Liberalism’s Retreat, and a Better Liberalism

Liberalism (in the philosophical sense, not the narrow partisan sense) has been the dominant political philosophy of the West since World War II. Its core tenets: individual rights, the rule of law, free speech, free markets to varying degrees, democratic governance, secularism, and so on. After the horrors of fascism and the threat of communism, postwar liberal thinkers became understandably cautious about grand utopian visions. They saw how lofty promises of perfect equality or national glory led to gulags and concentration camps. So, liberalism put on the mantel of restraint - its primary promise was not a heaven on earth, but the prevention of hell on earth.

Philosopher Judith Shklar called this the “liberalism of fear.” Its basic premise: the worst evil is cruelty and oppression, so the first duty of politics is to prevent cruelty. Don’t worry about achieving some ultimate good - just build institutions that stop the worst (tyranny, genocide, torture, etc.). Indeed, Shklar wrote that after the catastrophes of the 20th century, “liberal democracy becomes more a recipe for survival than a project for the perfectibility of mankind.” In plainer terms, liberalism retreated to just guarding the walls against monsters, rather than charting a path to a shining city.

This restraint - focused liberalism was immensely valuable. It led to strong constitutions, checks and balances, human rights charters - guardrails to stop any one ideology or ruler from running amok. Think of how West Germany’s postwar Basic Law was crafted to prevent another Hitler - very much a liberalism of fear response to a specific evil. Or how international institutions (UN, etc.) were built to mediate conflict and protect human rights, again to avoid worst - case outcomes.

However, over decades, this guardrail liberalism also became uninspiring to many. It often sounded like, “You may not get paradise, but at least you won’t get totalitarianism. You’ll get consumer abundance and personal freedom, albeit with some alienation perhaps - but hey, could be worse!” It was, as critics put it, a hollowed - out liberalism, concerned more with procedures than people’s deeper yearnings. People yearn for meaning, solidarity, belonging, and hope - not just the absence of oppression.

By the turn of the 21st century, cracks were showing. The collapse of communism briefly seemed like liberal democracy had triumphed (“end of history” euphoria), but soon ethnic nationalism, religious extremism, and populist anger surged back - in part because liberal technocratic elites often failed to speak to those deeper yearnings. In focusing on what not to do (don’t be racist, don’t violate rights, don’t concentrate power), liberalism sometimes forgot to articulate what to do with our freedom and diversity.

Thus, we see phenomena like young people drawn to explicitly illiberal movements - whether far - right identitarian or far - left revolutionary - because those promise a kind of clarity, purpose, and community that vanilla liberalism did not. As one thinker put it, “People don’t want only to be free from something; they want to be free for something.” Freedom from tyranny is great, but freedom for what ends? To just watch Netflix and buy gadgets? To atomize into our private lives? That’s not enough. Humans seek projects to build and causes to advance.

Postwar liberalism’s fear of utopia meant any grand visionary talk was treated with suspicion. But maybe liberalism can have aspirations without falling into tyranny - a kind of non - utopian idealism. That’s the challenge: to articulate a civic, future - facing liberalism that remains pluralistic (no one truth imposed) but still provides direction and inspiration.

What might a “better liberalism” entail? Here are some facets:

Proud of Pluralism: Instead of seeing pluralism (the coexistence of diverse cultures, beliefs, and lifestyles) as just something to tolerate, a better liberalism would celebrate it as a source of strength and creativity. It would instill a pride in the fact that a free society allows many forms of human flourishing. For example, it could elevate stories of communities working together across differences - like a town where a church, a mosque, and a secular humanist club join to address homelessness. It’s messy, but it’s meaningful. This liberalism’s motto might be “Unity in diversity” - not a shallow kumbaya, but a genuine commitment to managing differences productively. It requires teaching citizens to argue well (as we’ve discussed) but also to appreciate that disagreements, when handled properly, yield better outcomes than enforced uniformity. It’s like biodiversity in an ecosystem - monocultures are brittle; a rich ecosystem is resilient. So, too, with societies.

Serious about Common Purpose: Pluralism doesn’t mean fragmentation; a society still needs common projects. A better liberalism identifies broad goals that people with different values can nonetheless cooperate on. Think of rebuilding infrastructure, combating a pandemic, pioneering space exploration, or revitalizing depressed regions. During the COVID - 19 crisis, many countries floundered because they couldn’t summon collective will (partly due to polarization). But some communities found purpose in mutual aid. A liberal society shouldn’t leave that to chance. It could cultivate civic nationalism or patriotism that’s about building together, not excluding. For example, a national service program could bring young people of all backgrounds to work on environmental or community service projects - giving them a shared mission and exposure to each other. Liberalism at its best always had an element of civic duty (remember John F. Kennedy’s “Ask not what your country can do for you…”). That spirit needs reigniting, but in a modern inclusive way. Policies can reflect this: funding for volunteer corps, public recognition of collaborative achievements, leadership that frames challenges (like climate change or economic inequality) as calls to a common endeavor.

