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Citizenship

The Library of Contemporary Essays in Political Theory and Public Policy Series Editors: Richard Bellamy and Antonino Palumbo Titles in the Series: Citizenship

Richard Bellamy and Antonino Palumbo

From Government to Governance

Richard Bellamy and Antonino Palumbo

Political Accountability

Richard Bellamy and Antonino Palumbo

Public Ethics

Richard Bellamy and Antonino Palumbo

Citizenship

Edited by

Richard Bellamy University College London, UK

Antonino Palumbo Palermo University, Italy

First published 2010 by Ashgate Publishing Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon 0X14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint o f the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business Copyright © Richard Bellamy and Antonino Palumbo 2010. For copyright of individual articles please refer to the Acknowledgements. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Wherever possible, these reprints are made from a copy of the original printing, but these can themselves be of very variable quality. Whilst the publisher has made every effort to ensure the quality of the reprint, some variability may inevitably remain. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Citizenship. - (Library of contemporary essays in political theory and public policy) 1. Citizenship. I. Series II. Bellamy, Richard (Richard Paul) III. Palumbo, Antonino. 323.6-dc22 Library of Congress Control Number: 2009934253 ISBN 9780754628125 (hbk)

Contents A cknowledgem ents Series Preface Introduction The Importance and Nature o f Citizenship by Richard Bellamy PART I

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THE HISTORY AND THEORIES OF CITIZENSHIP - WHAT IS CITIZENSHIP?

History 1 J.G.A. Pocock (1992), ‘The Ideal of Citizenship Since Classical Times’, Queen’s Quarterly, 99, pp. 33-55. 2 Michael Mann (1987), ‘Ruling Class Strategies and Citizenship’, Sociology, 21, pp. 339-54. General Theories 3 Will Kymlicka and Wayne Norman (1994), ‘Return of the Citizen: A Survey of Recent Work on Citizenship Theory’, Ethics, 104, pp. 352-81. 4 Bryan S. Turner (1990), ‘Outline of a Theory of Citizenship’, Sociology, 24, pp. 189-217.

3 27 43 73

PART II RIGHTS - WHICH RIGHTS? 5 Desmond S. King and Jeremy Waldron (1988), ‘Citizenship, Social Citizenship and the Defence of Welfare Provision’, British Journal o f Political Science, 18, pp. 415^3. 6 Jeremy Waldron (1993), ‘A Right-Based Critique of Constitutional Rights’, Oxford Journal o f Legal Studies, 13, pp. 18-51.

105 135

PART III MEMBERSHIP - WHO BELONGS? Feminist Theories of Citizenship 7 Mary G. Dietz (1985), ‘Citizenship with a Feminist Face: The Problem with Maternal Thinking’, Political Theory, 13, pp. 19-37. 8 Anne Phillips (1992), ‘Must Feminists Give Up on Liberal Democracy?’, Political Studies, 40, pp. 68-82. Multicultural Citizenship 9 Iris Marion Young (1989), ‘Polity and Group Difference: A Critique of the Ideal of Universal Citizenship’, Ethics, 99, pp. 250-74. 10 Amy Gutmann (1995), ‘Civic Education and Social Diversity’, Ethics, 105, pp. 557-79.

171 191 207 233

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Immigration and Admission to Citizenship

11 Joseph H. Carens (1987), ‘Aliens and Citizens: The Case for Open Borders’, Review o f Politics, 49, pp. 251-73. 12 David Miller (2008), ‘Immigrants, Nations, and Citizenship’, Journal o f Political Philosophy, 16, pp. 371-90.

257 281

PART IV POLITICAL PARTICIPATION - WHAT DUTIES?

13 Adrian Oldfield (1990), ‘Citizenship: An Unnatural Practice?’, Political Quarterly, 61, pp. 177-87. 14 Russell J. Dalton (2008), ‘Citizenship Norms and the Expansion of Political Participation’, Political Studies, 56, pp. 76-98. PART V

303 315

BEYOND NATIONAL CITIZENSHIP - WHERE ARE WE CITIZENS?

The Case of the EU

15 Jürgen Habermas (1992), ‘Citizenship and National Identity: Some Reflections on the Future of Europe’, Praxis International, 12, pp. 1-19. 16 Andrew Linklater (1996), ‘Citizenship and Sovereignty in the Post-Westphalian State’, European Journal o f International Relations, 2, pp. 77-103. 17 Seyla Benhabib (2002), ‘Transformations of Citizenship: The Case of Contemporary Europe’, Government and Opposition, 37, pp. 439-65. 18 Richard Bellamy (2008), ‘Evaluating Union Citizenship: Belonging, Rights and Participation within the EU’, Citizenship Studies , 12, pp. 597-611.

Environmental Citizenship

341 361 389 417

19 Simon Hailwood (2005), ‘Environmental Citizenship as Reasonable Citizenship’, Environmental Politics, 14, pp. 195-210. 20 Andrew Mason (2008), ‘Environmental Obligations and the Limits of Transnational Citizenship’, Political Studies, 57, pp. 280-97.

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Name Index

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Acknowledgements The editor and publishers wish to thank the following for permission to use copyright material. Cambridge University Press for the essay: Desmond S. King and Jeremy Waldron (1988), ‘Citizenship, Social Citizenship and the Defence of Welfare Provision’, British Journal of Political Science, 18, pp. 415^3. Oxford University Press for the essay: Jeremy Waldron (1993), ‘A Right-Based Critique of Constitutional Rights’, Oxford Journal o f Legal Studies, 13, pp. 18-51. Copyright © 1993 Oxford University Press. J.G.A. Pocock for the essay: J.G.A. Pocock (1992), ‘The Ideal of Citizenship Since Classical Times’, Queen’s Quarterly, 99, pp. 33-55. The editors of The Review o f Politics, University of Notre Dame for the essay: Joseph H. Carens (1987), ‘Aliens and Citizens: The Case for Open Borders’, Review o f Politics, 49, pp. 251-73. Sage Publications for the essays: Michael Mann (1987), ‘Ruling Class Strategies and Citizenship’, Sociology, 21, pp. 339-54. Copyright © 1987 British Sociological Association; Bryan S. Turner (1990), ‘Outline of a Theory of Citizenship’, Sociology, 24, pp. 189-217; Mary G. Dietz (1985), ‘Citizenship with a Feminist Face: The Problem with Maternal Thinking’, Political Theory, 13, pp. 19-37. Copyright © 1985 Sage Publications, Inc.; Andrew Linklater (1996), ‘Citizenship and Sovereignty in the Post-Westphalian State’, European Journal of International Relations, 2, pp. 77-103. Taylor & Francis for the essays: Simon Hailwood (2005), ‘Environmental Citizenship as Reasonable Citizenship’, Environmental Politics, 14, pp. 195-210. Copyright © 2005 Taylor & Francis; Richard Bellamy (2008), ‘Evaluating Union Citizenship: Belonging, Rights and Participation within the E U , Citizenship Studies, 12, pp. 597-611. Copyright © 2008 Taylor & Francis The University of Chicago Press for the essays: Will Kymlicka and Wayne Norman (1994), ‘Return of the Citizen: A Survey of Recent Work on Citizenship Theory’, Ethics, 104, pp. 352-81. Copyright © 1994 The University of Chicago. All rights reserved; Iris Marion Young (1989), ‘Polity and Group Difference: A Critique of the Ideal of Universal Citizenship’, Ethics, 99, pp. 250-74. Copyright © 1989 The University of Chicago. All rights reserved; Amy Gutmann (1995), ‘Civic Education and Social Diversity’, Ethics, 105, pp. 557-79. Copyright © 1995 The University of Chicago. All rights reserved.

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Wiley-Blackwell for the essays: Anne Phillips (1992), ‘Must Feminists Give Up on Liberal Democracy?’, Political Studies, 40, pp. 68-82. Copyright © 1992 Political Studies; David Miller (2008), ‘Immigrants, Nations, and Citizenship’, Journal o f Political Philosophy, 16, pp. 371-90. Copyright © 2008 David Miller and Blackwell Publishing Ltd; Adrian Oldfield (1990), ‘Citizenship: An Unnatural Practice?’, Political Quarterly, 61, pp. 177-87; Russell J. Dalton (2008), ‘Citizenship Norms and the Expansion of Political Participation’, Political Studies, 56, pp. 76-98. Copyright © 2008 Russell J. Dalton; Jürgen Habermas (1992), ‘Citizenship and National Identity: Some Reflections on the Future of Europe’, Praxis International, 12, pp. 1-19; Seyla Benhabib (2002), ‘Transformations of Citizenship: The Case of Contemporary Europe’, Government and Opposition, 37, pp. 439-65; Andrew Mason (2008), ‘Environmental Obligations and the Limits of Transnational Citizenship’, Political Studies, 57, pp. 280-97. Copyright © 2008 Andrew Mason. Every effort has been made to trace all the copyright holders, but if any have been inadvertently overlooked the publishers will be pleased to make the necessary arrangement at the first opportunity.

Series Preface The normative appraisal of public policy - both the process of policy-making and the substance of the policies themselves - is becoming ever more salient for politicians, public officials, citizens and the academics who study them. On the one hand, the wider population is better informed than ever before about the activities of those that govern them and the consequences of their decisions. As societies have become more wealthy, so the expectations of citizens have grown and with it their tendency to criticise those who work on their behalf. On the other hand, though committed to the ideal of democracy, these same citizens have become ever more disillusioned with its actual working as a means for holding politicians and bureaucrats to account. In part, that disillusionment reflects the shift from government to governance both within and beyond the state, which has weakened or dispersed in complex ways the responsibility of politicians for many key areas of public policy. In part, it also reflects the desire for citizens for more individually tailored and particularistic forms of accountability that address their specific concerns rather than those of the collective welfare. As a result, a whole new machinery for standard setting and monitoring political behaviour has developed. The purpose of this series is to explore and assess the normative implications of this development, appraising the efficacy and legitimacy of the procedures and mechanisms used, and the outcomes they aim to achieve. These issues lie at the heart of many of the most exciting new areas of research and teaching in moral and political philosophy, politics, international relations and public administration, and law and jurisprudence. The essays chosen reflect this disciplinary mix and the interdisciplinary work that has arisen in this area as a result. The volumes will be suitable for Masters and Professional courses in public policy, political theory and international relations; jurisprudence, international and public law; and applied ethics and political philosophy; as well as a useful resource for scholars doing research or those teaching in these areas.

RICHARD BELLAMY Professor o f Political Science and Director of the School of Public Policy, UCL, University o f London ANTONINO PALUMBO Ricercatore in Political Philosophy, Palermo University

Introduction THE IMPORTANCE AND NATURE OF CITIZENSHIP1 Interest in citizenship has never been higher. Politicians of all stripes stress its importance, as do church leaders, captains of industry and every kind of campaigning group - from those supporting global causes, such as tackling world poverty, to others with a largely local focus, such as combating neighbourhood crime. Governments across the world have promoted the teaching of citizenship in schools and universities, and introduced citizenship tests for immigrants seeking to become naturalized citizens. Types of citizenship proliferate continuously, from dual and transnational citizenship, to corporate citizenship and global citizenship. Whatever the problem - be it a decline in voting, increased teenage pregnancies or climate change - someone has canvassed the revitalization of citizenship as part of the solution. The sheer variety and range of these different uses of citizenship can be somewhat baffling. Historically, citizenship has been linked to the privileges of membership of a particular kind of political community - one in which those who enjoy a certain status are entitled to participate on an equal basis with their fellow citizens in making the collective decisions that regulate social life. In other words, citizenship has gone hand in hand with political participation in some form of democracy - most especially, the right to vote. The various new forms of citizenship are often put forward as alternatives to this traditional account with its narrow political focus. Yet, though justified in some respects, to expand citizenship too much, so that it comes to encompass people’s rights and duties in all their dealings with others, potentially obscures its important and distinctive role as a specific kind of political relationship. Citizenship is different not only to other types of political affiliation, such as subjecthood in monarchies or dictatorships, but also to other kinds of social relationship, such as being a parent, a friend, a partner, a neighbour, a colleague or a customer. Over time, the nature of the democratic political community and the qualities needed to be a citizen has changed. The city-states of ancient Greece, which first gave rise to the notion of citizenship, were quite different to the ancient Roman republic or the city-states of renaissance Italy, and all differed tremendously from the nation-states that emerged in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries and that still provide the primary context for citizenship today. In large part, the contemporary concern with citizenship can be seen as reflecting the view that we are currently witnessing a further transformation of political community, and so of citizenship, produced by the twin and related impacts of globalization and multiculturalism. In different ways, these two social processes are testing the capacity of nation-states to coordinate and define the collective lives of their citizens, altering the very character of citizenship along the way. 1 This introduction draws on Ch. 1 of Richard Bellamy (2008), Citizenship: A Very Short Introduction, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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These developments and their consequences for citizenship provide the central theme of this collection. The rest of this introduction sets the scene and lays out the collection’s rationale. I shall start by looking at why citizenship is important and needs to be understood in political terms, then move on to a more precise definition of citizenship, and conclude by noting some of the challenges it faces - both in general, and in the specific circumstances confronting contemporary societies. Why Political Citizenship? Citizenship has traditionally referred to a particular set of political practices involving specific public rights and duties with respect to a given political community. Broadening its meaning to encompass human relations generally detracts from the importance of the distinctively political tasks citizens perform to shape and sustain the collective life of the community. Without doubt, the commonest and most crucial of these tasks is involvement in the democratic process - primarily by voting, but also by speaking out, campaigning in various ways and standing for office. Whether citizens participate or not, the fact that they can do colours how they regard their other responsibilities, such as abiding by those democratically passed laws they disagree with, paying taxes, doing military service and so on. It also provides the most effective mechanism for them to promote the collective interests and encourage political rulers to pursue the public’s good rather than their own. Democratic citizenship is as rare as it is important. At present, only around 120 of the world’s countries, or approximately 64 per cent of the total, are electoral democracies in the meaningful sense of voters having a realistic chance of changing the incumbent government for a set of politicians more to their taste. Indeed, a mere 22 of the world’s existing democracies have been continuously democratic in this sense for a period of 50 years or more. And though the number of working democracies has steadily if slowly grown since the Second World War, voter turnout in established democracies has experienced an equally slow but steady decline. For example, turn out in the United States in the period 1945 to 2005 decreased by 13.8 per cent from a high of 62.8 per cent of eligible voters in 1960 to a low of 49.00 per cent in 1996, and in the UK went down by 24.2 per cent from a high of 83.6 per cent in 1950 to a low of 59.4 per cent in 2001. True, as elsewhere, both countries have experienced considerable fluctuations between highs and lows over the last 60 years depending on how contested or important voters felt the election to be, while in some countries voting levels have remained extremely robust, with Sweden experiencing a comparatively very modest low of 77.4 per cent in 1958 and a staggering high of 91.8 per cent in 1976. The downward trend is nevertheless undeniable. Yet, despite citizens expressing increasing dissatisfaction with the democratic arrangements of their country, they continue to approve of democracy itself. The World Values Survey of 2000-2002 found that 89 per cent of respondents in the US regarded democracy as a ‘good system of government’ and 87 per cent the ‘best’ in the sense of ‘the best available’, while in the UK 87 per cent thought it ‘good’ and 78 per cent the ‘best’ (in Sweden it was 97 per cent and 94 per cent respectively). Interestingly, the proportions who find it ‘good’ have begun to decline slightly even as those who designate it the ‘best available’ have slightly increased, thereby suggesting that disenchantment with actual democracy may reflect a more critical appraisal of the reality against the ideal. Whatever the perceived or genuine shortcomings of most democratic systems, though, most members of democratic

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countries seem to accept that democracy matters and that it is the prospect of influencing government policy according to reasonably fair rules and on a more or less equal basis with others that forms the distinguishing mark of the citizen. In those countries where people lack this crucial opportunity they are at best guests and at worst mere subjects - many, getting on for 40 per cent of the world’s population, of authoritarian and oppressive regimes. Why is being able to vote so crucial, and how does it relate to all the other qualities and benefits that are commonly associated with citizenship? All but anarchists believe that we need some sort of stable political framework to regulate social and economic life, along with various political institutions - such as a bureaucracy, a legal system, courts, a police force and army - to formulate and implement the necessary regulations. At a bare minimum, this framework will seek to preserve our bodies and property from physical harm by others and provide clear and reasonably stable conditions for all the various forms of social interaction which most individuals find to some degree unavoidable - be it travelling on the roads, buying and selling goods and labour, or marriage and co-habitation. Many people believe we need more than this bare minimum, but few doubt that in a society of any complexity we require at least these elements and that only a political community with properties similar to those we now associate with a state is going to provide them. The social and moral dispositions that increasingly have come to be linked to citizenship, such as good neighbourliness, are certainly all important supplements to any political framework, no matter how extensive. Rules and regulations cannot cover everything, and their being followed cannot depend on coercion alone. If people only acted in a socially responsible way because they feared being punished otherwise, it would be necessary to create a police state of totalitarian scope to preserve social order - a remedy potentially far worse than the disorder it seeks to prevent. But we cannot simply rely on people acting well either. It is not just that some people may take advantage of the goodness of others. Humans are also fallible creatures, possessing limited knowledge and reasoning power, and with the best will in the world are likely to err or disagree. Most complex problems raise a range of moral concerns, some of which may conflict, while the chain of cause and effect that produced them, and the likely consequences of any decisions we make to solve them, can all be very hard if not impossible to know for sure. Imagine if there were no highway code or traffic regulations and we had to coordinate with other drivers simply on the basis of all possessing good judgement and behaving civilly and responsibly towards others. Even if everyone acts conscientiously, there will be situations, such as blind comers or complicated interchanges, where we just lack the information to make competent judgements because it is impossible to second guess with any certainty what others might decide to do. Political regulation, say by installing traffic lights, in this and similar cases, coordinates our interactions in ways that allow us to know where we stand with regard to others. In areas such as commerce, for example, that means we can enter into agreements and plan ahead with a degree of confidence. Now any reasonably stable and efficient political framework, even one presided over by a ruthless tyrant, will provide us some of these benefits. For example, think of the increased uncertainty and insecurity suffered by many Iraqi citizens as a result of the lack of an effective political order following the toppling of Saddam Hussein. However, those possessing no great wealth, power or influence, the vast majority of people in other words, will not be satisfied with just any framework. They will want one that applies to all - including the government - and treats everyone impartially and as equals, no matter how rich or important they may

