The German Left and Democracy: A Difficult Relationship

Heidrun Abromeit / Tobias Auberger

Technical University Darmstadt

Institut für Politikwissenschaft
Residenzschloss, 64285 Darmstadt, Germany

Email:
[email protected]
[email protected]

Paper prepared for the Workshop 12 on “National traditions of democratic thought”

ECPR Joint Sessions of Workshops, Uppsala 13th – 18th April 2004
Introduction

(1) Who is meant by ‘the German Left’? A lot of research has been done on the awkward
relationship between socialism and democracy, focussing on socialism in the shape of parties
or even political systems (such as the Soviet system) and on democracy in the shape of
Western parliamentary systems (as a recent example see Jahn 2004). This is not what this
paper intends to do. It will not give a survey of the ideas of social democratic authors from
late 19th century until today; in fact it will not take recourse to organised socialism in
Germany at all. Instead, it concentrates on the (rather amorphous) group of ‘neo-marxists’
which formed in the 1960s at German universities when theoretically-minded students,
disenchanted with the restauration that had taken place in West Germany, started looking
round for alternatives. In actual fact, though, they turned out to be less interested in designs
for a new and better society than in pungent criticisms of bad reality; and although they soon
entered into Marx exegesis uad busied themselves with hurling Marx quotations at each other
the first and strongest influence upon their way of thinking was that of Adorno and Marcuse.
And that implied that more or less indirectly they were influenced by Kant and Hegel. Since
most of these young academics were rather brillant a number of them (such as Claus Offe, for
instance) have themselves proved influential on later generations of (leftist) social scientists
and scholars of political theory.

However new this neo-marxism appeared at the time, it yet formed an integral part of a long
and continuous tradition of German socialist and leftist thought. This had always lacked the
pragmatic touch so pronounced in its British counterpart. Nor did German leftists take much
interest in the cumbersome task of devising in detail the organisation of a socialist society as
some of their French comrades did. In trying to determine what made the capitalist world tick
they aspired to the somewhat aloof status of political philosophers instead. Finally, German
leftist tradition in most of its variants has always been marked by a deep distrust in those the
respective authors allegedly spoke for and whose lot they meant to improve: the people.

(2) What is meant by ‘democracy’? The concept of democracy which serves as a backdrop for
our subsequent analysis focuses on the idea of the self-determination of the individual which
whenever collective decisions have to be taken implies the requirement of the individuals’
participation in them (see Abromeit 2002). With this object in view individuals may associate
with others or not; hence a socialist predilection for ‘collectivities’ does not necessarily
contradict the concept. The reality of established democratic systems may, however, fall
lamentably short of the concept’s normative requirements which explains the disenchantment
of ‘the German Left’ (as circumscribed above) with parliamentary and (even more
pronounced) party democracy. Quite obviously they felt that this was not ‘true’ democracy’.
Yet they were loth to define what ‘true’ democracy meant: notions about its features were
hazy to a fault (to say the least).

(3) In its first part, the paper will elaborate on two traditions of thought started by Kant, Hegel
and Marx: those of the ‘despotism of reason’ (Adam 1999) and of the ‘false consciousness’ of
people. The second part will then demonstrate the effect these traditions had on the modern
German Left and outline the problems the requirement of democratic participation pose for
them until this day.
1. Socialism, Democracy, and the Promise of Liberalism

There is a widespread belief that socialism and democracy are basically incompatible and that
socialist programmes and policies will, at best, lead to (autocratic) ‘pseudo-democracy’ (Jahn
2004: 105). This prejudice is based on the conviction that the prevalent model of liberal
democracy is universalist, which is of course debatable. On the other hand, socialist theories
originated in the attempt to take the promises of liberalism seriously: not to reserve the role of
citizen (with all the rights and liberties implied in the concept) to the ‘bourgeois’ (the haves)
but to extend it to ‘the people’ (the have-nots). Insofar (as is corroborated by the writings of
Marx) liberalism and socialism are more closely linked than many would care to believe.

Yet the promise of liberalism from the start took very different shapes in the Anglo-Saxon and
in the German political philosophies. Both the British liberal philosophers and the German
philosophers of the ‘enlightenment’ intended to set the individual free but the emancipation of
the individual meant different things. The primary concern of British liberalism was the
individual’s every-day life: he was to be freed economically and shielded from government
guardianship and interference in all his dealings with his property. Property rights were (since
Locke) the major human rights to be protected, and if leaving individuals to themselves as
proprietors and economic subjects implied that they would follow selfish ends, so much the
better. The egotism of the proprietor was considered legitimate, as was his natural desire to
pursue his happiness. There was no need for a check on his ‘pursuit of happiness’ other than
that of the – equally natural – market forces (Smith’s ‘invisible hand’): In his urge to increase
his property he would, in the first place, develop all his faculties and put them to the best use
which was a good thing in itself since it was the best way to augment the wealth of the nation
as a whole. In the second, he would have to enter into interaction and exchange with other
proprietors which inevitably implied that he could promote his own selfish ends only by dint
of taking the ends of others into consideration, too (who if he did not would decline the
exchange).