Teaching Citizens to Argue and Build as a Craft: We’ve talked about argument as a civic craft. Similarly, building - whether it’s starting a business, a nonprofit, a community garden, or a new local government initiative - is a civic craft. Liberal societies rely on initiative from the citizenry, not diktats from above. So, a better liberalism invests in civic education that includes practical skills: how to organize a town hall, how to start a cooperative, how to engage government effectively, how to budget for a project. Imagine high schools requiring a community project for graduation - students must identify a local problem, form a team, propose a solution, implement it (even if small - scale), and report results. This trains a generation in problem - solving with others. They learn that politics isn’t just shouting on Twitter; it’s rolling up sleeves with neighbors. And crucially, they learn that compromise and pragmatism often get more done than ideological purity - a lesson that shapes future voters and leaders.

A Policy Tone that’s Optimistic but Real: A better liberalism would change the tone of our policy debates from doom and gloom to “we can fix this.” One critique of contemporary liberal discourse (especially from elites) is it oscillates between scolding (telling people how bad they are for various - isms) and hand - wringing (lamenting problems) - not exactly motivating. What if instead the narrative was, “We have big challenges, but together through reason and goodwill we can tackle them - here’s how you can be part of it”? This might involve more participatory policy - making: citizens’ assemblies that give input on tough issues (some countries have used this for constitutional questions or climate policy). When people see their input matter, they invest hope. The tone of public communication can emphasize success stories: e.g., highlighting a town that overcame partisan divides to improve disaster response, or a bipartisan bill that actually helped veterans (and talking about it not in political point - scoring terms but in human terms). Basically, liberal leaders need to be cheerleaders for the process of democracy, not just managers of it. They must articulate why all this debating and compromising is worth it - because it respects people’s agency and often finds better solutions than diktat.

Neighborhood Life as the Proving Ground: Grand talk of liberal values means little if everyday life feels atomized and cold. A better liberalism pays attention to local community forms. The bowling leagues, libraries, coffee shops, public parks - these are where diverse citizens actually meet and interact. In recent decades, many of these civic spaces have withered (Robert Putnam famously wrote about the decline in “Bowling Alone”). Reviving liberal society means reviving community. Cities can design public spaces to encourage interaction (plazas, community centers). Local governments can support civic clubs, arts, sports, mentorship programs. Not as a nanny state, but as a facilitator of civil society. Why is this “liberalism”? Because liberalism, at heart, values voluntary association - people freely coming together to pursue interests. Alexis de Tocqueville in the 1830s observed that America’s strength was in its penchant for forming associations for every conceivable purpose - that was liberalism in action, as opposed to waiting for a noble or central authority. Today, we let TV and the internet keep us separate and passive too often. Deliberate effort to boost face - to - face community builds trust and empathy, the social capital that a diverse democracy needs. It’s hard to otherize someone you play pickup basketball with or see at the PTA meeting regularly.

This better liberalism isn’t a detailed ideology or platform - it’s more of an ethos. It says: freedom and diversity are wonderful, but they don’t automatically give us a good society; we have to actively cultivate bonds, shared endeavors, and mutual respect. It’s a shift from negative liberty (freedom from interference) to a balance that includes positive liberty (the capacity to act meaningfully in the world). The postwar liberals were so scared of positive liberty (which in extremes led to totalitarian social engineering) that they ceded that terrain entirely. But we can reclaim a modest version of it: enabling individuals to actually participate and shape their destinies together.

Let’s illustrate what this could look like with a policy example and a neighborhood vignette.

Policy Example: Consider the challenge of economic inequality and despair (something Chapter 9 will explore). A fearful liberalism might just say, “We must preserve the free market and just provide a safety net to prevent the worst suffering, but grand redistribution or industrial policy is dangerous.” It would focus on not sliding into socialism, basically. A better liberalism would be bolder: “We have an opportunity to empower every citizen to fulfill their potential. Let’s invest in education, perhaps a universal national service that gives young adults job skills and a chance to serve, let’s create public venture funds for depressed regions to spark entrepreneurship, let’s reform capitalism to be more inclusive (e.g., employee stock ownership incentives).” These are proactive, hopeful measures, not just defensive ones. They still operate within a market democracy framework but aim higher than minimal welfare. They also involve people - e.g., national service brings youth together across class lines in common purpose (military service once partly did this, but a civilian counterpart could as well). The tone is not “eat your broccoli, pay taxes to help the poor” (which can come off as moralistic and joyless) but “join in a nation - building effort where everyone can contribute and benefit.” That slight change in framing, from guilt - driven to aspiration - driven, can make a policy more politically palatable and more inspiring.