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be. In particular, they will want its provisions to provide a just basis for all to enjoy the freedom to pursue their lives as they choose on equal terms with everyone else, and in so far as is compatible with their having a reasonable amount of personal security through the maintenance of an appropriate degree of social and political stability. And a necessary, if not always a sufficient, condition for ensuring the laws and policies of a political community possess these characteristics is that the country is a working electoral democracy and that citizens participate in making it so. Apart from anything else, political involvement helps citizens shape what this framework should look like. People are likely to disagree about what equality, freedom and security involve and the best policies to support them in given circumstances. Democracy offers the potential for citizens to debate these issues on roughly equal terms and to come to some appreciation of each other’s views and interests. It also promotes government that is responsive to their evolving concerns and changing conditions by giving politicians an incentive to rule in ways that reflect and advance not their own interests but those of most citizens. The logic is simple, even if the practice often is not: if politicians consistently ignore citizens or prove incompetent, they will eventually lose office. Moreover, in a working democracy, where parties regularly alternate in power, a related incentive exists for citizens to listen to each other. Not only will very varied groups of citizens need to form alliances to build an electoral majority, often making compromises in the process, but they also will be aware that the composition of any future winning coalition is likely to shift and could exclude them. So the winners always have reason to be respectful of the needs and views of the losers. At its best, democratic citizenship comes in this way to promote a degree of equity and reciprocity among citizens. For example, suppose the electorate contains 30 per cent who want higher pensions, 40 per cent wanting to lower taxes, 60 per cent desiring more roads, 30 per cent who want more trains, 60 per cent supporting lower carbon emissions, 30 per cent who oppose abortion, 60 per cent who want better funded hospitals, 30 per cent who desire improved schools, 20 per cent who want more houses built and 35 per cent who support hunting. I have made up these figures, but the distribution of support across a given range of political issues is not unlike what you find in most democracies. Now, note how several policies are likely to prove incompatible with each other - spending more on one thing will mean spending less on another, improving hospitals may mean less spending on roads or schools, and so on. Note too how it is unlikely that any person or group will find themselves consistently in the majority or the minority on all issues - the minority who support hunting, say, are unlikely to overlap entirely with the minority who oppose abortion or the minority who want more houses. So I may be in a minority so far as my views on abortion are concerned and a majority when it comes to fox hunting, in a minority on schooling and a majority on roads and so on. And each time I will be allied with a slightly different group of people. Meanwhile, even where people broadly agree on an issue, they may disagree strongly about which policy best resolves it. So, a majority - say 60 per cent - may agree we need to lower carbon emissions, but still disagree about how to do so - 30 per cent may favour nuclear energy, 30 per cent wind power, 20 per cent measures for reducing the use of cars, 20 per cent more green taxes and so on. As a result, most people may in fact support very few policies that enjoy outright majority support - they will mainly be in different minorities alongside partly overlapping but often distinct groups of people. If a party wants to build a working majority, therefore, it will have to construct a coalition of minorities across a broad spectrum of issues and policies and arrange trade-offs

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between them. That makes it probable that most people will like some bits of the programmes of opposing parties and dislike other bits: a US voter might prefer the attitude towards abortion of most Democrats and the economic policies of most Republicans, say, and a UK voter the health policies of Labour and the EU policies of Conservatives. They will cast their vote on the basis of a preponderance of things they like or dislike, appropriately weighted for what they regard as most important. Over time, as issues and attitudes change, party fortunes are likely to wax and wane and with them the extent to which the preferred policies of any individual voter coincide with a majority or a minority. One person, one vote means that each person’s preferences get treated in an equitable fashion, while the need for parties to address a range of people’s views within their programmes forces citizens to practice a degree of mutual toleration and accommodation of each other’s interests and concerns. One can imagine circumstances where you could enjoy an equitable political framework without being a citizen. If someone is holidaying abroad in a stable democratic state, she will generally benefit from many of the advantages of its legal system and public services in much the same way as its citizens. The laws upholding most of her civil liberties will be identical, offering her similar rights to theirs against violent assault or fraud, say, and to a fair trial in the event that she is involved in such crimes. Likewise, she shall have many of the same obligations as a citizen and will have to obey those laws that concern her, such as speed limits if she is driving a car, paying sales tax on many goods and so on. Most of the non-legally prescribed social duties that have become associated with citizenship will also apply. If she believes a socially responsible person should pick up litter, help old ladies across the road, avoid racist and sexist remarks, and only buy fair trade goods, then she has as much reason to abide by these norms abroad as at home. Indeed, similar considerations will lie behind her recognizing the value of following the laws of a foreign country, even though she has had no role in framing them. Likewise, to the extent the citizens of her host country are motivated by such considerations, they should act as civilly to visitors as they do towards their co-citizens. If she likes the country so much she decides to find a job and stay on for a while, then she will probably pay income tax and be protected by employment legislation and possibly even enjoy certain social benefits. Of course, in practice a number of contingent factors can put noncitizens at a disadvantage compared to many citizens in exercising their rights - especially if they are not fluent in the local language. But these sorts of disadvantages are not the direct result of not possessing the status of a citizen. After all, naturalized citizens might be in much the same position with regard to many of them. Nor need they prevent her, as a hardworking and polite individual, who is solicitous towards others, from becoming a valued pillar of the local community, respected by her neighbours. Why then be bothered with being able to vote, do jury duty and various other tasks many citizens find onerous - especially if she may never need any of the additional rights citizens enjoy? There are two reasons why she ought to be concerned - both of which highlight why citizenship in the political sense is important. First, unlike citizens, she does not have an unqualified right to enter or remain in this country, and if she fell foul of the authorities could be refused entry or deported. This is a core right in an age when many people are stateless as a result of war or oppressive regimes in their own countries, or are driven by severe poverty to seek a better life elsewhere. But in a way it still begs the question of why she should want to become a citizen rather than simply a permanent resident. After all, most democratic countries acknowledge a humanitarian duty to help those in dire need and have

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established international agreements on asylum seekers to prevent individuals being turned away or returned to countries where their life would be in danger. Increasingly, there are also internationally recognized rights for long-term residents, or ‘denizens’ as they have come to be called. If she has lawfully entered the country and is a law abiding individual, so there are no prospects of her being deported, then why not just enjoy living under its well-ordered regime? The second reason comes in here. For the qualities she likes about this country stem in large part from its democratic character. Even the quasi-citizenship status she has come to possess under international law is the product of international agreements that are only promoted and reliably kept by democratic states. And their being democracies depends in turn on at least a significant proportion of citizens within such states doing their duty and participating in the democratic process. As I noted above, increasing numbers of citizens do not bother participating. They either feel it is pointless to do so or are happy to free ride on the efforts of others. They are mistaken. It may well be that as presently organized democracy falls so far short of the expectations citizens have of it, they feel their involvement has little or no effect. Yet that view is not so much an argument for abandoning democracy as for seeking to improve it. One need only compare life under any established democracy, imperfect though they all are, with that under any existing undemocratic regime to be aware it makes a difference from which the majority of citizens draw tangible benefits. People lack self-respect and possibly respect for others too in a regime where they do not have the possibility of expressing their views and being counted, no matter how benevolently and efficiently it is run. Rulers need no longer see the ruled as equals, as entitled to give an opinion and have their interests considered on the same terms as everyone else. And so they need not take them into account. Democratic citizenship changes the way power gets exercised and the attitudes of citizens to each other. Because democracy gives us a share in ruling and in being ruled in the ways indicated above, citizenship allows us both to control our political leaders and to control ourselves and collaborate with our fellow citizens on a basis of equal concern and respect. By contrast, the permanent resident of my example is just a tolerated subject. She may express her views, but is not entitled to have them heard on an equal basis to citizens. The Components of Citizenship: Towards a Definition Citizenship, therefore, has an intrinsic link to democratic politics. It involves membership of an exclusive club - those who take the key decisions about the collective life of a given political community. And the character of that community in many ways reflects what people make it. In particular, their participation or lack of it plays an important role in determining how far, and in what ways, it treats people as equals. Three linked components of citizenship emerge from this analysis - membership of a democratic political community, the collective benefits and rights associated with membership, and participation in the community’s political, economic and social processes - all of which combine in different ways to establish a condition of civic equality. The first component, membership or belonging, concerns who is a citizen. In the past, many have been excluded from within as well as outside the political community. Internal exclusions have included those designated as natural inferiors on racial, gender or other grounds; or as unqualified due to a lack of property or education; or as disqualified through having

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committed a crime or becoming jobless, homeless or mentally ill. So, in most established democracies women obtained the vote long after the achievement of universal male suffrage, before which many workers were excluded, while prisoners often lose their right to vote, as does - by default - anyone who does not have a fixed address. Many of these internal grounds for exclusion have been dropped as baseless, though others remain live issues, as does the unequal effectiveness of the right to vote among different groups. However, much recent attention has concentrated on the external exclusions of asylum seekers and immigrants. Here, too, there have been changes towards more inclusive policies at both the domestic and international level, though significant exclusionary measures persist or have been recently introduced. Yet, the current high levels of international migration, though not unprecedented, have been sufficiently intense and prolonged and of such global scope as to have forced a major rethink of the criteria for citizenship. As is stressed in many of the essays reproduced in this volume, none of these criteria proves straightforward. Citizenship implies the capacity to participate in both the political and the socioeconomic life of the community. Yet, the nature of that participation and the capabilities it calls for have varied over time and remain matters of debate. Citizens must also be willing to see themselves as in some sense belonging to the particular state in which they reside. At the very least, they must recognize it as a centre of power entitled to regulate their behaviour, demand taxes and so on, in return for providing them with various public goods. How far they must also identify with their fellow citizens is a different matter. A working democracy certainly requires some elements of a common civic culture: notably, broad acceptance of the legitimacy of the prevailing rules of politics and probably a common language or languages for political debate. A degree of trust and solidarity among citizens also proves important if all are to collaborate in producing the collective benefits of citizenship, rather than attempting to free ride on the efforts of others. The extent to which such qualities depend on citizens possessing a shared identity is a more contested, yet crucial, issue as societies become increasingly multicultural. The second component, rights, has often been seen as the defining criterion of citizenship. Contemporary political philosophers have adopted two main approaches to identifying these rights. A first approach seeks to identify those rights that citizens ought to acknowledge if they are to treat each other as free individuals worthy of equal concern and respect. A second approach tries, more modestly, simply to identify the rights that are necessary if citizens are to participate in democratic decision-making on free and equal terms. Both approaches prove problematic. Even if most committed democrats broadly accept the legitimacy of one or other of these accounts of citizens’ rights as being implicit in the very idea of democracy, they come to very different conclusions about the precise rights either approach might generate. These differences largely reflect the various ideological and other divisions that form the mainstay of contemporary democratic politics. So neo-liberals are likely to regard the free market as sufficient to show individuals equality of concern and respect with regard to their social and economic rights, whereas a social democrat is more likely to wish to see at least a partly publically funded health service and social security system as necessary too. Similarly, some people might advocate a given system of proportional representation as necessary to guarantee a citizen’s equal right to vote, others view the plurality first past the post system as sufficient and even, in some respects, superior. As a result of these disagreements, the rights of citizenship have to be seen, somewhat paradoxically perhaps, as subject to the decisions of citizens themselves.

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That paradox seems less acute, though, once we also note that making rights the primary consideration is in various respects too reductive. We tend to see rights as individual entitlements - they are claims individuals can make against others, including governments, to certain standards of decency in the way they are treated. However, though rights attach to individuals, they have an important collective dimension that the link with citizenship serves to highlight. What does the work in any account of rights is not the appeal to rights as such but to the arguments for why people have those rights. Most of these arguments have two elements. First, they appeal to certain goods as being important for human beings to be able to lead a life that reflects their own free choices and effort - usually the absence of coercion by others and certain material preconditions for agency, such as food, shelter and health. Second, and most importantly from our point of view, they imply that social relations should be so organized that we secure these rights on an equal basis for all. Rights are collective goods in two important senses, therefore. On the one hand, they assume that we all share an interest in certain goods as important for us to be able to shape our own lives. On the other hand, these rights can only be provided by people accepting certain civic duties that ensure they are respected, including cooperating to set up appropriate collective arrangements. For example, if we take personal security as an uncontentious shared human good, then a right to this good can only be protected if all refrain from illegitimate interference with others and collaborate to establish a legal system and police force that upholds that right in a fair manner that treats all as equals. In other words, we return to the arguments establishing the priority of political citizenship canvassed earlier. For rights depend on the existence of some form of political community in which citizens seek fair terms of association to secure those goods necessary for them to pursue their lives on equal terms with others. Hence, the association of rights with the rights of democratic citizens, with citizenship itself forming the right of rights because it is ‘the right to have rights’ - the capacity to institutionalize the rights of citizens. The third component, participation, comes in here. Calling citizenship ‘the right to have rights’ indicates how access to numerous rights depends on membership of a political community. However, many human rights activists have criticized the exclusive character of citizenship for this very reason, maintaining that rights ought to be available to all on an equal basis regardless of where you are bom or happen to live. As a result, they have sometimes argued against any limits on access to citizenship. Rights should transcend the boundaries of any political community and not depend on either membership or participations. Though there is much justice in these criticisms, they are deficient in three main respects. First, the citizens of well-run democracies enjoy a level and range of entitlements that extends beyond what most people would characterize as human rights - that is rights to which we are entitled on humanitarian grounds alone. Of course, it could be argued with some justification that many of these countries have benefited from the indirect or direct exploitation of poorer, often non-democratic, states and various related human rights abuses, such as selling arms to their authoritarian rulers. Rectifying these abuses, though, would still allow for significant differentials in wealth between countries. For, second, rights also result from the positive activities of citizens themselves and their contributions to the collective goods of their political community. In this respect, citizenship forms the ‘right to have rights’ by placing in citizens’ own hands the ability to decide which rights they will provide for and how. Some countries might choose to have high taxes and generous public health, education and social security schemes, say, others to have lower taxes and less generous public provision

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of these goods, or more spending on culture or on police and the armed forces. Finally, none of the above rules out recognizing the ‘right to have rights’ as a human right that creates an obligation on the part of existing democratic states to aid rather than hinder democratization processes in non-democratic states, to give succour to asylum seekers and to have equitable and non-discriminatory naturalization procedures for migrant workers willing to commit to the duties of citizenship in their adopted countries. So membership, rights and participation go together. It is through being a member of a political community and participating on equal terms in the framing of its collective life that we enjoy rights to pursue our individual lives on fair terms with others. If we put these three components together, we come up with the following definition of citizenship: Citizenship is a condition o f civic equality. It consists of membership o f a political community where all citizens can determine the terms and benefits o f social cooperation on an equal basis. This status not only secures equal rights to the enjoyment o f the collective goods provided by the political association but also involves equal duties to promote and sustain them - including the good o f democratic citizenship itself. The P arad o x and D ilem m a of C itizenship

Earlier I suggested that citizenship involves a paradox encapsulated in the view of it as ‘the right to have rights’. That paradox consists in our rights as citizens being dependent on our exercising our basic citizenship right to political participation in cooperation with our fellow citizens. For our rights derive from the collective policies we decide upon to resolve common problems, such as providing for personal security with a police force and legal system. Moreover, once in place, these policies will only operate if we continue to cooperate to maintain them through paying taxes and respecting the rights of others that follow from them. So rights involve duties - not least the duty to exercise the political rights to participate on which all our other rights depend. This paradox gives rise in its turn to a dilemma that can affect much cooperative behaviour. Namely, that we will be tempted to shirk our civic duties if we feel we can enjoy the collective goods and the rights they provide by relying on others to do their bit rather than exerting ourselves. And the more citizens act in this way, the less they will trust their fellow citizens to collaborate with them. Collective arrangements will seem increasingly unreliable, prompting people to abandon citizenship for other, more individualistic ways, of securing their interests. This dilemma proves particularly acute if the good in question has the qualities associated with what is technically known as a ‘public good’ - that is a good, such as street lighting, from which nobody can be excluded from the benefits, regardless of whether they contributed to supporting it or not. In such cases, a temptation will exist for individuals to ‘free ride’ on the efforts of others. So, if the neighbours either side of my house pay for a street light, they will not be able to stop me benefiting from it even if I choose not to help them with the costs. In many respects, democracy operates as a public good of this kind and so likewise confronts the quandary of free riding. The cost of becoming informed and casting your vote is immediate and felt directly by each individual, while the benefits are far less tangible and individualized, as are the disadvantages of not voting. You will gain from living in a democracy whether you vote or not, while any individual vote contributes very little to sustaining democratic institutions. And the shortcomings of democracy - the policies and politicians people dislike

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- tend to be more evident than its virtues, which are diffuse, and in newly democratized countries, often long-term. As a result, the temptation to free ride is great. In fact, political scientists used to be puzzled why citizens bothered to vote at all - it seemed irrational. Given the very small likelihood any one person’s vote will make a difference to the election result, it hardly seems worth the effort. Even the fear that democracy may collapse should have little effect on this self-centred reasoning. As an individual, it still pays the free rider to rely on the efforts of others. After all, if others fail to do their part, there will be little point in the free rider doing so. In the past, it seems that citizens simply were not so narrowly instrumental in their reasoning. They appear to have valued the opportunity of expressing their views along with others. The growing fear, symbolized by the decline in voting, is that such civic-mindedness has lessened, with citizens becoming more self-interested and calculating in their attitudes not just to political participation but also to the collective goods political authorities exist to provide. They have also felt that their fellow citizens and politicians are likewise concerned only with their own interests. American national election studies, for example, reveal that over the last forty years the majority of US citizens have come to feel that government benefits a few big interests rather than everyone, although the percentage has fluctuated between lows of 24 per cent and 19 per cent, in 1974 and 1994 respectively, believing it benefitted all, to highs of 39 per cent and 40 per cent in 1984 and 2004. Likewise, a British opinion poll of 1996 revealed that a staggering 88 per cent of respondents believed Members of Parliament served interests other than their constituents’ or the country’s - with 56 per cent contending they simply served their own. This change in people’s attitudes and perceptions presents a major challenge to the practice and purpose of citizenship. Most of the collective goods that citizens collaborate to support and on which their rights depend are subject to the public goods dilemma described above. Like voting, the cost of the tax I pay to support the police, roads, schools and hospitals will seem somehow more direct and personal than the benefits I derive from these goods, and a mere drop in the ocean compared to the billions needed to pay for them. Like democracy, these goods also tend to be available to all citizens regardless of how much they pay or, indeed, whether they have paid at all. True, these goods do not have the precise quality of public goods - some degree of exclusion is possible. However, it would be both inefficient and potentially create great injustices to do so. Moreover, in numerous indirect ways we all do benefit from a good transport system, a healthy and well-educated population, and from others as well as ourselves enjoying personal security. That said, people will always be naturally inclined to wonder whether they are getting value for money or are contributing more than their fair share. Such concerns are likely to be particularly acute if people feel no sense of solidarity with each other or believe others to be untrustworthy, especially when it comes to the sort of redistributive measures needed to support most social rights. Consequently, the inducements to adopt independent, non-cooperative behaviour for more apparently secure, short-term advantages will be great - even if, as will often be the case, such decisions have the perverse long-term effect of proving more costly or less beneficial not just for the community as a whole but even for most of the defecting individuals. This tendency has been apparent in the trend within developed democracies for wealthier citizens to contract into private arrangements in ever more areas, from education and health to pensions and even personal security, often detracting from public provision in the process. So, people have opted to send their children to private schools, taken out private health insurance,