Of course there were exceptions to the ‘Non-Interference Principle’ (Mill) and existed tasks
that only governments could fulfil, and this is where democracy and political participation
came in. ‘Representative government’ (as well as political liberties bordering, even, on a right
of resistance) was needed, first, because individuals (as proprietors) knew better than any
official what was best for them; and, second, to provide a check on overbearing, corrupt, or
incompetent politicians and bureaucrats.

Setting individuals free to pursue their selfish ends never was what philosophers of the
German enlightenment had in mind, nor was the kind of liberalism just described ever a
notable current in German political philosophy. Although the notion of Glückseligkeit figures
prominently in the writings of Kant it was defined in a very specific way: happiness,
basically, consisted in living and behaving in accordance with the rules of reason (Reason writ
large, with a capital R!). The autonomy of the individual was considered less a fact than an
end, for the individual was autonomous only when and insofar as he was capable of rational
behaviour and able to hold his irrational desires in check. Paying tribute to the interests of
others and to the common good did not come naturally or emerge quasi-automatically but
would require an effort: the deliberate internalisation of the ‘categorical imperative’, for
instance.

Consequently, democracy and participation (the ‘Republic’) had a very special meaning. The
object of public deliberation (as democracy’s core) was not just to put a check on
governments and even less to provide for policies which suited the interests of a majority.

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Instead, public deliberation was the means to safeguard that the rules of reason govern the
nation as a whole – and if they did so no additional check on monarchs and bureaucrats was
necessary. Thus, in principle, democracy played a more important role and had a wider scope
in the philosophy of German enlightenment than in British liberalism; the ‘republic’,
however, would require (as Rousseau put it) ‘a people of gods’. It required, at any rate, a high
amount of auto-paternalism while the object of liberalism was to free individuals from
government paternalism.

So what is meant – what can be meant – by the assertion that socialism intended no more and
no less than to take liberalism by its word? The most plausible reading is that the ‘pursuit of
happiness’ ought to be the right of everybody; and if the privileges of some (such as private
property) should stand in the way of achieving this end these barriers would have to be
removed. Democracy at first sight looked a likely way to do so: since workers formed the
great majority you would only have to extend suffrage to everybody. But what applied to
proprietors – that they themselves were the best judges of their own interest – might not apply
to the majority; they might not be able to see what was best for them in the long run. They
might not be fit, either, to take part in public discussions over the common good and thus to
achieve its adequate re-interpretation, nor eager to accept (and make use of) the rules of
reason. Hence democracy might turn out a precarious project, in the socialist view – and the
more so the more it was understood in the ‘republican’ way.

Another possible reading of the maxim ‘take them by their word’ could be: the rules of reason
so far have been defined in a one-sided manner and have to be enriched according to our
knowledge of the shortcomings of capitalism and the many pitfalls democratic politics in a
complex world are liable to run into. But who is in full possession of this knowledge? Few
have it at their fingertips, and the respective ‘laws’ (of development) are not easily
understandable either. Hence relying upon auto-paternalism might not suffice to achieve
socialist ends; and ‘republicanism’ might have to be replaced by guardianship.

2. The tradition of the ‘rule of reason’ and of ‘false consciousness’

The Rule of Reason

Immanuel Kant can be said to be the ‘founding father’ of a specific path within the German
tradition of political and democratic thought which centres around the idea of the individual
as ethically and intellectually autonomous subject (see Marcuse 1969: 168ff). The central
feature of Kant’s philosophy is his conception of reason as the ultimate destination of human
beings. As a reasonable being (and in mutually recognising all other reasonable beings as
equals) man claims to be an end in itself and expects to be treated as such and not as a means
to an end (Mutmaßlicher Anfang der Menschengeschichte: 91). The potential of man to be
reasonable forms the basis of human life as well as of society. It requires from individuals to
develop the ability to ‘think by themselves” (Selbstdenken) which means assessing every
aspect of life by the (philosophical) method of criticism; this is the only way of freeing the
individual from his ‘self-inflicted’ immaturity. But what is the meaning of reasonable:
Reasonable is what follows rules which can become generalized as basic principles (Was
heißt: Sich im Denken orientieren: 283).

4
Both Kant’s moral and political theory are based on this concept of reason. Concerning
questions of individual life – in Kant’s term: What am I to do? - he makes a distinction
between the individual’s freedom and his autonomy. Freedom means that individuals can act
or behave independently from empirical restrictions; it refers to the scope within which
empirical individual motivations and needs can be satisfied (Praktische Vernunft: 218). The
notion of autonomy on the other hand, which constitutes the core of Kant’s moral theory, tells
the individual how to use his freedom in the right way. It means living in compliance with
universal moral laws, e.g. the ‘categorical imperative’ which Kant assumes to exist a priori
(regardless of empirical motives) and which can be derived by deliberation (Reine Vernunft:
678). Reconciling both, autonomy and freedom, by ‘pursuing one’s happiness’ in accord with
moral principles is the ultimate end of life: In other words the Kantian autonomy is ‘the
freedom to act reasonably’ (Praktische Vernunft: 144). And to achieve this it is indispensable
that the individual accepts and internalises the respective laws.

Kant’s political theory applies his moral theory to politics – and the right politics is
‘republicanism’. He distinguishes two forms of government (republicanism and despotism)
and three forms of the state (monarchy, aristocracy, democracy) (Zum ewigen Frieden: 206).
Surprisingly (at first sight), Kant rejects the democracy as incompatible with republicanism
since the constitutive attribute of the republic is the separation of legislative and executive
power whereas democracies establish the rule of all and thus mixes both powers (Zum ewigen
Frieden: 207).