Neighborhood Life Scene: Picture a neighborhood that consciously embodies this better liberalism. There’s a community center that hosts weekly forums - one week a book club, another week a “fix - it” workshop where handy folks teach others how to repair appliances (building practical skill and community interdependence). The local police have a civilian advisory board where diverse residents have a say (increasing mutual trust). Schools partner with local businesses and nonprofits to provide internships and volunteering for teens (giving them stake in the community’s future). When a new immigrant family moves in, there’s a neighborhood potluck to welcome them - not mandated by any authority, but because the culture values hospitality. Local social media is used not just for rants but to organize a weekend park clean - up and barbeque, inviting everyone. At the barbeque, you might find the Republican city councilor flipping burgers next to the Democratic activist - and they laugh over something, having worked together on making that park nicer. The issues of national contention don’t vanish, but in that space, people have a tangible sense of togetherness. They see each other as neighbors first, partisan labels second. This is not naive fantasy - I’ve seen glimpses of it in various towns. It takes leaders (formal or informal) who make a point to create these interactions. It takes citizens willing to show up.

How does this tie back to liberalism? It ties back because liberalism, more than just a set of rights, is a practice of living together freely. The better liberalism says: living together freely is an art we have to continually refine. It doesn’t happen automatically by laws or markets - it happens through norms, habits, and creative efforts.

Now, you might wonder: why is this chapter in a book triggered by the death of Karolus Ecclesius and the polemics of free speech? Because it’s all connected. The polarization that made Ecclesius a star and, ultimately, a martyr figure to some, thrives in the soil of liberalism’s perceived weakness. When people don’t feel a positive pull towards common purpose, they’re easily pushed by negative forces of fear and resentment. If liberal society feels like nothing more than a fight between warring tribes (with speech as a weapon), then the loudest tribal leaders (like Ecclesius on campuses, or counterparts on the left) gain outsized influence. But if liberal society feels like a grand collaborative project, those voices lose some allure. They’re no longer the only game in town.

Extremism feeds on disillusionment. A better liberalism offers re - enchantment with the idea of an open society. It’s saying: This is your home, help us make it better, we need you, even if we disagree with you on some things. It’s a patriotic appeal in a sense, but not narrowly nationalist - it can be local patriotism, institutional pride (like being proud of your school’s culture of debate), etc.

Critics might ask, is this still “liberalism”? It sounds almost communitarian or civic republican. But I’d argue it is liberalism’s truest form: recognizing humans as social beings with individuality. Classic liberal John Stuart Mill advocated “experiments in living” and a rich associational life, not just arm’s - length coexistence. And modern thinkers like Michael Sandel (a communitarian critic of raw liberalism) point out the need for shared practices. We can synthesize that with liberal values.

Why did liberalism retreat to guardrails? Out of trauma and caution. Why must it advance now beyond them? Because the challenges we face - climate change, inequality, mental health crises, erosion of trust - require collective action and mutual trust. Guardrails are crucial but they don’t build bridges, they just prevent falls. We now need bridges: between communities, between citizens and government, between the present and a hopeful future. We need reasons for people to choose democracy and freedom beyond “everything else is worse.” Especially as authoritarian powers (China, etc.) rise claiming they deliver progress and stability, liberal democracy must show it can deliver meaning and improvement, not just freedom to be left alone.

In the next (and final) chapter of Part II, we will directly address why our polarization feels so existential - because for many, daily life is a struggle for existence, or at least dignity. We’ll map those material stressors - the tinder of despair - that make people susceptible to narratives of a “rigged system” and even violence. If better liberalism is the proposed direction, we must frankly face what’s driving citizens into corners, feeling hopeless or furious. Economic precarity, health crises, and class divides feed into the sense that everything is a high - stakes war of us vs. them.

We’ll discuss how addressing those concrete issues - providing stability, belonging, and fairness - can reduce the heat in our politics. It’s not a magic bullet; humans will always have conflicts. But it can lower the temperature from existential to normal. People who have some security and hope are less prone to accept “ends justify means” extremism or to see every political defeat as apocalypse.

So, as we leave the realm of ideals and ethos, we enter the realm of lived reality for millions: why do so many Americans (and others in liberal societies) feel that the system is stacked against them? Why the despair, dropping life expectancy, rising suicide and addiction rates in an era of technological plenty? We must name those problems honestly, show compassion for those suffering, and illustrate how they fuel the narrative battles we’ve been examining.

By bridging back to speech at the end, we’ll see that the fights over free speech, truth, and narrative are so bitter partly because underlying conditions are so tough. Fix the conditions even modestly, and debates become less about survival and more about policy.

With that, let’s dive into the fires burning at the base of our civic life - and how tending to them can help heal our divisions.