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employed private security firms to police their gated neighbourhoods and sought to pay less in taxation for public schemes. But the net result has often been that the cost of education, health and policing has risen because a proliferation of different private insurance schemes proves less efficient, while the depleted public provision brings in its wake a number of costly social problems - a less well-educated and healthy work force, more crime and so on. Governments have responded to this development in four main ways. First, they have partly marketized some of these services, in form if not always in substance. One consequence of it being either technically impossible or morally unjust to exclude people from the benefits of ‘public goods’ is that standard market incentives do not operate. Companies have no reason to compete for customers by offering lower prices or better products if they cannot restrict enjoyment of a good to those who have paid them for it. Governments have tried to overcome this problem by getting companies periodically to compete for the contract to supply a given public service and by trying to guarantee citizens certain rights as customers. In so doing, they have stressed the state’s role as a regulator rather than necessarily as a provider of services. The aim is to guarantee that given standards and levels of provision are met, regardless of whether a public or a private contractor actually offers the service concerned. In this way, governments have tried to reassure citizens that as much attention will be paid to getting value for money and meeting their requirements as would be the case if they were buying the service on their own account. Their second response has complemented this strategy by stressing the responsibilities of citizens - especially of those who are net recipients of state support. For example, a number of states have obliged recipients of social security benefits to be available for and actively seek work, engage in retraining and possibly do various forms of community service. By such measures, they have tried to reassure net contributors to the system that all are pulling their weight and so retain their allegiance to collective arrangements. Third, they have adopted an increasingly marketized approach to the very practice of electoral politics. They have conducted consumer research as to citizens’ preferences and attempted to woo them through branding and advertising. Finally, they have attempted to overcome cynicism about using state power to support the public interest by depoliticizing standard setting and the regulation of the economic and political market alike to supposedly impartial bodies immune from self-interest, such as independent banks and the courts. These policies have had mixed results. By and large, they have been most successful for those services that can be most fully marketized, such as some of the former public utilities like gas, electricity and telephones, and where there are reasonably clear, technical criteria for what a good service should be and how it might be obtained. For other goods - particularly those where the imperatives for public provision are as much moral as economic, and defection into private arrangements is comparatively easy, such as health care or education, a partial withdrawal from, and a resulting attenuation of, public services has occurred in many advanced democratic states. Meanwhile, disillusion about politics has grown. Citizens have increasingly felt politicians will do anything for their vote and once in power employ it selfishly and ineptly. Civic solidarity has decreased accordingly as inequalities have grown between social groups. While the better educated and wealthier sections of society have pushed governments and politicians to do less and less, the poorer sections, who find it harder to organize in any case, have increasingly withdrawn from politics altogether. The problem seems to be twofold. On the one hand, citizens have adopted a more consumer-oriented and critical view of democratic politics. They have taken a more self-interested stance themselves

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assuming that others, their fellow citizens, politicians and those in the public sector more generally, do so too. On the other hand, politicians have likewise treated citizens more like consumers and both marketized the public sector where possible and acted themselves more like the heads of rival firms. Commentators differ as to which came first, but most accept these two developments have fuelled each other, producing increasing disillusionment with democratic politics. Instead of being viewed as a means of bringing citizens together in pursuit of those public interests from which they collectively benefit, it has come to be seen as but an inefficient mechanism for individuals to pursue their private interests. Globalization has been widely perceived as further promoting both these sources of political disaffection. That many public goods, from security from crime to monetary stability, can only be obtained through international mechanisms has added to civic disaffection and the belief in the shortcomings of political mechanisms. International organizations are inevitably much more distant from the citizens they serve. Size matters, and it is much harder to feel solidarity with very large and highly diverse groups with whom one has few if any shared cultural or other references and hardly, if ever, interact with directly. As a result, short-term individualized behaviour is much more likely. Put simply, cheating on strangers is easier than cheating on people you meet every day and will continue to interact with into the foreseeable future. The more complex and globalized societies are, the more we all become strangers to each other. It also becomes much harder to influence or hold politicians to account. Your vote is one in millions rather than thousands, and it is more difficult to combine with others in groups sharing one’s interests and concerns that are of sufficient size to influence those with power. Again markets and weak forms of depoliticized regulation have come to be seen as more competent and impartial than collective political solutions. The European Union (EU), the world’s most developed international organization, reflects these dilemmas and responses well. Despite having elections and a parliament, European politicians are both little trusted and scarcely known, while electoral turn out is far below that for national elections of the member states and likewise on the decline. By and large, citizens have remained tied to their national or subnational allegiances and mainly, and increasingly, view the EU in narrowly self-interested terms as either beneficial or not to their country or economic group. European political parties exist largely as voting blocks of national parties within the European Parliament, while the vast majority of trans-European civil society organizations are small, Brussels-based lobby groups, with few if any members and invariably reliant on the EU for funding. Meanwhile, the EU has increasingly sought to legitimize itself through non-political means, notably appeals to supposed ‘European’ values, such as rights, on the one side, and as an efficient, effective, equitable and depoliticized economic regulator, on the other. Developments in the EU mirror what has happened in most established democratic states, including those outside Europe, such as the United States, Canada, Australia and New Zealand. Worries about a decline in civic attitudes and voting has produced a concern with the collapse of ‘social capital’ - the habit of collaborating and joining with others, summed up in Robert Putnam’s observation that Americans no longer go ten pin bowling in teams or groups but more and more ‘bowl alone’. Increased immigration and growing multiculturalism are also feared to have reduced community feeling based on a common culture. As a result, governments have sought to inculcate a sense of national and civic belonging through an enhanced emphasis on citizenship education in schools and for immigrants seeking to naturalize. This teaching has usually emphasized national culture broadly conceived rather

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than political culture in the narrower, democratic sense. Likewise, they have increasingly claimed to have depoliticized important decisions - handing the setting of interest rates over to national banks, emphasizing deference to constitutional courts in matters of protecting rights and using independent regulators to oversee not only the former public utilities, such as gas and water, but also many other social and economic areas too, such as sentencing policy. In these ways, they have tried to separate membership and rights from participation. Yet, it is dubious that such attempts will be effective. Political communities and rights alike are constructed and sustained by the activities of citizens. People only feel bound to each other and by the law if they regard themselves as involved in shaping their relationships with each other and the state through their ability to influence the rules, policies and politicians that govern social life. Indeed, they have good grounds for believing they are not civic equals without that capacity. So appeals to political community or rights will not of themselves create citizenship because they are the products of citizenly action through political participation. People will not feel any sense of ownership over them. The three components of citizenship - belonging, rights and participation - stand and fall together. Outline of the Volume The essays in this volume explore further the nature and development of citizenship and the challenges it confronts. We start in Part I with two essays sketching its historical development from the city-states of ancient Greece to the nation-states of the twentieth century. In many respects this history provides the resources for our ways of thinking about citizenship today. As J.G.A. Pocock notes in Chapter 1, his account of ‘The Ideal of Citizenship Since Classical Times’, ancient Greece and Imperial Rome offer not just the models of citizenship of the classical era of history, but also ‘the’ classic models of what citizenship could be today. In particular, a distinction arises between a ‘republican’ view of citizenship based on political participation and a rights-based model of citizenship, which was to prove influential in later ‘liberal’ thought, which emphasizes citizenship as a legal status that can be separated from any involvement in decision-making. To these two classic models we need to add a third which sought to unite the two in the liberal democratic regimes of the nation-states that came into being from the mid-eighteenth century onwards in the wake of the American and French revolutions and the undermining of feudalism by commerce. This model was given its classic theoretical expression in the sociological analyses of T.H. Marshall and Stein Rokkan, to which Michael Mann offers his own critical contribution in Chapter 2. The next two essays in this section look at contemporary developments in citizenship theory. In Chapter 3 Will Kymlicka and Wayne Norman explore the ways that political philosophers and theorists have developed both the republican and liberal models, especially with a view of the challenges posed by multiculturalism, neo-liberalism and globalization. Meanwhile, in Chapter 4 Bryan Turner builds on and updates the sociological theories of Marshall and Rokkan. Part II addresses an issue at the heart of the sociological and legal models: namely, to what extent does citizenship require social and political as well as civil rights. It had been key to Marshall’s analysis that ‘full membership’ of the community depended on all three. However, from the 1980s this argument has come under attack. On the one hand, libertarian neo-liberals began to assert that market rights offered better mechanisms for citizens to exert influence on the delivery of services than political mechanisms, while social rights lacked the same status

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as civil rights - indeed, were potentially in conflict with them, most notably in undermining property rights and rights to the results of one’s labour. On the other hand, while social democrats criticized these arguments, they became to some degree influenced by them. Postlibertarian arguments accepted both the worry that democratic mechanisms might not treat individual interests equitably and could even overlook some individuals’ concerns altogether, and the criticism that welfare might undermine individual responsibility. As a result, they came to advocate forms of social welfare aimed at preventing social exclusion rather than equalizing outcomes, and legal forms of citizenship that prioritized judicial over electoral mechanisms as offering the best protection for individual interests. In Chapter 5 Desmond King and Jeremy Waldron defend Marshall’s idea of social citizenship against New Right critiques, while in Chapter 6 Jeremy Waldron argues against legal conceptions of citizenship that it is political participation that forms ‘the right of rights’. These arguments about rights nonetheless leave open the question of who is a citizen. The struggle for inclusion and the constant renegotiation of who is a citizen and the ways they are treated equally has always been at the heart of the practice of citizenship. It was central to the acquisition of the vote by workers and the subsequent debates about social and economic rights; it remains at the heart of feminist debates long after women obtained the vote; and in recent years has been key to discussions about multiculturalism and immigration. The essays in Part III explore each of these three last topics in turn, offering in each case a contrast between those (Dietz, Young and Carens) who believe the liberal democratic norms of states must change radically to incorporate the demands of feminists, multiculturalism and be open to immigrants, and those (Phillips, Gutmann and Miller) who believe more modest revisions suffice. Part IV then turns to the nature of political participation. It looks at two debates that have been prominent in the recent literature. Among the political theorists there has been a discussion as to whether the demands of citizenship may not be too burdensome in contemporary societies - a return to the argument of Benjamin Constant about the inappropriateness of the liberties of the ‘ancients’ in modem times. Modem liberty is said to be ‘rights-based’, leading to a legal form of citizenship, whereas political citizenship depends on a high degree of civic virtue and duties that are too onerous for most individuals. This argument is discussed by Adrian Oldfield in Chapter 13. Similar considerations underline a parallel debate among political sociologists about the dependence of political participation on ‘social capital’ - a network of social relationships and the experience of being involved in communal activities. Again, some analysts have voiced the fear that as such networks have lessened and societies become more individualistic, so the conditions that might foster and enable civic behaviour have been eroded. Russell Dalton explores this analysis in Chapter 14 through the work of its main proponent, Robert Putnam, and argues that the evidence points to the emergence of new forms and bases of citizenship. Finally, perhaps the keenest debate regarding citizenship at present concerns the extent it now does (or should) reach across the borders of states. Political citizenship has always been an exclusive status, denoting the privileged membership of a particular, territorially circumscribed community: in the past city-states, today mainly nation-states. By contrast, cosmopolitan citizenship seeks to make us ‘citizens of the world’. This is an idea associated with the Roman Stoic philosophers and it was in their minds linked to the spread of Empire and a notion of ‘legal’ citizenship. On this view, the conquered peoples of the Roman Empire

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acquired the legal status of Roman citizens but not the right to participate in political decisionmaking. However, the Greek derivation of this term suggests an even stronger meaning for the term whereby we view the world (Kosmos) as a polity (polis). Modem cosmopolitans tend to waiver between these two positions. For some, it is arbitrary to view our moral and legal obligations and entitlements as stopping at the borders of any given state. For others, while accepting this argument, it is also necessary to institute arrangements that might allow all inhabitants of the globe to participate in political decision-making, at least for some purposes. The essays in Part V address this topic by looking at two cases that have been used to explore these arguments. The European Union has been seen as the prototype of a fully fledged global political community that transcends national borders. This argument is put from different perspectives by Jürgen Habermas, Andrew Linklater and Seyla Benhabib, in Chapters 15, 16 and 17, respectively, but disputed by Richard Bellamy in Chapter 18. He argues that citizenship cannot be detached from the sense of belonging only likely to be achieved within national communities, while rights and participation become undermined within very large political units among people who feel few if any communal bonds to each other. The environment offers the other case study for global citizenship. Pollution clearly crosses state borders, while threats such as global warming are unlikely to be tackled without considerable transnational cooperation and action. In Chapter 19 Simon Hailwood argues that the need to tackle environmental problems at a global level suggests the need to extend citizenship upwards too. By contrast, in Chapter 20 Andrew Mason suggests that we can recognize our global environmental obligations without advocating transnational citizenship. RICHARD BELLAMY

Part I The History and Theories of Citizenship - What is Citizenship?

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The Ideal of Citizenship Since Classical Times J.G.A. POCOCK

Citizens of Athens were able to represent themselves directly in their public forum. Addressing their fellow citizens in an assembly of equals, they collectively consented to “rule and be ruled. ” But what of gender and matter, labour and property the world surrounding democracy ?John Pocock, addressing the Queen’s symposium on the Citizen and the State, examines the history of the public and private citizen.

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w e speak o f the “ideal” of “citizenship” since ‘classical” times, the last term rfers to times that are “classical” in a double sense. In the first place, these times are “classical” in the sense that they are supposed to have for us the kind of authority that comes of having expressed an “ideal” in durable and canonical form - though in practice the authority is always conveyed in more ways than by its simple preservation in that form. In the second place, by “classical” times, we always refer to the ancient civilizations of the Mediterranean, in particular to Athens in the fifth and fourth centuries b c and to Rome from the third century b c to the first a d . It is Athenians and Romans who are supposed to have articulated the “ideal of citizenship” for us, and their having done so is part of what makes them “classical.” There is not merely a “classical” ideal of citizenship articulating what citizenship is; “citizenship” is itself a “classical Historian J .G .A . POCOCK is Harry C. Black Professor at Johns Hopkins University and is the author of many articles and books. His most recent publications include Virtue, Commerce and History ( 19 8 5 ), Edmund Burke: Reflections on the Revolution in France (1987), and Conceptual Change and the Constitution (co-edited with Terence Bull, 19 88 ).

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ideal,” one of the fundamental values that we claim is inherent in our “civilization” and its “tradition.” I am putting these words in quotation marks not because I wish to discredit them, but because I wish to focus attention upon them; when this is done, however, they will turn out to be contestable and problematic. The “citizen” - the Greek polîtes or Latin civis- is defined as a member of the Athenian polis or Roman res publica, a form of human association allegedly unique to these ancient Mediterranean peoples and by them transmitted to “Europe” and “the West.” This claim to uniqueness can be criticized and relegated to the status of myth; even when this happens, however, the myth has a way of remaining unique as a determinant of “western” identity - no other civilization has a myth like this. Unlike the great co-ordinated societies that arose in the rivervalleys of Mesopotamia, Egypt, or China, the polis was a small society, rather exploitatively than intimately related to its productive environment, and perhaps originally not much more than a stronghold of barbarian raiders. It could therefore focus its attention less on its presumed place in a cosmic order of growth and recurrence, and more on the heroic individualism of the relations obtaining between its human members; the origins of humanism are to that extent in barbarism. Perhaps this is why the foundation myths of the polis do not describe its separation from the great cosmic orders o f Egypt or Mesopotamia, but its substitution of its own values for those of an archaic tribal society of blood feuds and kinship obligations. Solon and Kleisthenes, the legislators of Athens, substitute for an assembly of clansmen speaking as clan members on clan concerns an assembly of citizens whose members may speak on any matter concerning the polis (in Latin, on any res publica, a term which is transferred to denote the assembly and the society themselves). In the Eumenides, the last play in Aeschylus’s Oresteia, another fundamental expression of foundation myth, Orestes comes on the scene as a blood-guilty tribesman and leaves it as a free citizen capable with his equals of judging and resolving his own guilt. It is, however, uncertain whether the blood-guilt has been altogether wiped out or remains concealed at the foundations of the city - there are Roman myths that express the same ambivalence and the story is structured in such a way that women easily symbolize the primitive culture of blood, guilt, and kinship which the males, supposedly, are trying to surpass. But the men, as heroes, continue to act out the primitive values (and to blame the women for it). This is a point that must be made strongly, and made all the time, but it does not remove the fact that, stated as an ideal, the community 34

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of citizens is one in which speech takes the place of blood, and acts of decision take the place of acts of vengeance. The “classical” account of citizenship as an Athenian “ideal” is to be found in Aristo tie’s Politics, a text written late enough in polis history - after the advent o f the Platonic academy and the Macedonian empire - to qualify as one of the meditations of the Owl of Minerva. In this great work we are told that the citizen is one who both rules and is ruled. As intelligent and purposive beings we desire to direct that which can be directed toward some purpose; to do so is not just an operational good, but an expression of that which is best in us, namely the capacity to pursue operational goods. Therefore it is good to rule. But ruling becomes better in proportion as that which is ruled is itself better, namely endowed with some capacity of its own for the intelligent pursuit of good. It is better to rule animals than things, slaves than animals, women than slaves, o n e ’s fellow citizens than the wom en, slaves, animals, and things contained in on e’s household. But what makes the citizen the highest order of being is his capacity to rule, and it follows that rule over on e’s equal is possible only where o n e’s equal rules over one. Ideal of Citizenship

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Therefore the citizen rules and is ruled; citizens join each other in making decisions where each decider respects the authority of the others, and all join in obeying the decisions (now known as “laws”) they have made.