The Kantian republic is grounded on three principles a priori (pure principles of reason): the
principles of freedom, equality and autonomy (Gemeinspruch: 145). ‘Freedom’ (as human
beings) guarantees that individuals can pursue their selfish ends according to their free will as
long as they do not interfere with others. As subjects of the republic they are supposed to be
equal but the notion of equality is restricted to equality before the law and does not even
include political (let alone social) equality for not all individuals attain the status of ‘citizens’.
According to the third principle, ‘autonomy’, the individual’s quality as a citizen and fellow
legislator (‘citoyen’) is closely linked to two requirements. In the first place the individual has
to be his own master (sein eigener Herr sein, Gemeinspruch: 151), that is economically
independent. And in the second place he has to be morally autonomous which means (in
politics) he must be able to reconsider his one desires and interests in the light of their
generalisability, their compatibility with the common good (Verallgemeinerungsfähigkeit). It
is this second requirement which mainly constitutes Kant’s political individual. Furthermore,
if conceived as collective autonomy the principle implies that there be a constitution (the
original contract) whose dignity rests on the assumption that all ‘political individuals’ could
have assented to it (had they been asked). It thus rests on an ‘as if” and this implies that the
Kantian republic does not require a constitutional act proper (Gemeinspruch: 153). Rather, the
original contract serves rather as an idea derived by reason which is supposed to guide the
legislator.

This sheds a characteristic light on the role of political participation in Kant’s republicanism.
On condition that a Kantian republic is established which meets the requirements of reason,
no checks on the government to safeguard the prevalence of the rules of reason are needed
other than a deliberate public: ‘The freedom of the pen is the only palladine of people’s
rights.” (Die Freiheit der Feder ist der einzige Palladium der Volksrechte, Gemeinspruch:
161).

5
G.F.W. Hegel inherited reason as the central motive of his philosophy from Kant. But in
transcending Kant’s conception of reason as the ultimate end of individual autonomy he
considered reason to be the ultimate force of history, adopting the shape of the Weltgeist.
Accordingly, the philosopher’s task is to identify reason as the driving force in given
circumstances. Thus Hegel seeks to comprehend the state (the Prussian state of the early 19th
century, in particular) as a result of reason and as reasonable in itself (Rechtsphilosophie, S.
17) The highest form of reason, Sittlichkeit (ethical form of life), embraces the two basic
freedoms of individuals: the freedom of property (as ‘extrinsical’ freedom) and his morality
(as ‘intrinsical’ freedom) (Rechtsphilosophie § 33). While the state is the ‘reality of the idea
of an ethical form of life’ (die Wirklichkeit der sittlichen Idee, § 257) and as such the realm of
reason, that of the individual is the ‘civil society’ – which may as well be named the
‘bourgeois society’ since its decisive actors are proprietors. It is his property which
distinguishes the free individual: he cannot experience, enjoy nor practice his freedom without
it. At the same time, society is the sphere of work and toiling and dependency, the ‘system of
needs’ (§ 189 pp.) and the ‘realm of necessity’. This is so because society is the place of
(legitimate) particularisation: the place where individuals as ‘private persons’ pursue their
selfish ends, and quite legitimately so. The moment they enter the sphere of the state (and of
politics) they have to assume a different role and, more particularly, to transcend their own
particularity: not (necessarily) by ignoring or suppressing those selfish ends but by ‘setting
them in accordance with the general’ (interest; § 261). The ‘principle of particularity’ has to
merge into that of ‘generality’ since only thus it will find its own truth and ‘the right of
positive reality’ (§ 186).

In contrast, the realm of reason is wholly aloof from necessities and toiling and other such
earthly things; it is the place where ideas, principles, general interests and the like emerge
quasi-automatically and without an effort by anyone; that is why it can be named the true
‘realm of freedom’. It is the ‘ruse of reason’ which rules this place and which causes the
continuous progress of both state and society to achieve ever higher levels of perfection.

The realm of reason (and freedom) and the common-place world of the real people (the
society) have, apparently, little in common. Least of all are they inter-connected by
democratic participation in whichever shape. If particularity and generality are considered to
be in need of mediation, at all, not the people are mentioned but corporations (Stände) –
probably because they are expected to have transgressed from sheer particularity and are
closer to governments (§ 302). The people themselves are judged to be the part of the state
‘who do not know what they want’ (§ 301): to know this, and – even more so – to know what
reason and the (abstract) ‘will as such’ want, would be the ‘product of deep insight and
understanding’ which is not what the people are capable of. ‘The will’ as such is ‘the principle
of the state’ (§ 258) – and the people are not supposed to meddle.

Although Kant’s and Hegel’s conceptualise the rule of reason in rather different ways what
they have in common is that neither of them links it to the empirical individual. ‘Real’
individuals and their interests cannot be accepted as such but are to be domesticated in the
interest of a higher – theoretically derived – ideal of reason: the Kantian postulate of
generalisation on the one hand or the Hegelian ‘ethical form of life’ as impersonated by the
state on the other hand. They may have a point in connecting the practice of individual
freedom with the individuals’ readiness to behave reasonably as well as morally but they both
overstretch it: the philosophical imperatives of reason narrow the scope of freedom somewhat
drastically, the radicality of their ideas makes them lose the human beings out of sight, and
thus the rule of reason becomes autocratic.

