphold, the weak and vulnerable? In
contemporary America, the secular equivalent of this principle has been articulated in the
writings of such American public philosophers as John Rawls, who would have us test the
legitimacy of any departure from covenantal equality by whether or not the departure from
equality will ultimately serve to benefit the poorest members of society
Delineating
these principles is, however, only the first step. Beyond
this lies the endeavor to articulate a Jewish-American public philosophy that would
translate these cardinal principles into a form that is compatible with the secular
democratic ethos of the American public space. This
endeavor is of potentially great significance. Immediately,
it could help to facilitate an authentically Jewish politics that could accomplish more
than insuring that our hands and consciences remain clean.
It might even enable Jewish Americans to uplift the body politic as a whole
by arguing to shared principles that have deep roots in our own Judaic heritage and in
American creedal commitments.
Ideally,
these four principles (and more particularly the three of greatest relevance for social
policy) are complimentary and, in wise policy, each will receive its due. Giving exclusive
consideration to any one of these principles, however, will almost always produce a policy
that impinges upon one of the other three in a manner that should trouble Jewish political
sensibilities. Indeed, the strength of
Jewishly inspired social policy may lie in its refusal to base policy on any one of these
principles to the exclusion of the rest. And,
in this particular respect, a Jewishly inspired social philosophy might have much to
contribute toward the formation of a new American political sensibility. For America has repeatedly suffered -- and
arguably suffers now – from the ill effects of political movements that err by
absolutizing one principle and repudiating every other.
Sorely lacking has been a popular social philosophy that places sufficient
emphasis upon the ensemble of principles which
are needed to sustain the good society. For
this reason, a Jewish social philosophy that would weave these four principles into a
balanced whole might find a wide following if formulated in an appropriate idiom.
That
a Jewish social philosophy will properly give rise to social policies that give each
principle its due should not be understood as implying that there is only one correct
policy and that the goal of the political process is to discover it. Rather, because usually there is a range of policy
options that pay heed to each of the principles in some measure but give precedence to one
or another, the political process entails deliberating upon, debating and, finally,
choosing from among these options. In this
process, even those who are deeply committed to the same principles may find that they
disagree with one another profoundly.
Consider,
for example, the differences that might arise in a discussion of solutions to the problem
of poverty. If the principle of rachamim alone were given primacy, the solution to
the problem of poverty might be left to individual givers of private charity. Alternatively, if rachamim were given primacy but combined with brit and tzelem
elokhim, one might argue for a paternalistic welfare system with such case management
provisions as are necessary to insure respect for the dignity of the tzelem elokhim of the recipients. By contrast, if precedence were given to the
principle of respecting the tzelem elokhim, but
the other principles are regarded as ancillary, one might opt to guarantee every member of
society a job and a living wage. Finally, if
primacy is given to brit and social solidarity
while the other principles are treated as subordinate, one might opt for a solution that
includes a radically egalitarian redistribution of income, the argument being that only
this policy is compatible with covenantal solidarity and the equal worth of all who are
made in God's image.
These
are not, of course, the only policy options that are compatible with the four principles,
but they give some sense of the possible range. Some
of these options are, moreover, so far outside of the mainstream of American social
thought that to advocate such positions would render one's political influence nugatory. As a matter of conscience, just being right may be
enough, but if one is to have some influence upon one's fellow citizens, one needs to work
within -- if only just within -- the margins of the possible.
A
public philosophy is not a political platform. Because
there remains room for respectful disagreement over the question of which principle should
take precedence in resolving a given policy dilemma, articulating the core principles of
our common allegiance will not render our political life harmonious. But it should help us to keep our disagreements
within relatively limited bounds and provide us with the common vocabulary that may permit
us to resolve these disagreements in a principled way.
Of even greater importance over the long run, our common allegiance to these
principles might enable us to preserve the bonds of civic friendship, or yedidut, despite our frequent differences over
matters of policy.
Not Jewish political consciences, but Jewish political sensibilities and an articulated ensemble of Jewish-American political principles will help us to realize the full meaning of our Jewish-American errand.
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