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HIS ACCOUNT of human equality excludes the greater part o f the human species from access to it. Equality, it says, is something of which only a very few are capable, and we in our time know, at least, that equality has prerequisites and is not always easy to achieve. For Aristotle the prerequisites are not ours; the citizen must be a male of known genealogy, a patriarch, a warrior, and the master of the labour of others (normally slaves), and these pre-requisites in fact outlasted the ideal of citizenship, as he expressed it, and persisted in western culture for more than two millennia. Today we all attack them, but we haven’t quite got rid of them yet, and this raises the uncomfortable question of whether they are accidental or in some way essential to the ideal of citizenship itself. Is it possible to eliminate race, class, and gender as prerequisites to the condition of ruling and being ruled, to participate as equals in the taking of public decisions, and leave the classical description o f that condition in other respects unmodified? Feminist theorists have had a great deal to say on this question, and I should like to defer to them - and leave it to them to speak about it. At an early point in the exposition of the problem, one can see that they face a choice between citizenship as a condition to which women should have access, and subverting or deconstructing the ideal itself as a device constructed in order to exclude them. To some extent this is a rhetorical or tactical choice, and therefore philosophically vulgar, but there are real conceptual difficulties behind it. Aristotle’s formulation depends upon a rigorous separation of public from private, of polls from oikos, of persons and actions from things. To qualify as a citizen, the individual must be the patriarch of a household or oikos, in which the labour of slaves and women satisfied his needs and left him free to engage in political relationships with his equals. But to engage in those relationships, the citizen must leave his household altogether behind, maintained by the labour of his slaves and women, but playing no further part in his concerns. The citizens would never dream o f discussing their household affairs with one another, and only if things had gone very wrong indeed would it be 36

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necessary for them to take decisions in the assembly designed to ensure patriarchal control o f the households. In the para-feminist satires o f Aristophanes they have to do this, but they haven’t the faintest idea how to set about it; there is no available discourse, because the situation is unthinkable. What they discuss and decide in the assembly is the affairs of the polis and not the oikos: affairs of war and commerce between the city and other cities, affairs of pre-eminence and emulation, authority and virtue, between the citizens themselves. To Aristotle and many others, politics (alias the activity of ruling and being ruled) is a good in itself, not the prerequisite of the public good but the public good or res publica correctly defined. What matters is the freedom to take part in public decisions, not the content of the decisions taken. This non-operational or non-instrumental definition of politics has remained part of our definition of freedom ever since and explains the role of citizenship in it. Citizenship is not just a means to being free; it is the way of being free itself. Aristotle based his definition of citizenship on a very rigorous distinction between ends and means, which makes it an ideal in the strict sense that it entailed an escape from the oikos, the material infrastructure in which one was forever managing the instruments of action, into the polis, the ideal superstructure in which one took actions which were not means to ends but ends in themselves. Slaves would never escape from the material because they were destined to remain instruments, things managed by others; women would never escape from the oikos because they were destined to remain managers of the slaves and other things. Here is the central dilemma of emancipation: does one concentrate on making the escape or on denying that the escape needs to be made? Either way, one must reckon with those who affirm that it needs to be made by others, but that they have never needed to make it. The citizen and the freedman find it difficult to become equals. If one wants to make citizenship available to those to whom it has been denied on the grounds that they are too much involved in the world of things - in material, productive, domestic, or reproductive relationships - one has to choose between emancipating them from these relationships and denying that these relationships are negative components in the definition of citizenship. If one chooses the latter course, one is in search of a new definition of citizenship, differing radically from the Greek definition articulated by Aristotle, a definition in which public and private are not rigorously separated and the barriers between them have become permeable or have disappeared Ideal of Citizenship

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altogether. In the latter case, one will have to decide whether the concept of the “public” has survived at all, whether it has merely become contingent and incidental, or has actually been denied any distinctive meaning. And if that is what has happened, the concept of citizenship may have disappeared as well. That is the predicament with which the “classical ideal of citizenship” confronts those who set out to criticize or modify it, and they have not always avoided the traps the predicament puts before them. In the next part of this paper, I shall consider how some alternative definitions of citizenship have become historically available, but before I do so, I want to emphasize that the classical ideal was and is a definition of the human person as a cognitive, active, moral, social, intellectual, and political being. To Aristotle, it did not seem that the human - being cognitive, active and purposive - could be fully human unless he ruled himself. It appeared that he could not do this unless he ruled things and others in the household, and joined with his equals to rule and be ruled in the city. While making it quite clear that this fully developed humanity was accessible only to a very few adult males, Aristotle made it no less clear that this was the only full development of humanity there was (subject only to the Platonic suggestion that the life of pure thought might be higher still than the life of pure action). He therefore declared that the human was kata phusin zoon politikon, a creature formed by nature to live a political life, and this, one of the great western definitions of what it is to be human, is a formulation we are still strongly disposed to accept. We do instinctively, or by some inherited programming, believe that the individual denied decision in shaping her or his life is being denied treatment as a human, and that citizenship - meaning membership in some public and political frame of action - is necessary if we are to be granted decision and empowered to be human. Aristotle arrived at this point - and took us there with him - by supposing a scheme o f values in which political action was a good in itself and not merely instrumental to goods beyond it. In taking part in such action the citizen attained value as a human being; he knew himself to be who and what he was; no other mode of action could permit him to be that and know that he was. Therefore his personality depended on his emancipation from the world of things and his entry into the world of politics, and when this emancipation was denied to others, they must decide whether to seek it for themselves or to deny its status as a prerequisite of humanity. If they took the latter course, they must

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produce an alternative definition o f humanity or face the consequences of having none. Kataphusin zoon politikon set the stakes of discourse very high indeed.

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w a n t TO turn now to a second great western definition of the political universe. This one is not aimed at definition of the citizen, and therefore, in Aristotle’s sense, it is not political at all. But it so profoundly affects our understanding of the citizen that it has to be considered part of the concept’s history. This is the formula, ascribed to the Roman jurist Gaius, according to which the universe as defined by jurisprudence is divisible into “persons, actions, and things” (res). (Gaius lived about five centuries after the time of Aristotle, and the formula was probably well-known when he made use of it.) Here we move from the ideal to the real, even though many of the res defined by the jurist are far more ideal than material, and we move from the citizen as a political being to the citizen as a legal being, existing in a world of persons, actions, and things regulated by law. The intrusive concept here is that of “things.” Aristotle’s citizens were persons acting on one another, so that their active life was a life immediately and heroically moral. It would not be true to say that they were unconcerned with things, since the polis possessed and administered such things as walls, lands, trade, and so forth, and there were practical decisions to be taken about them. But the citizens did not act upon each other through the medium of things, and did not in the first instance define one another as the possessors and administrators of things. We saw that things had been left behind in the oikos, and that, though one must possess them in order to leave them behind, the polis was a kind of ongoing potlatch in which citizens emancipated themselves from their possessions in order to meet face to face in a political life that was an end in itself. But for the Roman jurist it was altogether different; persons acted upon things, and most of their actions were directed at taking or maintaining possession; it was through these actions, and through the things or possessions which were the subjects of the actions, that they encountered one another and entered into relationships which might require regulation. The world of things, or res, claimed the status of “reality”; it was the medium in which human beings lived and through which they formed, regulated, and articulated their relations with

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each other. The person was defined and represented through his actions upon things; in the course of time, the term “property” came to mean, first, the defining characteristic of a human or other being, second, the relation which a person had with a thing, and third, the thing defined as the possession of some person. From being kata phusin zoon politikon, the human individual came to be by nature a proprietor or possessor of things; it is in jurisprudence, long before the rise and supremacy of the market, that we should locate the origins of possessive individualism. The individual thus became a citizen - and the word “citizen” diverged increasingly from its Aristotelian significance - through the possession of things and the practice o f jurisprudence. His actions were in the first instance directed at things and at other persons through the medium o f things; in the second instance, they were actions he took, or others took in respect of him, at law - acts of authorization, appropriation, conveyance, acts of litigation, prosecution, justification. His relation to things was regulated by law, and his actions were performed in respect either of things or of the law regulating actions. A “citizen” came to mean someone free to act by law, free to ask and expect the law’s protection, a citizen of such and such a legal community, of such and such a legal standing in that community. A famous narrative case is that of St. Paul announcing himself a Roman citizen. Paul not only asserts that as a citizen he is immune from arbitrary punishment, he goes on to remind the officer threatening the punishment that he is a citizen by birth and the officer only by purchase and therefore of lower prestige and authority. Citizenship has become a legal status, carrying with it rights to certain things - perhaps possessions, perhaps immunities, perhaps expectations - available in many kinds and degrees, available or unavailable to many kinds of person for many kinds of reason. There is still much about it that is ideal, but it has become part of the domain of contingent reality, a category of status in the world of persons, actions, and things. One can say in the world of St. Paul that citizenship is a right to certain things, and say far more than by saying the same in the world according to Aristotle. We now ask: in what sense does “citizen” remain a political term after it has become a legal or juristic concept? An Aristotelian citizen, ruling and being ruled, took part in the making or determining of the laws by which he was governed. There had been a time when civis

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Romanus had similarly denoted one who participated in the self-governing assemblies of republican Rome. But Paul - who is not a Roman, has never seen Rome, and will find no assembly of the citizens if he ever gets there - means something quite different. By claiming to be a Roman citizen, he means that of the various patterns of legally defined rights and immunities available to subjects of a complex empire made up of many communities, he enjoys access to the most uniform and highly privileged there is. Had he been only a citizen of Tarsus, the officer might have ordered him to be flogged, especially as they were not in Tarsus at the time. But he is a Roman citizen and can claim rights and immunities outside the officer’s jurisdiction. The ideal of citizenship has come to denote a legal status, which is not quite the same thing as a political status and which will, in due course, modify the meaning of the term “political” itself. Over many centuries, the legalis homo will come to denote one who can sue and be sued in certain courts, and it will have to be decided whether this is or is not the same as the zoon politikon, ruling and being ruled in an Aristotelian polis. The status of “citizen” now denotes membership in a community of shared or common law, which may or may not be identical with a territorial community. In Paul’s case it is not; the status of “Roman citizen” is one of several extended by Roman imperial authority to privileged groups throughout the empire (who enjoy it, wherever they may be, while living and moving - empires can be highly mobile societies alongside others who enjoy only local and municipal privileges in communities more localized and territorial in terms of the laws that define them ). In much later centuries, these municipal communities become known by the medieval French term bourg; and on e’s right of membership in them, one’s right of appeal to the privilege and protection of municipal law, comes to be known as on e’s bourgeoisie. In virtue of one of those rhetorical devices that extend meaning from the part to the whole, the universal community of legal privilege to which St. Paul laid claim, and his right of membership within it, came to be described as his bourgeoisie Romaine, the municipal authority of that city having become imperial. But “bourgeois” and “bourgeoisie” came to denote membership in a municipal - rather than an imperial or political - community. While the bourgeois might sue and be sued, it was not clear that he ruled and was ruled, even when his bourg might claim to be free and sovereign. In consequence, although many cities

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and civitates had been reduced to the municipal status of bourgs within empires and states, and the words “bourgeois” and “citizen” were used interchangeably as a result, there was always room for doubt whether they conveyed the same m eanings - whether the bourgeois really enjoyed, should enjoy, or wanted to enjoy the absolute liberty to rule and be ruled asserted by the ideal o f citizenship in its classical or Aristotelian sense. It was the notion of law that profoundly altered the meaning of the political. As Paul and Gaius both knew, law denoted something imperial, universal, and multiform; there were many kinds of law, some of which applied everywhere and some of which did not. As soon, therefore, as one employed the term “citizen” to denote the member of a community defined by law, there might be as many definitions of “citizen” as there were kinds of law. There was a community of Roman citizens like Paul, who might claim the same status wherever they went in the empire; there were numerous communities of those whose citizenship was only municipal and did not apply where m unicipal authority could not be appealed to; there was half the population according to gender and about half according to the distinction between slave and free who were not citizens at all and could not take the initiative in claiming the protection of the law even if it was offered them. And there was the notion - a new “classical ideal” - of a universal community to which all humans belonged as subject to the law of nature. But whether one was a “citizen” of the community defined by the law of nature was a question that strained the resources even of metaphor. Certainly one did not “rule” in it, if by “rule” was meant determining what the law of the community should be; there was no assembly of all mankind, and the very notion of a universal law meant that one could be a citizen only municipally, determining what the local, particular, and municipal application of the law of nature should be. There had by this time appeared the figure, or ideal type, of the philosopher, who, as the word was used as a classical ideal, claimed that the cognition of natural law was an intellectual activity, and that by a separation between contemplation and action, theory and practice, the philosopher had acquired in his ideal world the absolute freedom of determination once sought by the citizen in his polis. There are those who think the history of political thought has no meaning outside the history of this claim by the philosopher, but my commission in this lecture is to pursue the history of the concept of the citizen.

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The advent of jurisprudence moved the concept of the “citizen” from the zoon politikon toward the legalis homo, and from the civis or polites toward the bourgeois or burger. It further brought about some equation of the “citizen” with the “subject,” for in defining him as the member of a community of law, it emphasized that he was, in more senses than one, the subject of those laws that defined his community and of the rulers and magistrates empowered to enforce them. It would do little violence to our use of language to suppose that St. Paul claimed to be a Roman “subject” since by doing so he could claim protection and privilege as well as offering allegiance and obedience. This is why the last action he performs as civis Romanus is to exercise his right o f appealing to Caesar, after which the local magistrates are obliged to send him to Rome to be judged by Caesar, and we don’t know exactly what Caesar did with him when he got there; Caesar’s jurisdiction certainly extended to judgment of life or death. All this would be in the minds of Lord Palmerston and his parliamentary hearers when he proclaimed that any British subject might say with Paul “civis Romanus su m ” In terms of protection and allegiance, right and authority, “subject” and “citizen” might be interchangeable terms, and when my passport declares me to be a United Kingdom “citizen” as well as a British “subject,” I know that it is offering me rights and protections within the United Kingdom which may be denied to other “British subjects,” and I am not altogether reassured, even though I am being privileged, by the implied separation between “subject” and “citizen” which once meant the same thing. What is the difference between a classical “citizen” and an imperial or modern “subject?” The former ruled and was ruled, which meant among other things that he was a participant in determining the laws by which he was to be bound. The latter could appeal to Caesar; that is, he could go into court and invoke a law that granted him rights, immunities, privileges, and even authority, and that could not ordinarily be denied him once he had established his right to invoke it. But he might have no hand whatever in making that law or in determining what it was to be. It can be replied that this is too formal a way of putting it; the law functions in such a way that it is determined in the process of adjudication, and litigants, witnesses, compurgators, pleaders, and so forth play a variety of parts in the process of determining it. The legalis homo is not necessarily a subject in the rigorously passive sense. But the growth of jurisprudence decentres and may

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marginalize the assembly of citizens by the enormous diversity of answers it brings to the questions of where and by whom law is made, and how far it is made - how far determined and how far discovered. It may be found in the order of nature, the revealed will of God, the pleasure of the prince, the judgm ent of the magistrate, the decree of the assembly, or the customs and usages formed in the processes of social living themselves; and in this majestic hierarchy of lawgivers, the assembly of citizens, meeting face to face in the utter freedom to determine what and who they shall be, can only be one and may sink into entire insignificance. Legalis homo is perpetually in search of the authority that may underlie determinations of the law; the need to close off this search within the human world may induce him to locate sovereignty whenever it seems to have come to rest, in prince or people, and there are circumstances in which sovereignty may be lodged in the assembly of the citizens, so that the individual as citizen comes again to be what he was in the classical ideal, a co-author of the law to which he is subject. But there are so many other possible locations of sovereignty, and so many ways of determining and discovering law other than by the sovereign’s decree, that even when the subject is a member of the sovereign, he is unlikely to forget Charles i ’s dictum that “a subject and a sovereign are clean different things” and may ask whether he is the same person when ruling that he was when being ruled. This is the question repeatedly asked by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, the last great philosopher of early modern politics, and it reminds us that even from the world of Paul and Gaius - let alone from the world of Jean-Jacques - the road back to the heroic simplicities of the polis may be too long to be traversed. Yet the meaning of “the ideal of citizenship since classical times” is that we constantly need to explore this road back, even if we cannot travel it, and it is important to understand why we have this need.

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T is no less important to represent the substitution of the Gaian formula for the Aristotelian as a highly successful, and in many ways beneficial, revolt o f the real - and even the material - against the ideal and against the classical ideal of citizenship. The Greek citizen, stepping from the oikos into the polis, stepped out of the world of things into a world of purely personal interactions, a world of deeds and words, speech and war. The Roman citizen, subject to both law and prince, 44

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was constantly reminded by the Gaian formula that he lived in a world of things, as well as of persons and actions. And since the word for things is res, the world of things has ever since asserted its claim to be “the real world.” The formula insistently returned his attention to his oikos, to the things and persons he possessed and in whom the law gave him property - the adjudication of which made him a citizen in the legal sense of the term. Possession, rather than the emancipation from possession, became the formal centre of his citizenship, and the problem of freedom became increasingly a problem of property: that of seeing how women could become proprietors and slaves cease to be property. This was the step by which personality itself - not merely the ideal of personal freedom - acquired a material infrastructure. The rhetoric of materialism is as old as the rhetoric of law and property, and history embarked on the long journey from being the narrative of actions performed by persons to being, at the same time, the archaeology of changes in the infrastructure of things, the precondition of both action and personality. Property, from the same point, embarked on its long career in the metaphysics of social, historical, and political reality, the essential link through which personality became real through interacting with the world of things and law became the regulation of interaction and reality. The citizen, redefined as a legal rather than a political being, found himself connected to a world of things which he possessed and rights to things which the law would also treat as his possessions. He could define himself as a citizen (or bourgeois) of a community of laws defining his rights to things, and could go so far as to believe in the global universe as such a community, in which the laws of nature defined his natural rights and made him, as it were, a citizen of nature. The enormous importance of possessive individualism was that it made possession and right the constituent links between personality and reality, in which framework action becam e increasingly actio legis the forms o f action, action according to law. The universe of natural jurisprudence was a universe of due process. The Gaian universe had only one defect, which was that though it was capable of being idealized, it could never be ideal. That is, it could never satisfy the hunger of individuals in the Hellenic tradition to be free of the world of things, free to interact with other persons as free as themselves in a community of pure action and personal freedom, in a political community good in itself and an end in itself. The citizen claimed this freedom through action, the philosopher through Ideal of Citizenship

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contemplation, and having been once articulated as an ideal, it simply cannot be eradicated from the ideals of a Greek-derived civilization. The Gaian formula has persistently opposed the real to the ideal; that is, it has insisted that we live in a world of things, that our actions are for the most part performed upon things, and come to be interactions with other persons only through the dense medium, the material texture, of things upon which our actions constitute “reality.” How far that “reality” is an order objectively existing is another question; the point here is that it constandy mediates, deflects, and conditions the personalities we seek to assert in thought and action. There is such an intolerable diversity of things on which we act, and of interactions between the things and the actions we perform upon them, that we can exist as persons, and encounter other persons with whom to interact, only by submitting to the innumerable deflections, fragmentations, specializations, and redefinitions of personality which action in the world of things imposes upon us. In the Gaian universe we are all foxes, never lions or hedgehogs. But since we also live in a Homeric and a Platonic universe, we desire to be all three of these symbolic creatures at the same time. Consequently, we can simplify the history of the concept of citizenship in western political thought by representing it as an unfinished dialogue between the Aristotelian and the Gaian formulae, between the ideal and the real, between persons interacting with persons and persons interacting through things. Both formulae have left us a divided legacy. Aristotle and the ancients have left us believing that it is only in the interaction with others to shape our lives in political decisions that we are free, human, and ends in ourselves. But, at the same time, they remind us that in the relation of ruling and being ruled we are simultaneously ends in ourselves and means to the ends of others; it is a relationship of using and being used, and there is a question whether any ethos of community, friendship, or love quite overcomes that, even among citizens - let alone between those who are citizens and those, like slaves or women in the ancient world, who are not. Gaius, the jurists, and, as we shall see, the moderns tell us that we know and understand better, and communicate better with one another, once we accept the discipline of things as well as persons, of admitting that we live by interacting with a world of things that we possess, transfer, and produce, and in which we recognize others as having rights of property and labour that make us into persons. In this formula we live at a slight distance from others and even from ourselves, 46

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separated by the medium of things on which we act and so make ourselves into persons; we act only indirectly on one another and see selves as created in what is termed “reality,” but thus we escape the intolerable strain of interacting directiy with persons whom we must consider, as they consider us, both ends in selves and means to the self-creation of others. But the discipline of reality leaves undispelled the danger of a dictatorship of things; in ceasing to regard others as merely things to be used to our own ends, may we not become things to our selves, acknowledging that we are never fully persons and that our selves remain contingent upon dear old reality? To this the jurists, and those political philosophers we have come to term “liberals,” have proposed the solution of regarding the person as the bearer of what are called “rights.” These are modes of interaction between the person and the world of things, and with other persons through the medium of things; persons recognize one another as human, and so recognize themselves as human, through recognising one another’s rights in a universe of shared law - as Paul, the Roman officer, and even Caesar may be thought o f as doing in the biblical story. Very impressive efforts have been made, by means both revolutionary and constitutional, to convert that legal universe into a political universe, thus enlarging the rights-bearer or kgalis homo into a citizen in some sense both Aristotelian and Gaian, political and legal, ancient and modern. This is where we encounter the liberal or modern ideal of citizenship, in maintaining which we believe ourselves to be engaged; it remains possible to ask how successful it is being in making us persons, or selves.