6
False consciousness

Marx intended to put Hegel’s philosophy ‘from its head to its feet’: In contrast to Hegel who
interpreted the existing world in the light of philosophical ideals Marx focuses on the
empirical individual and the social conditions of its existence. In his critique of Hegel’s
constitutional law Marx argues that Hegel inverts the relationship between ideas as historical
forces and their respective impacts by deducing the nature of civic society or of the family
from the idea of the state (Kritk des Hegelschen Staatsrechts: 209). Instead, society is - in
Marx’s term – the driving force and in its turn shapes the nature of the state: Family and civic
society constitute the state not the other way round (Kritk des Hegelschen Staatsrechts: 206).
The important conclusion from this simple consideration is that the state (which remains an
abstract figure, anyway) cannot be sovereign but represents the basic sovereignty of the
people merely as a symbol. It is ‘the people who are the Konkretum [...], the real state’ (Kritk
des Hegelschen Staatsrechts: 229).

Furthermore, Marx differs from the Hegelian philosophy with respect to the practical impact
of theoretical considerations. He makes the point that philosophical ideas as theoretical
criticisms, if they are worth their salt, ought to change empirical conditions; philosophical
ideas are valuable insofar as they can be transferred into the empirical world. The implication
of this ‘empirical turn’ of philosophy is twofold: the first is that historical progress cannot rely
upon ‘ruses’ of reason or other mythical forces but requires actors; the second is that it is
paramount to find out about the empirical (societal) conditions which the required actors have
to deal and struggle with. With respect to the postulated ‘democratic revolution’ in which his
critique of Hegel culminates he finds both actors and empirical (social) bases in the
proletarian class (Zur Kritik der Hegelschen Rechtsphilosophie, Einleitung: 390).

Thus Marx focuses on real societies and on empirical individuals. As a political philosopher,
he assumes in principle that, in conditions of economic crisis and poverty the antagonism of
classes will show clearly enough for the proletariat to become radical and to transform into a
revolutionary class, able to free itself from the conditions of oppression embodied in the
capitalist economy and its henchman, the (capitalist) state (Ökonomisch-Philosophische
Manuskripte: 593). This would imply, however, that empirical workers are capable of
comprehending their own economic situation and the part they play in the social relationship
between capital and labour. Unfortunately, as the empiricist Marx himself is convinced and
even puts down as a kind of law, the economic and social conditions of life determine the
individual’s consciousness (Deutsche Ideologie: 27). The hegemonic ideas of a given society
are the consequence of the existing material and economic circumstances (Deutsche
Ideologie: 46) and leave little space for the emergence of critique and revolutionary ideas.
Since the individual’s consciousness is the product of the ‘ensemble of the social
circumstances’ (Deutsche Ideologie: 6) people tend to develop the ‘wrong ideas about
themselves’ (13) and succumb to the false appearance of market phenomena veiling the real
laws of capitalist development, and most of all will they succumb to the illusion of the
neutrality of the state. Hence the (more or less fictitious) revolutionary proletarian class will
have to cope with the misguided individual workers (as is illustrated, for instance, by the
reluctant French proletariat in Die Klassenkämpfe in Frankreich: 19). Their ‘false
consciousness’ bars the way for the class ‘an sich’ (those objectively in the position of labour)
to progress to the class ‘für sich’ which has developed the ‘right’ consciousness not only of its
own position but of class authority and of the ways and means to get rid of it. For this, the

7
proletariat would require the enlightening help of a revolutionary avant-garde guiding them
on the way to freedom.

As an empiricist, Marx was a keen observer of contemporary events and developments, too,
and these (and especially the 18th Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte) made him take a rather dim
view of the chance of escaping the given conditions of oppression by democratic means.
Democracy had come into the world as the invention of the bourgeoisie, emancipating itself
from feudal regimes. As such, it certainly was a progressive achievement. However, after
having risen from the subject of historical progress to the position of the (economically)
ruling class it soon became obvious that the bourgeoisie would use the parliamentary
democracy just won and hard fought for primarily to stabilise given (economic) circumstances
and to shield their own economic power. In line with this object they would try to keep the
subjugated classes from suffrage; furthermore, they would do their best to exploit (and, if
possible, strengthen) the false consciousness of the petty bourgeoisie and of social democratic
organisations which took ‘the revolutionary sting out of the social demands of the proletariat’
and gave them ‘ a democratic turn’ (p. 141): they merely exhausted themselves in
parliamentary debates and, consequently, could be deemed harmless. And this, by the way,
was a stark reminder to would-be reformers that little could be won on the parliamentary
route. However there was no guarantee that the parliamentary way was a safe one: ‘The
parliamentary regime leaves all to the decision of majorities, why should the huge majorities
outside parliament not wish to decide? When you on the summit of the state play the fiddle,
what else expect than that they at the bottom want to dance?’ (p. 154). This would be the
moment when the bourgeois parliament realise that ‘to maintain peace in the country it would
have to pacify their bourgeois parliament, that to maintain their societal power their political
power would have to be broken’ (ibid.) – and that were the end of democracy, as well as of
the illusion that the state, democratic or not, can be neutral toward classes.