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h e g a ia n formula became the formula for a liberal politics and a liberal ideal of citizenship during the early modern and modern historical periods and in the following way. The world of persons, actions, and things was imagined operating in a primitive condition, with no settled laws to give it structure. In this condition, the individual was supposed to develop relations with things through the actions he performed upon them, which relations made the things pertain in a peculiar sense to his personality, while making him a person defined by his relations with the things. The term “property” came to be used in a double sense, meaning that the things came to be both objects possessed by the person and attributes o f the proprietor’s Ideal of Citizenship

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personality. From a very early time it was possible to ask whether this was a sufficient account of personality; was it possible to describe the individual as a moral being simply by describing the sum of his possessive relationships? But once other beings came to recognize these relationships as enjoyed by the individual, it became possible to recognize them as his “property” and him as a “person” constituted by them, and so to define them as his “rights.” By describing all this as going on in the so-called “state of nature” - in a world of persons, actions, and things not yet organized as politics - it was possible to describe the person as a product of “reality,” as creating himself by interacting with things and recognizing others as acquiring moral being through the same interactions. The individual became a person through acquiring rights and recognizing their acquisition by others, and this process occurred in a material world, one in which things were the objects of actions and persons the subjects o f their own actions. In this way, the person appropriated the material world, or world of “nature,” and carried his interactions with it into a legal and political world, constituted by his recognition of the rights of others and the magistrate’s recognition of his obligation to administer the law that regulated the relations between possessive individuals. If government were a matter of law, and law a matter of property, then the relations between persons, actions, and things had been organized as political, real, and material. I am emphasising the material component in all this because I am aiming to organize the history of the ideal of citizenship around the Gaian introduction of the concept of “things.” Materialism as a tool of social thought is much older than Marxism - as old as the Gaian formula, which is older than Gaius himself, and it is part of the destructive arrogance of Marxism that it has laid claim to a monopoly upon materialism. In the liberal or proto-liberal process I have been describing, the person defined himself as proprietor before he claimed to be a citizen, and thus set up a world of relations with things and persons which he did not leave behind in an Aristotelian oikos when he entered politics and became a citizen, but, on the contrary, carried with him into politics as the pre-condition of his citizenship. This move raised many problems: how far could politics be described as the maintenance of a pre-political and natural set of relationships? Was not the person claiming that he existed by nature before he became a citizen, and so had a natural and (so to speak) private existence and personality to which his citizenship was merely contingent? 48

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Was there a natural history of property and society existing prior to the civil history of politics? All such questions emphasized that politics had become secondary to, and defined by, the social history of property, and that the individual existed, became a person, and endeavoured to remain one in that history - the history of persons, actions, and things - far more than in the world of ruling and being ruled, which the Aristotelian formula defined as a world in which citizens met to decide (as Plato once put it) “no trivial question, but how a man should live.” One tremendous strength that the Gaian, juristic, and liberal ideal of citizenship possesses is that it enables us to define an indefinite series of interactions between persons and things, which may be restated as rights, used to define new persons as citizens, and carried over into the world of liberal politics; we break down the patriarchal narrowness which separated the oikos from the polis, and empower all manner of social beings to claim rights and legal citizenship, irrespective of gender, class, race, and perhaps even humanity. In so doing, however, we necessarily make citizenship a legal fiction, brought about by the invention of persons and the decision to attribute rights and personality to them. At this point we hear the voice of the classical citizen - now fully as likely to be female as male proclaiming unequivocally that she or he is a person, self-proclaimed as such by joining with her or his equals to rule and be ruled and decide to be individuals, and at this point we have encountered the limitations of a world in which we must consent to be fictions in order that we may be free. The classical ideal - which may now be joined in alliance with the classical liberal - has identified and begun its quarrel with the post-modern. This has come about since about 1700 , when the juristic ideal of citizenship seemed to have attained theoretical completeness; the nature of property - of the person’s interaction with the world of things began to change and to be seen as changing. It had been known as “real property,” the possession of an inheritable tenure in land, and this in turn was based on a process of appropriation very closely associated with arable cultivation. Humans appropriated the earth, and in so doing became persons and citizens, because they ploughed it and exchanged its fruits; the only alternative claim, made by such as the English Diggers, was that they had been created in a spiritual communion with the land because they were the incarnate children of God. But so dominant was the ideology of the plough that huntergatherer societies - like the Inuit and Indians of North America or Ideal of Citizenship

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the tangata whenua and aborigines o f the South Pacific - were very easily considered “savages” and denied legal citizenship or even human personality, simply because they did not plough and were therefore thought not to appropriate. Just as these encounters were taking place, however (we can find them in Locke), it had increasingly to be recognized that the power of the state and the personality of the individual were basing themselves on what was, most interestingly, termed “personal,” as distinct from “real,” property: that is on interaction with things that were moveable and exchangeable and - as res had always had the capacity to be - fictitious, or created in the interaction between persons: property in commodities, cash, credit, and capital. It was Locke who observed that territorial government became necessary only when media of exchange made it possible for persons to interact with others at a distance; Gibbon observed that the savage was confined to a pre-personal existence by his lack of money and letters as well as his lack of the plough. The linguistically remarkable fact about “personal” property was that it involved the person through his actions in the world of things far more efficaciously and powerfully than merely “real” property had ever done; he now acted upon things that were themselves dynamic and made his actions and his personality far more dynamic than ever before. And yet so many of the things on and through which he acted were fictions - were the media of action rather than things acted on - that it became increasingly a question whether the personality and the citizenship with which they provided him were not themselves fictitious and consequendy not “real.” Could a person be a citizen if he was unreal even to himself? These were the historical circumstances in which the modern to post-modern ideal of citizenship took shape: the ideal of the citizen as a social being, involved in an indefinite series o f social actions actions by persons upon things which set up relationships now exceeding the limits set by possession and appropriation. These citizens are able to make claims upon others and upon the civic process itself claims that may all, at least in principle, be reducible to the language of rights. Citizenship therefore becomes a practice of rights, of pursuing o n e ’s own rights and assuming the rights of others within the legal, political, social, and even cultural communities that have been formed for purposes of this kind. There are problems here of membership (bourgeoisie), allegiance, and even sovereignty, and these come to exist in two ways. In the first place, an adjudicative community may demand final authority and closed identity if it is to function properly 50

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- the buck has to stop somewhere - and may require the citizen to acknowledge that he or she is a subject, whose allegiance is finally given to some community as sovereign authority. In the second place, among the citizen’s objectives is the freedom, autonomy, authority and power to define herself or himself as a person, which in this context means as a citizen of a community, and there is a bipolar danger to be confronted at this point. A community or a sovereign that demands the whole of one’s allegiance may be foreclosing on e’s freedom of choice to be this or that kind of person; that was the early modern and modern danger. A plurality of communities or sovereignties that take turns in demanding on e’s allegiance, while conceding that each and every allocation of allegiance is partial, contingent, and provisional, is denying one the freedom to make a final commitment which determines on e’s identity, and that is plainly the post-modern danger. I recall reading, a couple of months ago, an article in the Economist forecasting that Canada might become the first post-modern democracy, and wondering whether this was an encouraging prospect. It is one thing to decide that being a Canadian - or, like me, a New Zealander - offers one an open range of identities, and that freedom consists in retaining o n e ’s mobility in choosing between them. It is quite another when the sovereign or quasi-sovereign powers of this world get together to inform one that there is no choice of an identity, no commitment of an allegiance, no determination of one’s citizenship or personality that they regard as other than provisional (or may not require one at any m om ent to unmake). Under postm odern conditions we do confront these alliances o f unmakers, deconstructors, and decenterers, and our citizenship may have to be our means of telling them where they get off. The predicament may be the result of our having immersed ourselves in the world of persons, actions, and things, when the production of things has become exponential and uncontrollable and is constantly redefining the actions and the persons taking them. And if the things being produced are in fact not material objects, but fictions and images, we have entered that post-modern and post-structuralist world in which the languages, constantly producing themselves, are more real than the persons speaking them. We may have to resist this, and say that we have decided and declared who we are, that our words have gone forth and cannot be recalled, unspoken, or deconstructed. To say this is an act of citizenship, or rather an act affirming citizenship. But to affirm citizenship without a sufficient consensus as to the republic of Ideal of Citizenship

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which we are to be citizens can be a very dangerous thing to do. To find the Red Guards or their successors on my doorstep, affirming that I am henceforth a citizen of their republic, is to find myself not liberated but appropriated.

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am u s in g the imagery of revolution - at a m om ent when revolutionary action everywhere is directed at the demolition of revolutionary regimes - because we are looking back over a two-century period at the outset of which the ideal of citizenship became a revolutionary ideal. About 1700 , as mentioned above, citizenship in the Gaian universe began to look like involvement in a constantly changing, expanding, and diversifying process of commercial growth, and there instantly arose a criticism that emphasized the danger that the citizen might not be able to maintain his freedom in this process, because his personality would become distracted and fragmented. This criticism engaged, consciously and specifically, in a restatement of the classical GrecoRoman ideal; it wanted the citizen to retain the possession of arms instead of making them over to the state, and it wanted him to maintain the antique virtue (meaning the active consciousness of the self as citizen) of the Athenians, Spartans, and Romans. To this the reply was made, in an age of increasing historical sophistication, that the classical ideal was archaic - that it implied a heroic warrior society, a patriarchal household, a subjection of women, and a slave economy, that its ideal of personality was inhuman and barbaric, because it neglected all the enrichments of personality brought to the individual by a religion of universal love and an economy of universal exchange. The citizen, involved by the growth of commerce in an explosively growing universe of persons, actions, and things, could affirm his enriched personality by claiming rights he or she had never before possessed and by appointing representatives to protect and govern him or her in ways never before possible. It is from this period that we date the centrality of the notion that the defining characteristic of the citizen is his or her capacity to be represented, and that there is no reason why she should not have a representative (and be one) as well as him. Faced with all this and much more besides, however, the critics of comm ercial modernity continued pertinaciously to ask how and whether the citizen could maintain unity of personality if constantly making over the essential attributes of his citizenship to be managed 52

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on his behalf by someone else. And they responded to the great discovery of representative democracy by asking how, if my citizenship was my personality, I could possibly appoint someone else to be me for me? It was all very well to say that I could always recall my representative and appoint another; the question remained unanswered how much of myself I had retained in making myself over to these characters, and certainly there are moments in the course of an American presidential campaign when one wonders what personality has to do with it. Are these things? Are these actions? Are these persons?

T

HE d e b a t e continued through the eighteenth century, and one could say that it continues still. Because of this duality of values - the capacity of the classical ideal to persist under the modern conditions so deeply opposed to it - the great revolution in France was at one and the same time a declaration of the Rights of Man, an attempt to devise a Gaian formula to give legal personality to the human race, and an affirmation of active citizenship and its classical virtue, in which Parisians took arms and went out to spill the blood of the impure, affirming themselves to be the free masters of their destinies and determ inants of their selves. They took to the streets as Muscovites were doing while I was writing this lecture (with the difference that Parisians showed a certain carefree innocence about what spilling the blood of the impure could lead to, whereas Muscovites know so much about it that they are understandably reluctant to begin again). Several significantly titled recent studies - Carol Blum ’s Rousseau and the Republic of Virtue, Simon Schama’s Citizens - have investigated once more the connections between virtue and terror, the circumstances in which the ideal of citizenship becomes an instrument of collective homicide, and though this is not the whole of the truth about the French or any other revolution, there has been quite enough of it to merit investigation. The answer given by these and other authors seems to be that once my citizenship becomes the affirmation of the purity and integrity of my self, any adversary I may have becomes the adversary of citizenship, purity, and integrity themselves, whom I must destroy if I am to remain myself. And I find it easy to attribute a malignant lack of purity to whole categories of human beings - hence the grisly succession of puritanical holocausts perpetrated from Robespierre to Pol Pot. To this diagnosis, Edmund Burke, Ideal of Citizenship

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at the beginning o f the revolutionary story, added the observation that it was what happened when the energies o f the human mind escaped from the restraints o f property. However unsatisfying we may find Burke’s description of “property,” he was making a Gaian point. If persons forgot that they were living in a world o f things - which imposed a material discipline that was the foundation of moral personality - then persons encountered persons face to face. The only instruments, the only obstacles, that my self-affirming action encountered consisted of other persons, whom I must use or destroy as the imperatives of virtue commanded. This kind of action was the only kind available when, as Burke put it, nothing ruled except the mind of desperate men. Burke, in this respect a conservative materialist, was uttering one of the great Gaian attacks upon the classical ideal; it was better to live in a world of things than to be governed by the ideal of personal action. But we think of materialism as a dialectical and revolutionary force; I am contending that it does not have to be that, but it certainly has been. On the long road from Robespierre to Pol Pot, the citizen acting in a political community merged into the revolutionary acdng in a historical process, but claiming to exert there the same capacity to join with others in making their world and themselves that we found in the classical ideal. This historization of citizenship has been the history of the ideal of revolution, and most of us find good reason to hope that its history is coming to an end; as we all know, it went disastrously and genocidally wrong, and since Burke himself it has been a valuable half-truth to say that it went wrong from the beginning. It failed on both the Aristotelian and the Gaian counts; it was very bad at understanding the relations between ruling and being ruled that constitute politics and citizenship, and there was much that was amiss with its understanding of the relations between persons, actions, and things that constitute both jurisprudence and history. Since the Roman lawyers themselves, the relation between persons and things had typically been the relation of possession or of property. Marx and his predecessors endeavoured to substitute the relation of production, and set the capacity to labour at the centre of the human paradigm, where Aristotle had set the capacity to rule. The worker, making and being made, took the place of the citizen ruling and being ruled. The person, by his actions, produced things and produced himself, thus creating his world instead of merely appropriating it. This was clearly a noble ideal, however appallingly it became corrupted by errors not 54

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unlike those Burke denounced in the Revolutionaries (and however much we may wish to say that it mistook the nature of the productive process as badly as that of the political). While it lasted, it offered the human creature a vision of being the author of human history, and of forming communities of worker citizens engaged in the production of history, but it does not seem to have lasted longer than the industrial technology that associated human labour with the operation o f machines. While the politics of socialist revolution were destroying themselves through a series of appalling misconceptions about the relations between persons, high-technology capitalism - with its usual devilish cunning - was destroying their basic premise by the single step of substituting information for labour. The myth of the proletariat, and the reality of social-democratic politics with a role for organized labour in them, began a rapid disappearance, and we found ourselves in a post-industrial and post-modern world in which more and more of us were consumers of information and fewer and fewer of us producers or possessors of anything, including our own identities. When a world of persons, actions, and things becomes a world of persons, actions, and linguistic or electronic constructs that have no authors, it clearly becomes much easier for the things - grown much more powerful because they are no longer real - to multiply and take charge, controlling, and determining persons and actions that no longer control, determine, or even produce them. Under these conditions of the information explosion, we have - since we are still under the imperatives of the classical ideal - to find means of affirming that we are citizens: that is, of affirming that we are persons and associating with other persons to have voice and action in the making o f our worlds. Whether the subordination of the sovereign community of citizens to the international operation of post-industrial market forces has been a good or a bad first step in the architecture of a post-modern politics remains to be seen.

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[2] RULING CLASS STRATEGIES AND CITIZENSHIP1 M ic h a e l M a n n Abstract Marshall’s theory of citizenship is criticized for being Anglocentric and evolutionist. Comparative historical analysis of industrial societies reveals not one but at least five viable strategies for the institutionalization of class conflict, here called liberal, reformist, authoritarian monarchist, Fascist and authoritarian socialist. In explaining their origin and development emphasis should be placed upon the strategies and cohesion of ruling classes and anciens régimes rather than upon those of the rising bourgeois and proletarian classes (as has been the case in much previous theory). In explaining their durability emphasis should be placed upon geo-political events, especially the two world wars, rather than on their internal efficiency. If Marshall’s third stage of citizenship is a reasonably accurate description of contemporary Europe, this is primarily due to the military victories of the ‘Anglo-Saxon’ powers.

Marshall's theory Novel, important and true ideas are rare. Such ideas which are then developed into a coherent theory are even scarcer. T. H. Marshall is one of the very few to have had at least one such idea, and to develop it. That is why it is important to understand and to improve upon his theory of citizenship. Marshall believed that citizenship has rendered class struggle innocuous; yet citizenship is also in continuous tension, even war, with the class inequalities that capitalism generates. He identified three stages of the struggle for, and attainment of, citizenship: civil political and social. Civil citizenship emerged in the 18th century. It comprised ‘rights necessary for individual freedom - liberty of the person, freedom of speech, thought and faith, the right to own property and to conclude valid contracts, and the right to justice.’ Political citizenship emerged in the 19th century: ‘the right to participate in the exercise of political power, as a member of a body invested with political authority or as an elector of the members of such a body.’ The third stage, social citizenship, developed through the 20th century: ‘the whole range from the right to a modicum of economic welfare and security to the right to share to the full in the social heritage and to live the life of a civilized being according to the standards prevailing in the society.’ It is what we mean now by the Welfare State and social democracy. Through these stages the major classes of modern capitalism, bourgeoisie and proletariat, institutionalized their struggles with the ancien régime and with each other. Citizenship and capitalism were still at war, Marshall declared, but it was institutionalized, rule-governed warfare. Such was the model developed in his famous 1949 lecture, Citizenship and Social Class (1963 edition). It has continued to seem true and important. Major sociologists like Reinhard Bendix, Ralf Dahrendorf, Ronald Dore, A. H. Halsey, S. M. Lipset, David Lockwood and Peter Townsend have acknowledged his influence (e.g. Halsey, 1984; Lipset, 1973; Lockwood, 1974). It remains strong today (see, for example, the recent admiring work by Turner, 1986). This is for a good reason: Marshall’s view of citizenship is

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essentially true - at least as a description of what has actually happened in Britain. There is one rather remarkable feature of Citizenship and Social Class. It is entirely about Great Britain. There is not a single mention of any other country.2Did Marshall regard Britain as typical of the capitalist West as a whole? He does not explicitly say so. Yet the most general level of the argument explores the tension between economic inequalities and demands for popular participation, both generated everywhere by the rise of capitalism. This certainly implies a general evolutionary approach, and indeed he does intermittently use the term ‘evolution’. In his book Social Policy (1975 edition), evidence from other countries is only introduced to illustrate variations on a common, British theme. Finally, others have used his model in explicitly evolutionary theories of the development of modern class relations (e.g. Dahrendorf, 1959:61-4). Flora and Heidenheimer (1981:20-21) have observed that general theories of the modern welfare state have been dominated by British experience, chronicled especially by Marshall and Richard Titmuss. Six counter-theses I wish to deviate from this Anglophile and evolutionary model in six ways. (1) The British strategy of citizenship described by Marshall has been only one among five pursued by advanced industrial countries. I call these the liberal reformist, authoritarian monarchist, Fascist, and authoritarian socialist strategies. (2) All five strategies proved themselves reasonably adept at handling modern class struggle. They all converted the head-on collision of massive, antagonistic social classes into conflicts that were less class-defined, more limited and complex, sometimes more orderly, sometimes more erratic. Thus evolutionary tales are wrong. There has been no single best way of institutionalizing class conflict in industrial society, but at least five potentially durable forms of institutionalized conflict and mixes of citizen rights. (3) In explaining how such different strategies arise, I will stress the role of ruling classes. By ‘ruling class’ I mean a combination of the dominant economic class and the political and military rulers. I do not mean to imply that such groups were unchanging or even united - indeed the degree of their cohesion will figure importantly in my narrative. But I do imply the pair of general explanatory precepts expressed in (4) and (5) below. (4) Influence on social structure varies according to power. As a ruling class possesses most power, its strategies matter most. In fact, many anciens regimes could survive the onslaught of emergent classes with a few concessions here and there. Neither the bourgeoisie nor the proletariat has been as powerful as has been argued by the dominant schools of sociology, liberal, reformist (like Marshall) and Marxist. Indeed, ruling class strategies tended to determine the nature of the social movements generated by bourgeoisie and proletariat, especially whether they were liberal, reformist or revolutionary. This argument has also been made by Lipset (1985: Chapter 6). (5) Tradition matters. We generally exaggerate the transformative powers of the Industrial Revolution. That Revolution was preceded by centuries of structural change - the commercialization of agriculture, the globalization of trade, the

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consolidation of the modern state, the mechanization of war, the secularization of ideology. If anciens régimes had learned to cope with these changes, they could master the problems of an industrial society with traditional strategies, up-dated. If not, they were usually already vulnerable and internally divided before the actual bourgeois or proletarian onslaught. Others have also stressed the survival of tradition through the Industrial Revolution - classically Moore (1969) and Rokkan (1970), more recently Mayer (1981) and Corrigan and Sayer (1985). (6) The durability of régime strategies has been due less to their superior internal efficiency than to geo-politics - and specifically to victory in world wars. The geopolitical and military influences on society have been considerable but neglected in sociological theory. However, they have recently been receiving the attention they deserve (e.g. Giddens, 1985; Hall, 1985; Mann, 1980, 1986a and b; Shaw, 1987; Skocpol, 1979). Let us approach the historical record with these six theses in mind. What were the traditional regime strategies used to cope with the initial rise of the bourgeoisie? Absolute and constitutional regimes3 We can divide the regimes of pre-industrial Europe into approximations to two ideal-types, absolute monarchies and constitutional regimes. By 1800 the principal absolutists were Russia, Prussia and Austria. Their monarch’s formal despotic powers were largely unlimited. Citizenship was unknown. The rule of law supposedly operated, but personal liberties, and freedom of the press and association could be suspended arbitrarily. Indeed, any conception of universal rights was restrained by the proliferation of particularistic statuses, possessed by corporate groups - estates of the realm, corporations of burghers, lawyers, merchants and artisan guilds.Yet the real, infrastructural powers of the monarchs were far from absolute. They required the co-operation of the regionally and locally powerful. Repression was cumbersome and costly, and far more effective if used together with ‘divide-and-rule’ negotiations with corporate groups. The monarch’s crucial power was tactical freedom: the capacity to act arbitrarily both in conducting negotiation and in using force. It is important to realize that these three characteristics - arbitrary divide-and-rule, selective tactical repression, and corporate negotiations - survived intact into the 20th century. Britain and the United States were the main constitutional régimes. There civil citizenship was well-developed. Individual life and property were legally guaranteed, and freedom of the press and of association were partially recognized - they were ‘licensed’ under discernible rules. Political citizenship also existed, though it was confined to the propertied classes who ‘virtually represented’ the rest. Social citizenship was as absent here as in absolutist regimes. All this was well understood by Marshall. Not all regimes were either predominantly absolutist or constitutional. Some formerly absolutist regimes had experienced revolution or serious disorder, and were now bitterly contested between constitutionalists and reactionaries: France after 1789, Spain and several Italian states. In others absolutism and constitutionalism merged through less violent, more orderly conflict: principally the Scandinavian countries.

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Capitalist industrialization changed much, but we can nonetheless see the initial imprint of these four types of rigime: absolutist, constitutional, contested and merged. Let us follow this in more detail, concentrating in turn on the US, Britain and Germany. From constitutionalism to liberalism - the US and Britain In Britain and the US the rise of liberalism strengthened civil and political citizenship. The rule of law over life, property, freedom of speech, assembly and press was extended, as was the political franchise. But any social citizenship remained equivocal. The regime provided basic subsistence to the poor out of charity and a desire to avoid sedition. But provision came from local worthies and private insurance; and legislation encouraged rather than enforced. Subsistence was not a right of all, but the result of a mixture of market forces, the duty to work and save, and private and public charity. The state was not interventionist or ‘corporatist’: interest group conflict was predominantly left to the economic and political marketplaces, its limits defined by law. However, collectivities could legitimately exploit their market powers, and the regime devised rules of the ensuing game. Under liberalism individuals and interest groups, but not classes, could be accommodated within the regime. Repression, now fully institutionalized, was reserved only for those who went outside the rules of the game. Such was one basic strategy of dealing with the rise of the bourgeoisie. But could it cope with the working class? The two main cases, the United States and Britain, coped differently. In the US labour was eventually absorbed into the liberal regime. A broad coalition, from landowners and merchants down to small farmers and artisans, had made the Revolution. White, adult males could not be easily excluded from civil and political citizenship. By the early 1840s all of them, in all states, possessed the vote - 50 years earlier than anywhere else, 50 years before the emergence of a powerful labour movement. Thus the political demands of labour could be gradually expressed as an interest group within an existing federal political constitution and competitive party system. As Katznelson (1981) has shown, workers’ political life became organized more by locality, ethnicity and patronage than by work, unions or class. In the sphere of work there was severe and violent conflict,between unions and employers aided by government and the law courts. But here too the ruling class eventually came to accept the legitimacy of unions in essentially liberal terms; while the Wagner Act allowed unions to negotiate freely, Taft-Hartley compelled them to act only as the balloted representatives of their individual members. The US gives us the truest picture of what would have happened to class conflict without the politics of citizenship. If class struggle had only concerned the Marxist agenda, of relations of production, labour processes, and direct conflict between capitalists and workers, then liberal regimes would have dominated industrial society. As the (white) working class was civilly and politically inside the regime, it had little need for the great ideologies of the proletariat excluded from citizenship socialism and anarchism. American trade unions became like other collective interest groups exploiting their market power. If workers did not possess effective market powers, they would be outside this liberal regime and tempted by socialism

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and anarchism. But they could be repressed - with the consent of labour organizations accepting the rules of the game. Consequently, neither class nor socialism has ever appeared as a fundamental organizing principle of power in the United States. Those groups who in other countries constituted the core of the labour and socialist movement - male artisans, heavy industrial, mining and transport workers - became predominantly interest groups inside the liberal regime, while the unskilled, those in other sectors, females and ethnic minorities were left outside. Liberalism was thus the first viable regime strategy of an advanced industrial society. It still dominates the United States, and is also found in Switzerland. In these countries social citizenship is still marginal. Economic subsistence and participation is provided overwhelmingly out of the economic buoyancy of their national capitalisms, from which the large majority can insure themselves against adversity. Below that, there are welfare provisions against actual starvation, though they vary between states and cantons, are often denied to immigrant workers, and are sometimes provided only if the poor show their ‘worth’. It is closer to the 18th century Poor Law than to what Marshall meant by social citizenship. Its social struggles remained defined by liberalism. If civil and political citizenship could be attained early, before the class struggles of industrialism, then social citizenship need not follow. The most powerful capitalist state has not followed Marshall’s road. It shows no signs of doing so. But Britain strayed from liberalism towards reformism, as Marshall depicted. Britain’s initial struggle for liberal political citizenship was more of a class struggle, waged predominantly by the rising bourgeoisie and independent artisans. However, the British constitution has not excluded classes or status groups as systematically as have most constitutions of continental Europe. The franchise before 1832 was extraordinarily uneven; then, until 1867, it passed through the middle of the artisan group; between 1867 and 1884 it grew to include 65% of the adult male population. In 1918 all adult males and many females were included, and in 1929 all females. Hence at any particular point in time emerging dissidents — petty bourgeois radicals, artisan and skilled factory worker socialists, feminists - have been partially inside, partially outside the state. Thus liberalism and socialism have both remained attractive ideologies. Indeed, perhaps only the splits in the Liberal Party consequent on the First World War may have ensured that a joint liberal/reformist ideology would be carried principally by an independent Labour Party, rather than through Lib-Lab politics. Britain has enshrined the rule of both interest groups and classes, jointly. The labour movement is part sectional interest group, part class movement, irremediably reformist, virtually unsullied by Marxist or anarchist revolutionary tendencies. Britain is thus a mixed liberal/reformist case. The state remains liberal, unwilling to intervene actively in interest-group bargaining - it has incorporated the lower classes into the rules of the game, not into the institutions of ‘corporatism’. Yet social citizenship has advanced somewhat beyond the American level. The state guarantees subsistence through the welfare state, but this meshes into, rather than replaces, private market and insurance schemes. Thus its major social struggles are fought out in terms of an ideological debate, and a real political pendulum, between liberalism and social democracy. In reaction to the Thatcher government’s liberal strategy, the reformist strategy is now becoming more popular again.

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Contested and merged regimes - France Spain Italy, Scandinavia In France, Spain and Italy, reactionaries (usually monarchist and clerical) and secular liberals struggled over political citizenship for most of the 19th and 20th centuries, with many violent change of regime. Citizenship remained bitterly disputed, though there was undoubtedly some secular progress in the Marshallian direction. As radical bourgeoisie, peasantry and labour were erratically but persistently denied political citizenship, these developed competing excluded ideologies. Sometimes they rejected the state, as in anarchism and syndicalism; sometimes they embraced it, as in Marxist socialism. The fierce competition between anarcho-syndicalism, revolutionary socialism and reformist socialism was not solved until after World War II, for reasons I mention later. In several other countries the absolutist/constitutional struggle proceeded to more peaceful victory for a broad alliance between bourgeoisie, labour and small farmers. Over the first four decades of this century they achieved civil and political citizenship, and proceeded furthest along the road to social citizenship. The absolutist inheritance, never violently repudiated (unlike in France), provided a more corporatist tinge to regime negotiations which still endures. The Scandinavian countries are the paradigm cases of this route, less affected by the dislocations of war than any other. This second road, a corporatist style of reformism, corresponds closely to Marshall’s vision (more so than the British case does). Its social struggles are avowedly class ones, but they are managed by joint negotiations, and constrained more by pragmatic that ideological limits. Continuing reform, it is agreed, will be limited primarily by the growth record of each national economy. But to investigate properly the absolutist legacy suggests a methodology of examining the ‘purer’ and longer-lasting cases of absolutism, in Russia, Austria, Japan and especially in Prussia/Germany. From absolutism to authoritarian monarchy Japan

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Germany Austria, Russia,

The absolutist regimes entered the 19th century with two conflicting predispositions. First, monarch, nobility and Church were unwilling to grant universal citizen rights to either bourgeoisie or proletariat, since that would threaten the particularistic, private and arbitrary nature of their power. Second, despite their despotic appearance, they were pessimistic about their infrastructural capacity to overcome determined resistance with systematic repression. When it became obvious that neither the bourgeoisie nor the proletariat would go away, the regimes not only cast around for other solutions to maintain their power - they also realized that to incorporate these rising groups would ‘modernize’ the regime and increase its Great Power status. The most successful regime in Europe was Wilhelmine Germany, on which I will therefore concentrate.4 German absolutists were willing to concede on civil citizenship. Often this did not seem like ‘concession’ at all. Ancien régime members were major property-holders, gradually using their property more capitalistically. They were not opposed to the spread of universal contract law and guarantees of property rights - including the liberal conception of freedom of labour. Recent Marxists have observed that

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classical liberalism, combining capitalism with democracy, has not often appeared subsequently: much civil can exist with little political citizenship (e.g. Jessop, 1978). Blackbourne and Eley (1984) have demonstrated this case with respect to 19th century Germany: liberal legal rights (civil citizenship) were achieved through a consensus between the Prussian regime and the bourgeoisie over what was needed to modernize society. Absolutist regimes also favoured a minimal social citizenship. Their ideology and particularistic practices were already paternalist. Particular groups like artisans or miners often had their basic wages, hours and working practices guaranteed by the state. When state infrastructural powers expanded, after about 1860, so could a minimal social citizenship. As is generally recognized today, Bismarck and Kaiser Wilhelm, and not liberals or reformists, were the founders of the Welfare State, though it is true that they did not take it very far (Flora & Albers, 1981). The sticking-point was over political citizenship. Real parliaments could not be conceded; democrats could not be allowed absolute freedoms of the press, speech or assembly. Gradually, however, the more astute monarchists institutionalized a workable political strategy. The regime conceded a parliamentary shell but weighted the franchise, rigged ballots, and only allowed elected representatives limited powers alongside an executive branch responsible to the monarch alone. Thus the bourgeoisie, even the proletariat, could be brought within the state but could not control it. By this sham political citizenship they were ‘negatively incorporated’, to use Roth’s (1963) term. The tactics were divide-and-rule: negotiate with the more moderate sections of excluded groups, .hen repress the rest; play off incorporated interest groups and classes against each other; and preserve a vital element of arbitrary regime discretion. In the hands of a Bismarck the discretion could be used quite cynically: Catholics, regionalists, National Liberals, classical liberals, even the working class, would be taken up, discarded, and repressed according to current tactical exigencies (see the brilliant biography of Bismarck by Taylor, 1961). Divide-and-rule was corporatist and arbitrary - both qualities inherited from absolutism. Groups and classes were integrated as organizations into the state, rather than into rule-governed marketplaces. The state could alter the rules by dissolving parliament, restricting civil liberties, and selecting new targets for repression. By these means authoritarian monarchism emasculated the German bourgeoisie, dividing it among Conservative, National Liberal, Catholic and regionalist factions, all vying for influence within the régime. By 1914 the German bourgeoisie was finished as an independent political force (as Max Weber so often lamented). Only a small radical rump was prepared to ally with the excluded socialists against the regime. The proletariat was treated more severely. Though the regime became somewhat internally divided, and though different Länder also varied (with liberals arguing that concessions to labour unions would detach them from socialism), in the end the authoritarians proved to be the heart of the regime. Apart from a brief period (189094) under the Chancellorship of Caprivi, a liberal Prussian general, the politics of conciliation never carried the court - and the Kaiser dismissed Caprivi rather than make concessions to labour. The regime was essentially united and so could respond with a clear strategy. The German working class could elect representatives to the Reichstag, but these were excluded from office or influence on the regime. Unions were permitted, but - even after the anti-Socialist Laws were repealed in 1889 -

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their legal rights were unclear. The state could exploit legal uncertainties or invoke martial law to repress strikes, meetings, marches, organizations and publications. It did so arbitrarily, according to its traditions. Faced with a strategy largely of civil and political exclusion, labour responded predictably. It followed the Marxist Social Democrats, ostensibly revolutionary but geared up in practice to fight the elections. Most activist workers joined the socialist unions, committed to SPD rhetoric, but able to make reformist gains in some industries and localities. But to be a reformist brought frustration, because of regime intransigence. By 1914 Karl Legien, the crypto-reformist leader of the socialist unions, had carefully built up a measure of autonomy from the SPD. But he was forced to confess that reform was impossible without a fundamental change in the state. The working class was largely outside political citizenship. It responded with a flawed revolutionary Marxism - extreme rhetoric, practical caution, and a leadership, conscious of the isolation of the movement, concentrating on electoral politics. How frightened was the regime of the socialist threat? In the 1912 election the SPD achieved its greatest success, capturing a third of the votes, and becoming the largest single party in the Reichstag. The regime was taken aback but quickly recovered. The Chancellor, Bethmann-Hollweg, used the Red Scare against his major enemy at the time, which was the Right, not the Left. He exploited the fears of the propertied classes to finally push through an income tax, long desired by the regime, long resisted by the agrarian landlords.5 Authoritarian monarchy was still successfully dividing-and-ruling and modernizing at the onset of the first World War. Each of the authoritarian monarchies provided its variation on this German theme. I discuss them briefly in order of their success, beginning with Japan, the most successful. The Japanese monarchy itself had less freedom of action. Instead a tightly-knit Meiji elite, modernizing but drawn from the traditional dominant classes, used the monarchy as its legitimating principle. The Meiji Revolution represented an unusually self-conscious regime strategy of conservative modernization. After a careful search around Western constitutions, the German constitution was adopted and modified according to local need.6 It is worth adding that forms of organization from liberal-reformist countries were also borrowed where they could fit into an authoritarian mould - notably French army and British navy organization.7 Authoritarian monarchy became rather more corporate, less dependent on the personal qualities of the monarch, than in Europe - an apparent strengthening of the strategy. Less successful was Russia, whose regime generally favoured more repression and exclusion, yet vacillated before modern liberal and authoritarian influences from the West. Two periods of regime conciliation (1906-7 and 1912-14) enabled the emergence of bourgeois parties of compromise and labour unions run by reformists. But each time the subsequent return to repression cut the ground from under liberals and reformists. They could promise their followers little. Many became embittered and moved leftward. Socialist revolutionaries took over the labour and peasant movements and even some of the bourgeois factions (see e.g. on the workers’ movement, Bonnell, 1983, and Swain, 1983). Divisions and vacillation at court prevented successful emulation of the German model. The ancien regime still