What do we learn from these rather different traditions? First and foremost this: that the
individual – as we all believe firmly placed in the centre of democracy which aims at freeing
him from oppression – is sadly deficient in itself. The common denominator of idealistic and
materialistic political philosophy is the distrust of the empirical individuals: of their
selfishness, their irrationality, their illusions. Furthermore, the three traditions are marked by a
prevalence of the ends and objects of (democratic?) societal development: the rule of reason
or of the highest ethical form of life here, the class-less – and in all three versions the ‘truly
free’ – society there. To achieve these ends one cannot leave individuals to themselves; they
need guidance, and must constantly be reminded of their duties; their selfish urges must be
hedged in; they have to be cured of their illusions, etc. All this cannot but lead to the
conclusion that democracy – from the societal, the political, the moral, the philosophical point
of view – is an extremely risky project.

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3. Democracy and the modern German Left

a. Government by the people and for the people

One of the common-places of modern democratic theory is that democracy aspires to a

twofold end: individual self-determination as well as good government. It is ‘government by
the people and for the people’ and thus always comprises procedures and results. It is equally
common wisdom that it is extremely difficult to maximise both participation and good
governance at the same time and in the same way. An overdose of participation can – or so
the shared belief of most scholars of democratic theory - , as likely as not, stand in the way of
problem-solving policies.

This belief is also shared by most authors of the German left. Surprisingly enough, authors are
(all of them!) extremely reticent on the subject of ‘ends’: of what democracy is expected to
achieve. But they have enough to say on the negative effects of what one might call the
‘unfiltered participation’ of rank-and-file people in politics. In the first place, authors take a
dim view of the usefulness of merely ‘abstract’ forms of participation such as voting: useful
for whom? Modern democracy has become formalised into a certain set of rules of the game
which keep ‘the system running’ but are of little use for individuals; thus participation has
grown into a ‘fetish’ which hinders their self-determination rather than promoting it
(Habermas et al. 1961: 15). The value of participation therefore has to be linked – secondly –
to its ‘democratic potential’ which is defined by its contribution to the emergence of ‘true’
democracy. Yet since German ‘critical theory’ has been concerned more with the critique of
given circumstances than with designing alternatives we do not learn much about the features
of a democracy which has progressed from the merely formal and liberal one to one that is
‘material’ as well as social - not much beyond its qualification as a system of government
which applies societal resources to satisfy the needs of all instead of the interests of the few
(op.cit.: 55), that is. Nor can the adequate participatory contributions to further such an end be
specified: when there is ‘no real life within the wrong one’ (Adorno 1951: 42) and when,
consequently, no ‘right’ participation within the ‘wrong’ democracy is imaginable, how then
can one devise the right contributions beforehand ...? In this line of argument, there is no
place for the assessment of the subjective value of participation of the individual itself.

Thirdly, leftist scepticism meets conservative distrust where the competence of citizens is
concerned. Even when realistic enough not to expect too much of them one will still be sadly
disappointed by their lack of information as well as of normative foundations of judgment.
Worst of all: citizens do not spare a thought for the consequences of their decisions. All this
renders the legitimatory effect of their participation in decisions aimed at the promotion of the
common good extremely dubious (Offe 1984: 162). It follows that citizen participation does
not even serve the ends of day-to-day politics: that decisions provide effective solutions for
society’s problems. If they did it were by sheer accident, but more likely they would be
detrimental for the good of all.

b. The faulty individual

Individual autonomy

Taken as the potential subject of true democracy the individual is lamentably deficient
theoretically as well as empirically. More object than subject he has ‘lost his autonomy’

9
(Adorno 1951: 39 p.): ‘In many people is already an impudence merely to say ‘I”.’ (op. cit.:
57).

Autonomy ‘presupposes the ability to determine one’s own life: that one is capable of
deciding what to do and what not to do, what to suffer and what not to suffer’ (Marcuse 1967:
98). Furthermore, with respect to democratic participation the individual has to be able ‘to
consider and to choose on the basis of knowledge’; he must have ‘access to truthful
informations’ the assessment of which must rest ‘on autonomous thought’ (op. cit.: 106). The
modern individual lacks all these qualities because he is the object of institutional and other
restraints and of manipulation and advertising; because he is mediated by political parties and
other organisations; and, most of all, because as a voter and as a consumer he is nonetheless
isolated and as such not in a position to comprehend the true nature of class society. Anyway,
‘the subject of autonomy never is the contingent, private individual ...; instead it is the
individual as the human being that is capable of being free in accord with others’ (op. cit.:
98). This sounds as if the lack of autonomy in the empirical individual does not necessarily
matter so much, after all. It remains dubious who or what could take his place as the ‘subject
of autonomy’, then.