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possessed the loyalty of the nobility and propertied classes in general, but its modernization programme began to disintegrate from within (as Haimson, 1964 and 1965, classically argued). The regime lacked a corporate core of either liberal or conservative modernizers. Stolypin, the architect of the agrarian reforms designed to recruit rich and middling peasant support, was the potential conservative saviour of the regime, yet his influence at court was always precarious. The divided regime became buffeted by the personal irresoluteness of Nicholas and the reactionary folly of Alexandra. When monarchy begins to depend on the personal qualities of its monarchs, it is an endangered species. Russia represented the opposite pole to Japan within the spectrum of authoritarian monarchy - no corporate regime strategy, much depending on the monarch himself. On the other hand, economic and military modernization was proving remarkably successful in pre-war Russia. Could the regime find a comparably coherent political strategy? In 1914 the answer was not yet clear. Though regime weaknesses had begun to create what later proved to be its revolutionary grave-diggers, their influence was still negligible in 1914. The least successful case was Austria (become the Dual Monarchy of Austria-Hungary in 1867), uniquely beset by nationality conflicts as well as class struggle across its variegated lands.8 The monarchy attempted divide-and-rule on both fronts at once, but was faced by defections among ancien regime groups (Hungarian and Czech nobilities) as well as the hostility of bourgeois liberal nationalism. As the monarchy faltered, some peculiar alliances developed. After 1867 the most loyal and dominant groups in the two halves of the Dual Monarchy were the German nobility and bourgeoisie and the Hungarian nobility. But the monarchy found their support unwelcome because it alienated all the other nationalities these two exploited. After 1899 the Marxist SPD rejected nationalism as a bourgeois creed, thereby becoming to its surprise the major de facto supporter of the transnational monarchy. The monarchy belatedly converted to parliamentary institutions similar to Germany’s (universal suffrage to parliaments whose rights were subordinate to the monarchy’s), and tried to reach out to exploited nationalities and even classes. But noble and bourgeois nationalists, not the proletariat, made the parliaments unworkable, and they were dissolved. This authoritarian monarchy could not even retain the loyalty of the whole ancien régime, let alone incorporate the bourgeoisie. By 1914 the regime consisted of the monarchy, the army, and the largely tactical support of various national and class groupings. Its corporate solidarity was probably the weakest of the four cases. The four cases reveal considerable variation in regime strategy and success. The crucial criteria of success were to maintain the corporate coherence of the ancien régime, and to modernize by incorporating sections of the bourgeoisie. It is outside the scope of this article to attempt to explain why some régimes did much better than others at these tasks. However, régimes seem not to have prospered or faltered because of the strength in general class and numerical terms of bourgeoisie and proletariat. In these terms the rising classes in Germany were initially the most threatening, those of Japan the least threatening, with Austria and Russia somewhere in between. This is not the same ordering as for regime success. The bulk of the explanation of success would seem to lie among the traditional regimes and classes, not among the rising classes. At its most coherent, authoritarian monarchy provided a distinctive mixture of

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citizen rights — a fair degree of civil citizenship, minimal social citizenship, limited political citizenship, the whole varying by class and tactically undercut by an arbitrary monarchy and court-centred elite. Its social struggles were part ideological class struggle, part incorporated interest-group jostling, erratically violent yet institutionalized nonetheless. Was this the third viable strategy for advanced industrial societies? Could it have survived the working class pressure indefinitely? But for the fortunes of war, would it still survive today in three of the four greatest industrial powers in the world, a united Germany, a Tsarist Russia, and an Imperial Japan? We cannot be sure because these regimes collapsed in war. But let us consider four supports for this counter-factual possibility. First, in its own time Wilhelmine Germany was not idiosyncratic. Its emerging institutions were better-organized versions of the European mainstream. As Goldstein (1983) has shown, the combination of selective repression and sham parliaments was the late 19th century norm, not well-developed liberalism, still less reformism. For this reason German institutions were much copied, especially by Austria and Japan. Second, by the time of their entry into the decisive war, 1914 (or 1941 in the case of Japan), the authoritarian monarchies were already becoming great industrial powers. Germany had overtaken Britain and France and was matched only by the United States. Japan and Russia were industrializing rapidly and successfully; and Russian economic resources, then as now, made up in quantity what they lacked in quality (quantitative indices of the economic strength of the Great Powers can be found in Bairoch, 1982). Authoritarian monarchy was surviving into advanced industrial societies in Germany and Japan, still had a reasonable chance in Russia, and was obviously failing only in Austria, where nations, not classes, provided the main threat. Third, we must beware a too-homogeneous view of industrial society and its class struggles. The main reason the working class was not so threatening was its limited size. National censuses conducted between 1907 and 1911 show Britain to be exceptional. Only 9°7o of its working population was still in agriculture, compared to 32% in the US, 37% in Germany, and more than 55% in Russia. Among the major powers only in Britain were more working in manufacturing than in agriculture (Bairoch, 1968: Table A2 has assembled the census data). Outside Britain, labour needed the support of peasants and small farmers to achieve either reform of revolution. It achieved this partially in the ‘contested’ cases of France, Italy and Spain, and more sustainedly in the “mixed” cases of Scandinavia. But in Germany, Japan and Austria it failed dismally. Socialism was trapped in its urban-industrial enclaves, outvoted by the bourgeois-agrarian classes, and repressed by peasant soldiers and aristocratic officers. Authoritarian monarchy could continue to divide and rule and selectively repress provided it could manipulate divisions between agrarian and bourgeois classes, and motivate them both with fear of the proletariat. Few 20th century socialists have broken this strategy - Lenin being the obvious exception. Fourth, the numerical weakness of labour has continued, though in changed form. The rise of the ‘new middle class’ and of the ‘service class’, the re-emergence of labour market dualism, and the increasing size and variety of service industries soon introduced new differentiations among the employed population, just as agriculture declined. Successful labour movements in the post-war period, like those

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of Scandinavia, have managed to repeat their earlier populist strategy (EspingAnderson, 1985). They have recruited white-collar workers and new economic sectors into the Social Democratic movement, just as they earlier recruited bourgeois radicals and small farmers. But could labour movements which had already failed to attract the bourgeoisie or farmers, as in Germany or Japan, now do better among newer groups? It is surely more plausible to conceive of divide-and-rule, selective repression strategies, wielded by arbitrary authoritarian monarchies, surviving successfully today in Germany and Japan, and possibly also in Russia and constituent parts of Austria-Hungary. I conclude that the third strategy, authoritarian monarchy, could probably have survived into advanced, post-industrial society, providing a distinctive, corporately organized, arbitrary combination of partial civil, political and social citizenship. This was not envisaged by Marshall, or indeed by any modern sociologist. Fascism and authoritarian socialism World War I resulted in two further strategies, fascism and authoritarian socialism. Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union are their exemplars. Both used more repression, using the infrastructural capacities of the 20th century state, and proclaiming violent legitimating ideologies. In practice, as in all regimes, repression had to be combined with negotiation. Both regimes delineated out-groups with whom they would not negotiate: for both, anyone providing principled opposition; for the Nazis labour leaders, socialists, Jews and other non-Aryan groups; for the Soviets, major property-owners. But other interest groups - never acknowledged as antagonistic classes - could join the regime, establish cliques within and clients without, and bargain and jostle in time-honoured absolutist style. Now social struggles were not openly acknowledged at all. But within the regime they would continue, flaring into intermittent life with purges, riots and even armed factional struggle. Neither regime provided civil rights; neither provided real political citizenship (though they provided the institutions of sham corporatism and socialism). Yet they moved furthest toward social citizenship. Fascism’s move was hesitant: full employment and public works programmes were not greatly in advance of others of the time (and were partially an outcome of a more important policy goal, rearmament). But had the regime survived the war, its encroachments on capitalism would surely have extended the state’s role in guaranteeing subsistence. The Soviet regime has gone much further, proud of its programme of social citizenship. The state formally provides the subsistence of all (though the reality, with private peasant plots and black markets, is less clear-cut). Of course, German Fascism was deeply unstable. But this was due to the restless militarism of its leaders in geo-politics, not to its class strategy. Indeed, this was remarkably successful in a short space of time. The proletariat was suppressed more completely than any of the regimes discussed so far would have believed possible. Its leaders were killed or exiled; its organizations disbanded or staffed by the regime’s para-military forces; its masses silenced, seemingly with the. approval of other social classes. The bourgeoisie was emasculated even more effectively than the Wilhelmine regime had managed. The liberals were killed or silenced, the rest kept quiet or

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loudly voiced their support. Ruthlessness was no longer hidden by scruple. Thus Fascism might have offered a fourth, chilling resolution to class struggle in advanced societies. Its main test would have been the next one: could it take on capital too? It was already beginning to do this by subordinating economic profit to militarism. This proved its downfall - but not at the hands of domestic social classes, who fought loyally for the Nazi regime down to its last days. The stability of the fifth solution, authoritarian socialism, cannot be in doubt. The Bolsheviks and their ruling successors soon cowed the bourgeoisie, and gradually domesticated the labour movement. The trade unions were converted into a-political welfare state organizations (sometimes headed by ex-KGB men). It took almost fifty years for the institutionalization to be complete. But once in place, it appears no less stable than other enduring types of regime. The impact o f war and geo-politics I have described five viable regime strategies and mixtures of citizenship: liberalism, reformism, authoritarian monarchy, Fascism and authoritarian socialism. Yet industrial society today has lost some of this variety. Authoritarian monarchy and Fascism no longer exist. Why? Is it because of their inherent defects or instability? I have already suggested not. There is an alternative explanation. To paraphrase a famous epitaph on the Roman Empire - these regimes did not die of natural causes, they were assassinated. Of course, Fascism and authoritarian socialism were also born out of assassination. But for the fortunes of World War I, authoritarian monarchy might be alive today, while Fascism and authoritarian socialism might never have been born. But for the fortunes of World War II Fascism might dominate the world today. True, it is difficult to see American liberalism being overthrown by the German, Austrian and Japanese alliances. But Europe and Russia might well have had viable futures under very different regimes. Of course, proof of this argument would require disposing of the reverse causality: regime type might have determined the role of war. This could have happened in two stages. Certain regimes - obviously the more authoritarian ones may have been more militaristic and provoked the world wars; yet they may have been less effective at fighting them. The first stage has validity. The Nazis and Japanese did aggress in World War II; and, in a more confused, stumbling way, the authoritarian monarchies did start World War I. But is the second stage of the argument valid? Were liberalism, reformism and authoritarian socialism better suited to mass mobilization warfare? The ideologies of the victors suggest the answer ‘yes’. I have only time here to give fragmentary evidence, but my answer is ‘no’. In both wars the German army fought better than its enemies, who continuously needed numerical superiority to survive. German civilians also loyally supported their regimes to the end. Both points hold also for the Japanese in the second war. The Eastern Front in the first war offers further shocks to the liberal/reformist perspective. Authoritarian monarchy Russia outfought the by now semiauthoritarian monarchy of Austria-Hungary, whose troops in turn outfought the by now largely liberal regime of Italy. Indeed, when in 1917 the Austro-Hungarian armies against Russia collapsed, they were stiffened by Prussian officers and NCOs

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and then began to get the upper hand (Stone, 1975). The Central and Axis powers were correct in their view that the fortunes of war turned less upon citizenship than on efficient military organization. Unfortunately for them, military efficiency became over-weighted by numbers. Numbers resulted principally from the alliance system - how may powerful states were on each side? Authoritarian monarchy and Fascism were defeated by superior geo-political alliances, not by their domestic socio-political structure. After 1945 this result was deliberately rammed home by the victors, careful not to repeat the mistakes of the peace treaties of 1918 (see Maier, 1981). Eastern Europe was made safe for authoritarian socialism by the Red Army. Western Europe and Japan were more subtly made safe for liberal/reformist regimes (though Japan’s regime does not fit happily into this categorization, because of the survival of many authoritarian traditions). In Western Europe the authoritarian Right was eliminated by force, the revolutionary Left had the ground cut from under it by reforms and economic growth offered to governments and industrial relations systems of the Centre and Centre-Left. By 1950 the contest was over. A cross between Marshallian citizenship and American liberalism dominated the West, less through its internal evolution than through the fortunes of war. It still dominates today. Marshall’s general argument was that industrial society institutionalized class struggle through mass citizenship. This seems true. All regimes have guaranteed some citizen rights. But they have done so in very different degrees and combinations. It is a more complex and less optimistic overall picture than he envisaged. But for the logic of geo-politics and war - including the sacrifices of his own generation - it might have been a very different and infinitely more depressing picture in Europe. Sociologists are prone to forget that ‘evolution’ is usually geo-politically assisted. Dominant powers may impose their strategies on lesser powers; or the lesser may freely choose the dominator’s strategy because it is an obviously successful modernization strategy. This means that what ‘evolves’ depends on changing geopolitical configurations. Let me quote Ito Hirobumi, the principal author of the Meiji constitution of 1889: ‘We were just then in an age of transition. The opinions prevailing in the country were extremely heterogeneous, and often diametrically opposed to each other...there was a large and powerful body of the younger generation educated at the time when the Manchester theory was in vogue, and who in consequence were ultra-radical in their ideas of freedom. Members of the bureaucracy were prone to lend willing ears to the German doctrinaires of the reactionary period, while, on the other hand, the educated politicians among the people having not yet tasted the bitter significance of administrative responsibility, were liable to be more influenced by the dazzling words and lucid theories of Montesquieu, Rousseau and similar French writers.’

I have taken this quotation from Bendix (1978:485) who uses it in support of a general evolutionist model of how Western ideals of popular representation supplanted monarchy everywhere. He rightly notes the importance of ‘reference societies’, more advanced societies to which modernizers could point with approval. But the quotation reveals that at the end of the 19th century there were at least three - Britain, France and Germany - and this reflected a real balance of power among several great powers. No single power could impose its will on others (outside its

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colonial or regional sphere of influence). Modernizers could choose from among several regime strategies. That is far less the case today. The Soviet and AngloAmerican strategies were imposed - in the East by force, in the West by assisting certain political factions and subverting others. The two strategies have worked in their different ways for 40 years, and are now backed by the economic, ideological, military and political resources of two hegemonic superpowers. Eastern Europe is still held down by force. In the Western European periphery, deviant regimes in Portugal, Spain and Greece have succumbed to the Anglo-American vision of modernization desired increasingly by their domestic elites. In the Third World there is more variety of choice, because most countries are more insulated from both Western and Eastern blocs, but the choices tend to be around the two models provided by the superpowers. Geo-politics has also provided a second recent change: the emergence of nuclear weapons. Warfare at the highest level would now destroy society. Therefore, the war-assisted pattern of change dominant in the first half of the century cannot be repeated. The emergence of the superpowers and of nuclear weapons both indicate that the future of citizenship will be different from its past. Our assessment of its prospects must combine domestic with geo-political analysis. Notes 1. An earlier version of this article was given as the 1986 T.H. Marshall Memorial Lecture at the University of Southampton. My thanks go to the University’s Department of Sociology for its invitation and hospitality and to John Hall and David Lockwood for their helpful criticisms of that version. 2. I write ‘Great Britain’ rather than ‘The United Kingdom’ because there is also no reference to Northern Ireland, which, of course, would not fit well into his theory. 3. The historical generalizations contained in the rest of this essay are given more empirical and bibliographic support in Mann, 1989. For the distinction between despotic and infrastructural power, see Mann 1984. 4. The literature on Wilhelmine Germany is enormous and often controversial. Apart from works cited later, good concise general accounts are provided by Calleo, 1978:57 - 84, and by various essays in Sheehan, 1976. 5. Kaiser, 1983: 458 - 62, makes this argument, against the more traditional view of writers like Berghahn, 1972, that the regime feared the Left and militarized society to counter its threat. 6. Bendix, 1978: 476-90, gives a succinct summary of the Meiji strategy. 7. I am grateful to Professor Michio Morishima for this observation. 8. Historical sociologists have tended to ignore Austria, except in relation to nationalism. For a narrative that enables us to piece together most of the complex relations between regime, classes and nations, see Kann 1964. References B a ir o c h ,

Bruxelles.

P. 1968. The Working Population and its Structure. Brussels: Université Libre de

B a i r o c h , P. 1982. ‘International industrialization levels from 1750 to 1980’, Journal o f European Economic History, 11.

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R. 1978. Kings or People. Power and the Mandate to Rule. Berkeley: University of California Press. B e r g h a h n , V. 1973. Germany and the Approach o f War in 1914. London: St. Martins Press. B l a c k b o u r n e , D. & E l e y G. 1984. The Peculiarities o f German History. Oxford: Oxford UP. B o n n e l l , V .E . 1983. Roots o f Rebellion: Workers* Politics and Organizations in St. Petersburg and Moscow, 1900-1914. Berkeley: University of California Press. C a l l e o , D. 1978. The German Problem Reconsidered. Germany and the World Order, 1870 to the Present. Cambridge University Press. C o r r i g a n , P. & S a y e r , D. 1985 The Great Arch: English State Formation as Cultural Revolution. Oxford: Blackwell. D a h r e n d o r f , R. 1959. Class and Class Conflict in an Industrial Society. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. E s p in g - A n d e r s o n , G. 1985. Politics against Markets: The Social Democratic Road to Power. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP. F l o r a , P. & A l b e r , J. 1981. ‘Modernization, Democratization, and the Development of Welfare States in Western Europe’ in Flora & Heidenheimer A .J . (eds.) The Development o f Welfare States in Europe and America. New Brunswick, N. J.: Transaction Books. F l o r a , P. & H e id e n h e im e r , A.J. 1981. ‘Introduction’ in their The Development o f Welfare States, op. cit. G id d e n s A . 1985. The Nation State and Violence. Oxford: Polity Press. G o l d s t e i n , R.J. 1983. Political Repression in 19th Century Europe. Beckenham: Croom Helm. H a im s o n , L.H. 1964 and 1965. ‘The problem of social stability in urban Russia, 1905 - 1917’, Parts 1 and 2, Slavic Review, 23 and 24. H a l l , J. 1985. Powers and Liberties. Oxford: Blackwell. H a l s e y , Α.Η. 1984. ‘T.H. Marshall: Past and Present, 1893-198Γ, Sociology, 18. J e s s o p , B. 1978. ‘Capitalism and democracy: the best possible political shell?’ in G. Littlejohn et al Power and the State. London: Croom Helm. K a is e r , D.E. 1983. ‘Germany and the origins of the First World War’, Journal o f Modern History, 55. K a n n , R.E. 1964. The Multinational Empire. New York: Octagon Books. 2 vols. K a t z n e l s o n , I. 1981. City Trenches: Urban Politics and the Patterning o f Class in the United States. New York: Pantheon Books. L ip s e t, S.M. 1973. ‘Tom Marshall - Man of Wisdom’, British Journal o f Sociology, 24. L ip s e t, S.M. 1985. Consensus and Conflict: Essays in Political Sociology. New Brunswick: Transaction Books. L o c k w o o d , D. 1974. ‘For T.H. Marshall’, Sociology, 8. M aier, C.S. 1981. ‘The two postwar eras and the conditions for stability in 20th century Western Europe’, American Historical Review, 86. M a n n , M . 1980. State and Society, 1130-1815: an analysis of English state finances, in Zeitlin M . (ed.) Political Power and Social Theory. Vol 1. Connecticut: J.A.I. Press. M a n n , M . 1984. ‘The autonomous power of the state’ in Archives Européennes de Sociologie, 25. M a n n , Μ. 1986a. The Sources o f Social Power, Vol I: A History o f Power from the Beginning to 1760 A.D. New York & London: Cambridge UP. M a n n , M. 1986b. ‘War and Social Theory: into Battle with Classes, Nations and States’, in Shaw, M. & Creighton, C. (eds.) The Sociology o f War and Peace. London: MacMillan. M a n n , M. 1989. The Sources o f Social Power, Vol II: A History o f Power in Industrial Societies. New York & London: Cambridge UP. M a r s h a l l , T.H. 1963. ‘Citizenship and Social Class’ in his Sociology at the Crossroads. London: Heinemann. B e n d ix ,

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M a r s h a l l , T.H. 1975. Social Policy. London: Hutchinson, 4th revised edition. M a y e r , A.J. 1981. The Persistence o f the Old Regime. London: Croom Helm. M o o r e , B. 1969. The Social Origins o f Dictatorship and Democracy. Harmondsworth:

Penguin.