Of course, the deficiencies detected in the great majority of people are no fault of their own
but have to be laid at the door of the circumstances they live in. This implies that the defects
cannot be remedied individually (op. cit.: 105). Yet minorities exist who are believed to be
capable of self-enlightenment – such as social scientists (!) or the ‘student avantgarde’ who in
1967, apparently, grew into the role of the (collective) ‘revolutionary individual’ (Brückner
1967: 108). Some time later, Habermas found another surrogate ‘subject of autonomy’ when
he filled the space emptied by the discerning ‘public of deliberating private persons’
(Habermas 1962) of bygone days with ‘a higher form of the inter-subjectivity of
communication processes’ in the shape of the ‘subject-less communications’ in the various
arenas in which public opinion is formed (Habermas 1994: 362 p.). While, in theory, every
citizen has access to such arenas, the results of those communications confront him as a
‘subject-less subject’ and thus as alien to himself, all the same: the ‘subject-less
communications’ constitute a sphere of reason, aloof and separated from empirical
individuals.

Right and wrong preferences

The empirical individual is not only lacking in competence and autonomy. Furthermore, the
preferences he articulates are not of the kind to be taken seriously. They are flawed in a
twofold way: by missing the ‘general interest’ and by originating in ‘false consciousness’.
Unfortunately it is impossible to determine, beforehand, what the general interests in a
specific situation are – not least because (eg) class interests become manifest only in the
context of actual class struggles and that means post festum (Offe 1972: 90). If one cannot
judge upon the ‘true’ or ‘wrong’ of interests nor upon their coincidence with the general
interest the moment when they are actually propagated, the obvious conclusion would be to
accept them at their face value for the time being instead of treating them as irrelevant at
once. But the path to this conclusion is barred by the sweeping suspicion of ‘false
consciousness’. We know (don’t we) that the prevalent lack of freedom is mirrored, very
specifically, in people’s wants: Usually addressed to the spheres of distribution and
consumption their satisfaction will invariably stabilise the existing conditions of oppression;
not autonomously but heteronomously formed they can be instrumentalised in the interest of
class authority any time.

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Majority decisions based on such wrong preferences lack the legitimatory force democratic
rule allegedly builds upon (Offe 1984). What is more, majorities ‘forced into line’ in this
fashion cannot be considered legitimate themselves (Marcuse 1967: 105). The assumption of
legitimacy is reserved for enlightened and, if need be, revolutionary minorities who – in
contrast to outward appearances - do not ‘lack the population in whose interest they act when
they defend a better conception of society against an ... unreasonable status quo; instead, the
population lacks the consciousness of itself’ (Brückner 1967: 108). Put less radically, this line
of argument leads to the notion of the ‘advocatory role of critical social theory’ which, by dint
of a ‘vicariously simulated discourse’ between various groups, will find out what the
‘generalisable interests’ are (Habermas 1973: 161).

For not the ideal of a democratic reconciliation of interests is wrong: wrong are the interests
which are distorted ‘by manipulation, intimidation, incapacitation, and misleading’ (Offe
1972: 133); while, on the other hand, the truly generalisable interests are frequently
suppressed (Habermas 1973: 153 pp.). The only conclusion to be drawn from this sad state of
affairs is that interests had better legitimise themselves before they are admitted to processes
of negotiation and reconciliation. Only as generalisable ones are they legitimately brought to
the fore in a true democracy. This stipulation runs counter the current model of ‘bottom-up
aggregation of individual preferences through voting and referendums’ (Offe 1995: 118) and
deeply discredits it. Its results cannot be accepted, least of all in cases when ‘interests of
citizens are positively or negatively affected in such a way that one cannot sufficiently rely
upon citizens’ capability of weighing them in a distanced manner’ (Offe 1992: 140). When
citizens are ‘beset by passions’ (Offe 1995: 118) they will not be ready nor able ‘to place
themselves under an ‘auto-paternalistic” reservation’; and when the ‘interest of reason’ is thus
neglected democratic participation will become ‘extremely risky’ (Offe 1992: 141).

c. The futility of democracy

Most of this sounds like a case for re-education. Can people be trained to be ‘auto-
paternalistic’, to develop enlightened preferences, to shed heteronomy? Self-enlightenment is
deemed to be improbable next to impossible, particularly in the case of workers who do not,
any longer, on the basis of their own experience develop a proper consciousness of the
antagonisms of capitalist society; for this, they need to be taken by the hand by enlightened
elites (Müller/Neusüß 1970: 27 p.). Whatever the estimates on the likely success of such a
project – the question is whether is does indeed make sense: can the re-education of citizens
transform capitalist society into a better and freer one?

As we have seen above Marx was sceptical. Any attempt to establish a ‘true’ democracy,
governed by reason as well as the legitimate interests of the masses, instead of by economic
powers, would have the inevitable result of leading the capitalist class into battle even against
their own (and merely formal) bourgeois democracy; they would not stand by and
dispassionately watch how their power was wrenched from their hands. Democracy, so his
verdict, can only exist as a sham, or it will cease to exist altogether. Hence democracy (as
well as the ‘social state’) is an illusion, really.

What is the choice?

The reality of modern mass democracy corroborates Marx’ analysis – or so the conviction of
the German left – to a high degree. Its existence is not endangered but only because none of
its actors endanger the supreme power of capital. Social democracy and petty bourgeois

11
organisations (in Marx’ terms) merely put up mock battles with the bourgeoisie.
Consequently, political parties do not substantially differ in their programmes but lead the
alleged meaning of party competition ad absurdum; least of all are designs for an alternative
society on offer. In the 1960s, the SPD was made a prime object of criticism because it had,
step by step, renounced its proper role as a ‘true’ (and socialist) opposition and adapted to the
ruling Volkspartei CDU, a process which was described to result in consensus in the ‘norm-
less notion of stability’ (Narr 1966: 237). As Marx had foreseen, the parliamentarisation of
the left thus had once more proved to be one of the major causes for the survival of capitalism
(Agnoli 1967: 75). But all parliamentary parties taken together had transformed into ‘etatist
associations’ and now operated as ‘(class) agents of ‘conservation” since they pretended to
know no classes but merely ‘people”’ (op.cit.: 34). Political participation had become
‘neutralised’ for parties were interchangeable; they formed the ‘plural version of the single
party’ (as found in totalitarian regimes) and thus provided a guarantee that whoever won an
election would not undertake major alterations in the existing set-up (op.cit.: 39 p.).

Obviously, little choice was left for voters. The conclusion was the more daunting since most
of the relevant authors had, at the time, read Downs whose Economic Theory of Democracy
described as a law what one was just experiencing; the ‘plural version of the one-party
system’, then, was not an aberration but the logical consequence of party competition itself.
One would have to go on living with the fact that party competition had degenerated into the
mere contest between ‘heads and emotions’ and between marketing strategies in which the
best advertising campaign would win the day (Abromeit 1972: 33-43). The more successful
these campaigns the more heteronomous was the ‘democratic formation of opinion’ stipulated
in the German constitutional system: the ‘formation of will’ was other-directed and therefore
pseudo-democratic. It liberated politicians from control, too: instead of being obliged to
justify their actions at the end of the parliamentary term they would just embark on a new
advertising campaign. Thus the major function of the act of voting was reduced to the
‘calming effect’ which consisted in the outward appearance that ‘the people themselves had
expressed a will’ which, however, was ‘not one of their own’; and in expressing it they
merely demonstrated how pointless any alteration in the allocation of political power really
was (Offe 1984: 161).

Voting and pseudo-legitimation

Considering what has been said above on behalf of the false consciousness of citizens in the
throngs of ‘consumer culture’ the degeneration of party competition might be deemed not so
very harmful, after all. If the ‘popular will’ is fallible, error-prone, and likely to be
manipulated, anyway, and if political decisions based on this will are more than likely to be
wrong and detrimental – why moan about circumstances in which the ‘experts’ at the top of
parties and bureaucracies take their decisions without being restrained by it?

Yet the point made was that the observed mal-functioning of party democracy did not offer
even the smallest chance for voters to decide other than ‘wrongly’, with respect to their
preferences which by sheer accident might just for once be ‘true’ ones. Any election result
was devoid of substantial meaning and legitimising effect: the winners coming into office
might as well have been brought there by tossing the dice (Offe 1984: 161). Empirical voter
majorities were no more than ‘numerical indicators’ for the firmness of the grip of political
elites over their supporters (ibid.). Consequently, decisions taken by these elites and by
parliamentary majorities wholly lacked ‘political authority’ (op.cit.: 157); not even in the
purely formal sense could these be deemed legitimate. Irrespective of whether or not the
electorate saw through the deceit the political system as such had run into a state of objective

12
and permanent (if latent) legitimatory crisis. The ‘minimum of manifest assent and loyalty’
indispensable for system stability no longer was reliably generated by legitimatory
mechanisms thus reduced to their barest minimum (Offe 1972: 60).

The conclusion reads quite dramatic – the more so when considering that even in its reduced
shape democracy is still a double-edged thing. Although political participation by the masses
does not, by a long chalk, guarantee that the interests of the masses find their way into public
policies, the parliamentary system does offer the (however unlikely) opportunity ‘to transfer
the basic conflict onto the level of government and to fight the class struggle with the means
of the state’ (Agnoli 1967: 27). The only requirement was that the masses vote in the right
way. In that case they would try and push redistribution, the ‘social state’ and other such nice
achievements.

But the ‘social state’ is an illusion (Müller/Neusüß 1970). It rests on the illusion of equality of
all ‘owners of sources of revenue’, in general, and on the illusion that equivalents are
exchanged between workers and capital owners, in particular. Basically, it is marked by the
erroneous belief that governments intervene in economic processes because citizens demand
them to do so, instead of doing so because of the specific part they are obliged to play in the
protection of processes of capital exploitation. The laws and necessities ruling these processes
are none of their making and therefore taboo; and that is why the ‘social state’ has not at its
disposal the resources that might be redistributed between classes. On the other hand, in order
to attend to its duties towards capital the state needs resources of its own; in particular, and
both in the interest of its own survival and of that of the capitalist class (and as mentioned
above) it is in need of the ‘generation of legitimacy’ (Abromeit 1976: 18). Democracy’s
raison d’etre, in the days of late capitalism, boils down to the preservation of mass loyalty
which is the major reason why democracy (contrary to Marx’ expectations) is still deemed
worth maintaining. Only because of this specific value of democracy capital as well as the
(capitalist) state put up with it and feel obliged, ‘however partially and selectively, to react to
the manifest wants of the masses’ and to keep up ‘the semblance of democratically
legitimised government’ (Hirsch 1974: 119). And this is why democracy even now may still
prove double-edged: in offering the chance that by dint of political participation and of voting
in the proper way (as well as by perseverance) the working classes might for once succeed in
slackening the grip of capital on governments and in loosening the restraints under which they
labour. They may, in fact, bring about a ‘relative autonomy’ of democratic politics.

This goes to show how important it is for the masses to develop the right preferences and to
arrive at the right voting decisions. But opinions as to the likelihood of success differed and
pessimistic views prevailed. One of its preconditions would be that the masses stopped being
primarily interested in material benefits which was unlikely to occur except in periods of
continuous growth and wealth, and these are not exactly the times when the class antagonism
becomes so real and painful an experience for (nearly) everyone that dire class struggles are
just round the corner (Abromeit 1976). Furthermore, even if mass interests underwent a long-
term change pointing in the right direction bourgeois politics still possessed sufficient means
to take the sting out of democratically articulated demands for reforms fit to endanger the
basic ‘capital relationship’. The capitalist state had done its best (for instance) firmly to
establish the conviction – formally protected by the judiciary – that property rights are
sacrosanct and not to be tampered with and thus built up barriers to shield a legal space safe
from interference by democratic politics (Offe 1972: 79). Consequently, the ‘democratic will’
could refer only ‘to the societal areas not ruled by the autonomous laws of the economy’
(Blanke 1977: 128).

13
To cut a long argument short: whichever way, there is little hope much to extend the state’s
‘relative autonomy’. Governments’ capacity to act on behalf of the masses will very soon
bump into the unsurmountable borderline marked by the social relationship between capital
and labour (Blanke et al. 1975: 41). ‘When the state interferes with the sources of the surplus
product’ the critical point will be reached where the precarious ‘legitimatory balance’ breaks
down and where bourgeois democracy comes to its end (Blanke 1977: 156 pp.), finally to be
unmasked, once and for all, as futile and as a sham.

4. An old way out of a new dilemma? The ‘deliberative turn’

Under prevailing circumstances ‘true’ democracy is impossible to achieve – or is it? It cannot

be achieved by foul means or fair: not by the revolutionary act (unlikely because of the false
consciousness of the deluded masses) nor by voting for reform (impossible because of the
‘illusion of the social state’). For the authors of the German left of the 1960s and 70s
democracy therefore is connected either with bygone days, something irretrievably lost, or
with a utopia which finds no place in reality. Both stances explain why the picture of a truly
free ‘society of emancipated citizens’ has never been painted in vivid colours but remained in
the haze. They are in line, too, with the German socialist tradition to refrain from describing
in too much detail (if at all) how the future socialist society might be democratically shaped.
The existing capitalist socialist society was so much nearer at hand, its bad features were so
much easier to criticise. In this one respect one might say that empiricism prevailed over
‘grand designs’.

But there is the other, the Kantian tradition of the ‘rule of reason’ which is not empiricist at
all. It is debatable whether a continuous, never extinct undercurrent of leftist thought was
merely revivified or whether resignation prompted the ‘deliberative turn’ which those of the
authors or our sample took who, instead of emigrating into the realms of policy analysis (to
prove in more detail how Marx was right?) or even embarking on the long ‘march through the
(political) institutions’, stuck to social and democratic theory. Surprisingly enough, even this
latter group began to arrange themselves with the given circumstances now no longer named
‘conditions of oppression’. They made it their business to track down, in the midst of the
prevailing structures of society, those elements which might be expected to carry the semen of
the better and truly democratic one. According to this new approach, not the given
circumstances will have to be altered but to some part the institutions and, most of all, the
individuals (or, in other words, with the help of Kant Marx was turned round from his feet to
his head). With the individuals it is of course the preferences which must be worked upon:
they cannot be accepted as given and as exogeneous but need to be purified in public
discursive processes until they attain the status of generalisable ones. The institutions, in their
turn, ought to be re-shaped in a way to make them allow the greatest possible space for the
kind of deliberation which promotes such purification. Of course not all individuals will have
the required discursive faculties at their disposal, in the same way; not all of them will find in
their surroundings the same ideal preconditions which make them fit for deliberation. Hence
the necessity that those who do find their way into the ‘deliberative arenas’ vicariously pass
judgments about whether or not all those affected by a norm (but not present) might have
assented to it had they had the chance adequately to purify their interests. Once one has got so
far it is easy to detect the nucleus of true democracy in existing institutions and processes of
negotiation – an idea Hegel might have been proud of. The real individuals, however, once
more get lost on the way.

14
Yet, this is the snag which makes some authors waver. Systematically to distinguish between
‘ill-considered and well-considered preferences’ is liable to endanger both freedom and
equality. However truly discursive in practice, the deliberative model is ‘vulnerable to the
charge of moralizing elitism’ (Offe 1997: 94 p., 97). But how else is one to conceptualise
‘good’ democracy, empirical preferences being as short-sighted, anti-social, even amoral as
they are? Extended participation, or so it seems, is no solution either. Whichever way,
democracy will amount to nothing more than ‘symbolic gratification’ (Offe 1972: 132); it will
never reach the state of ‘true’ democracy; and to cite the ‘popular will’ will forever be a mere
‘metaphor as sublime as it is risky’ (Offe 1992: 129).

Philosophically inspired democratic thought on the part of the German left – or so it seems –
nowadays either returns to the (more or less) autocratic rule of reason, or makes its peace with
powers that be. Both ways it renounces self-determination and reverts to vicarious action. Or
else it sinks into the deep depression of democratic pessimism.

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