R o k k a n , S. 1970. Citizens, Elections, Parties: Approaches to the Comparative Study o f the processes o f Development. Oslo: Universitetsforlaget. R o t h , G. 1963. The Social Democrats in Imperial Gemany. Totowa, NJ: Bedminster Press. S h a w M. 1987. The Dialectics o f Total War. London: Pluto Press. S h e e h a n , J.J. 1976. Imperial Germany. New York: Franklin Watts. S k o c p o l, T. 1979. States and Social Revolutions. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. S t o n e , N. 1975. The Eastern Front, 1914-1917. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. S w a in , G. 1983. Russian Social Democracy and the Legal Labour Movement, 1906-1914. London: Macmillan. T a y l o r , A.J.P. 1961. Bismarck: the Man and the Statesman. London: Arrow Books. T u r n e r , B.S. 1986. Citizenship and Capitalism: the Debate over Reformism. London: Allen & Unwin.

Biographical Note: M i c h a e l M a n n is Reader in Sociology at L.S.E. His current research is completing Volume II of his The Sources o f Social Power, which centres on the relationship between social classes and nation-states in the West since 1760. Address: Department of Sociology, London School of Economics, Houghton St., London WC2A 2AE.

[3 ]

Return of the Citizen: A Survey of Recent Work on Citizenship Theory Will Kymlicka and Wayne Norman I. INTRODUCTION There has been an explosion of interest in the concept of citizenship among political theorists. In 1978, it could be confidently stated that “the concept of citizenship has gone out of fashion among political thinkers” (van Gunsteren 1978, p. 9). Fifteen years later, citizenship has become the “buzz word” among thinkers on all points of the political spectrum (Heater 1990, p. 293; Vogel and Moran 1991, p. x). There are a number of reasons for this renewed interest in citizenship in the 1990s. At the level of theory, it is a natural evolution in political discourse because the concept of citizenship seems to integrate the demands of justice and community membership—the central concepts of political philosophy in the 1970s and 1980s, respectively. Citizenship is intimately linked to ideas of individual entitlement on the one hand and of attachment to a particular community on the other. Thus it may help clarify what is really at stake in the debate between liberals and communitarians. Interest in citizenship has also been sparked by a number of recent political events and trends throughout the world— increasing voter apathy and long-term welfare dependency in the United States, the resurgence of nationalist movements in Eastern Europe, the stresses created by an increasingly multicultural and multiracial population in Western Europe, the backlash against the welfare state in Thatcher’s England, the failure of environmental policies that rely on voluntary citizen cooperation, and so forth. These events have made clear that the health and stability of a modern democracy depends, not only on the justice of its ‘basic structure’ but also on the qualities and attitudes of its citizens:1 for example,

1. Rawls says that the “basic structure” o f society is the primary subject o f a theory o f justice (Rawls 1971, p. 7; Rawls 1993, pp. 2 5 7 -8 9 ).

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their sense of identity and how they view potentially competing forms of national, regional, ethnic, or religious identities; their ability to tolerate and work together with others who are different from themselves; their desire to participate in the political process in order to promote the public good and hold political authorities accountable; their willingness to show self-restraint and exercise personal responsibility in their economic demands and in personal choices which affect their health and the environment. Without citizens who possess these qualities, democracies become difficult to govern, even unstable.2 As Habermas notes, “the institutions of constitutional freedom are only worth as much as a population makes of them” (Habermas 1992, p. 7). It is not surprising, then, that there should be increasing calls for ‘a theory of citizenship’ that focuses on the identity and conduct of individual citizens, including their responsibilities, loyalties, and roles. There are, however, at least two general hazards in this quest. First,^ the scope of a ‘theory of citizenship’ is potentially limitless— almost every problem in political philosophy involves relations among citizens or between citizens and the state. In this survey we try to avoid this danger by concentrating on two general issues that citizenship theorists claim have been neglected due to the overemphasis in recent political philosophy on structures and institutions— namely, civic virtues and citizenship identity.3 The second danger for a theory of citizenship arises because there are two different concepts which are sometimes conflated in these discussions: citizenship-as-legal-status, that is, as full membership in a particular political community; and citizenship-as-desirable-activity, where the extent and quality of one’s citizenship is a function of one’s participation in that community. As we shall see in the next section, most writers believe that an adequate theory of citizenship requires greater emphasis on responsibilities and virtues. Few of them, however, are proposing that we should revise our account of citizenship-as-legal-status in a way that would, say, strip apathetic people of their citizenship. Instead, these authors are generally concerned with the requirements of being a ‘good citizen’. But we should expect a theory of the good citizen to be relatively independent of the legal question of what it is to be a citizen, just as a theory of the good person is distinct from the metaphysical (or legal) question of what it is to be a person. While most 2. This may account for the recent interest in citizenship promotion among governments (e.g., Britain’s Commission on Citizenship, Encouraging Citizenship [1990]; Senate o f Australia, Active Citizenship Revisited [1991]; Senate o f Canada, Canadian Citizenship: Sharing the Responsibility [1993]). 3. One issue we will not discuss is immigration and naturalization policy (e.g., Brubaker 1989; van Gunsteren 1988).

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theorists respect this distinction in developing their own theories, we shall discuss in Section IV a fairly widespread tendency to ignore it when criticizing others’ theories of citizenship—for example, by contrasting their own ‘thick’ conception of citizenship-as-activity with an opponent’s ‘thin’ conception of citizenship-as-status. II. THE POSTWAR ORTHODOXY Before describing the new work on citizenship, it is necessary to outline quickly the view of citizenship that is implicit in much postwar political theory and that is defined almost entirely in terms of the possession of rights. The most influential exposition of this postwar conception of citizenship-as-rights is T. H. Marshall’s “Citizenship and Social Class,” written in 1949.4 According to Marshall, citizenship is essentially a matter of ensuring that everyone is treated as a full and equal member of society. And the way to ensure this sense of membership is through according people an increasing number of citizenship rights. Marshall divides citizenship rights into three categories which he sees as having taken hold in England in three successive centuries: civil rights, which arose in the eighteenth century; political rights, which arose in the nineteenth century; and social rights— for example, to public education, health care, unemployment insurance, and oldage pension— which have become established in this century (Marshall 1965, pp. 78 ff .).5 And with the expansion of the rights of citizenship, he notes, there was also an expansion of the class of citizens. Civil and political rights that had been restricted to white property-owning Protestant men were gradually extended to women, the working class, Jews and Catholics, blacks, and other previously excluded groups. For Marshall, the fullest expression of citizenship requires a liberaldemocratic welfare state. By guaranteeing civil, political, and social rights to all, the welfare state ensures that every member of society feels like a full member of society, able to participate in and enjoy the common life of society. Where any of these rights are withheld or violated, people will be marginalized and unable to participate. This is often called “passive” or “private” citizenship, because of its emphasis on passive entitlements and the absence of any obligation

4. Reprinted in Marshall (1965). For a concise introduction to the history o f citizenship, see Heater (1990) and Walzer (1989). 5. It is often noted how idiosyncratically English this history is. In many European countries most o f this progress occurred only in the past fifty years, and often in reverse order. Even in England, the historical evidence supports an “ebb and flow model” of citizenship rights, rather than a “unilinear” model (Heater 1990, p. 271; Parry 1991, p. 167; Held 1989, p. 193; Turner 1989).

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to participate in public life. It is still widely supported,6and with good reason: “the benefits of private citizenship are not to be sneezed at: they place certain basic human goods (security, prosperity, and freedom) within the grasp of nearly all, and that is nothing less than a fantastic human achievement” (Macedo 1990, p. 39). Nevertheless, this orthodox postwar conception of citizenship has come4ncreasingly under attack in the past decade. For the purposes of this article, we can identify two sets of criticisms. The first set focuses on the need to supplement (or replace) the passive acceptance of citizenship rights with the active exercise of citizenship responsibilities and virtues, including economic self-reliance, political participation, and even civility. These issues are discussed in Section III. The second set focuses on the need to revise the current definition of citizenship to accommodate the increasing social and cultural pluralism of modern societies. Can citizenship provide a common experience, identity, and allegiance for the members of society? Is it enough simply to include historically excluded groups on an equal basis, or are special measures sometimes required? This issue is discussed in Section IV. III. THE RESPONSIBILITIES AND VIRTUES OF CITIZENSHIP A. The New Right Critique of Social Citizenship and the Welfare State The first, and most politically powerful, critique of the postwar orthodoxy came from the New Right’s attack on the idea of “social rights.” These rights had always been resisted by the right, on the grounds that they were (a) inconsistent with the demands of (negative) freedom or (desert-based) justice, (b) economically inefficient, and (c) steps down ‘the road to serfdom’. But in the public’s eye, these arguments were seen as either implausible or, at any rate, as justifiably outweighed by considerations of social justice or by a citizenship-based defense of the welfare state such as Marshall’s. One of the revolutions in conservative thinking during the Thatcher/Reagan years was the willingness to engage the left in battle over the domain of social citizenship itself. Whereas Marshall had argued that social rights enable the disadvantaged to enter the mainstream of society and effectively exerqise their civil and political rights, the New Right argues that the welfare state has promoted passivity among the poor, without agtually improving their life chances, and 6. When asked what citizenship means to them, people are much more likely to talk about rights than responsibilities. This is true in Britain as well as the United States, although the British tend to emphasize social rights (e.g., to public education and health care), whereas Americans usually mention civil rights (e.g., freedom o f speech and religion) (King and Waldron 1988; Conover et al. 1991, p. 804). For most people, citizenship is, as the U.S. Supreme Court once put it, “the right to have rights” (Trop v. Dulles 356 U.S. 86, 102 [1958]).

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created a culture of dependency. Far from being the solution, the welfare state has itself perpetuated the problem by reducing citizens to passive dependents who are under bureaucratic tutelage. According to Norman Barry, there is no evidence that welfare programs have in fact promoted more active citizenship (Barry 1990, pp. 43-53). The New Right believes that the model of passive citizenship underestimated the extent to which fulfilling certain obligations is a precondition for being accepted as a full member of society. In particular, by failing to meet the obligation to support themselves, the longterm unemployed are a source of shame for society as well as themselves (Mead 1986, p. 240).7 Failure to fulfill common obligations is as much of an obstacle to full membership as the lack of equal rights. In these circumstances, “to obligate the dependent as others are obligated is essential to equality, not opposed to it. An effective welfare [policy] must include recipients in the common obligations of citizens rather than exclude them” (Mead 1986, pp. 12-13). According to the New Right, to ensure the social and cultural integration of the poor, we must go “beyond entitlement,” and focus instead on their responsibility to earn a living. Since the welfare state discourages people from becoming self-reliant, the safety net should be cut back and any remaining welfare benefits should have obligations tied to them. This is the idea behind one of the principal reforms of the welfare system in the 1980s: “workfare” programs, which require welfare recipients to work for their benefits, to reinforce the idea that citizens should be self-supporting. This New Right vision of citizenship has not gone unchallenged. For example, the claim that the rise of an unemployed welfareunderclass is due to the availability of welfare ignores the impact of global economic restructuring, and sits uncomfortably with the fact that many of the most extensive welfare states (in Scandinavia, e.g.) have traditionally enjoyed among the lowest unemployment rates. Moreover, critics charge, it is difficult to find any evidence that the New Right reforms of the 1980s have promoted responsible citizenship. These reforms aimed to extend the scope of markets in people’s lives— through freer trade, deregulation, tax cuts, the weakening of trade unions, and the tightening of unemployment benefits— in part in order to teach people the virtues of initiative, self-reliance, and self-sufficiency (Mulgan 1991, p. 43). Instead, however, many market deregulations arguably made possible an era of unprecedented greed and economic irresponsibility, as 7. For evidence that there is a set o f social expectations that Americans have o f each other, and o f themselves, that must be fulfilled if people are to be perceived as full members o f society, see Mead (1986, p. 243); Shklar (1991, p. 413); Moon (1988, pp. 3 4 -3 5 ); Dworkin (1992, p. 131).

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evidenced by the savings and loan and junk bond scandals in America (Mulgan 1991, p. 39). Also, cutting welfare benefits, far from getting the disadvantaged back on their feet, has expanded the underclass. Class inequalities have been exacerbated, and the working poor and unemployed have been effectively “disenfranchised,” unable to participate in the new economy of the New Right (Fierlbeck 1991, p. 579; Hoover and Plant 1988, chap. 12).8 For many, therefore, the New Right program is most plausibly seen not as an alternative account of citizenship but as an assault on the very principle of citizenship. As Plant puts it, “Instead of accepting citizenship as a political and social status, modern Conservatives have sought to reassert the role of the market and have rejected the idea that citizenship confers a status independent of economic standing” (Plant 1991, p. 52; cf. Heater 1990, p. 303; King 1987, pp. 196-98). B. Rethinking Social Citizenship Given these difficulties with the New Right critique of welfare entitlements, most people on the left continue to defend the principle that full citizenship requires social rights. For the left, Marshall’s argument that people can be full members and participants in the common life of society only if their basic needs are met “is as strong now . . . as it ever was” (Ignatieff 1989, p. 72). However, many on the left accept that the existing institutions of the welfare state are unpopular, in part because they seem to promote passivity and dependence, and to “facilitate a privatist retreat from citizenship and a particular ‘clientalization’ of the citizen’s role” (Habermas 1992, pp. 10—11; cf. King 1987, pp. 45-46). How then should the state foster self-reliance and personal responsibility? The left has responded ambivalently to issues such as ‘workfare’. On the one hand, the principle of personal responsibility and social obligation has always been at the heart of socialism (Mulgan 1991, p. 39). A duty to work is, after all, implicit in Marx’s famous slogan, “From each according to his talents, to each according to his needs.” Some people on the left, therefore, express qualified acceptance of workfare, if it “gives both responsibility and the power to use it” (Mulgan 1991, p. 46). On the other hand, most people on the left remain uncomfortable with imposing obligations as a matter of public policy. They believe that the dependent are kept out of the mainstream of society because 8. Some people on the right have recognized this danger with a purely marketbased conception o f citizenship and have sought to supplement it with an emphasis on volunteerism and charity. See the discussion o f the British Conservative party’s citizenship rhetoric in Fierlbeck (1991, p. 589), Andrews (1991, p. 13), and Heater (1990, p. 303).

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of a lack of opportunities, such as jobs, education, and training, not because of any desire to avoid work. Imposing obligations, therefore, is futile if genuine opportunities are absent, and unnecessary if those opportunities are present, since the vast majority of people on welfare would prefer not to be (King 1987, pp. 186-91; Fullinwider 1988, pp. 270-78). Rather than impose an obligation to work, the left would try to achieve full employment through, for example, worker-training programs. So while the left accepts the general principle that citizenship involves both rights and responsibilities, it feels that rights to participate must, in a sense, precede the responsibilities— that is, it is only appropriate to demand fulfillment of the responsibilities after the rights to participate are secured. A similar rejection of the New Right’s view of citizenship can be found in recent feminist discussions of citizenship. Many feminists accept the importance of balancing rights and responsibilities— indeed, Carol Gilligan’s findings suggest that women, in their everyday moral reasoning, prefer the language of responsibility to the language of rights (Gilligan 1982, p. 19). But feminists have grave doubts about the New Right rhetoric of economic self-sufficiency. Gender-neutral talk about “self-reliance” is often a code for the view that men should financially support the family, while women should look after the household and care for the elderly, the sick, and the young. This reinforces, rather than eliminates, the barriers to women’s full participation in society.9 When the New Right talks about self-reliance, the boundaries of the “self” include the family— it is families that should be self-reliant. Hence, greater “self-reliance” is consistent with, and may even require, greater dependency within the family. Yet women’s dependence on men within the family can be every bit as harmful as welfare dependency, since it allows men to exercise unequal power over decisions regarding sex, reproduction, consumption, leisure, and so on (King 1987, p. 47; Okin 1989, pp. 128-29). Since perceptions of responsibility tend to fall unequally on women, many feminists share the left’s view that rights to participate must, in a sense, precede responsibilities. Indeed, feminists wish to expand the list of social rights, in order to tackle structural barriers to women’s full participation as citizens that the welfare state currently ignores, or even exacerbates, such as the unequal distribution of domestic responsibilities (Phillips 1991a, 1991b; Okin 1992). Given the 9. The New Right’s emphasis on self-reliance puts women in a double bind. If they stay home and care for their children, they are accused o f failing to live up to their duty to be self-supporting. (Hence the stereotype o f irresponsible welfare mothers.) If they seek to earn a living, however, they are accused o f failing to live up to their family responsibilities.

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difficulty of combining family and public responsibilities, equal citizenship for women is impossible until workplaces and career expectations are rearranged to allow more room for family responsibilities and until men accept their share of domestic responsibilities (Okin 1989, pp. 175-77). However, if rights must precede responsibilities, it seems we are back to the old view of passive citizenship. Yet the left, as much as the right, accepts the need for change. The most popular proposal is to decentralize and democratize the welfare state— for example, by giving local welfare agencies more power and making them accountable to their clients (Pierson 1991, pp. 200-207). Hence the now-familiar talk of “empowering” welfare recipients by supplementing welfare rights with democratic participatory rights in the administration of welfare programs. This is the central theme of the contemporary left view of social citizenship.10 Whether it will work to overcome welfare dependency is difficult to say. Service providers have often resisted attempts to increase their accountability (Rustin 1991, p. 231; Pierson 1991, pp. 206-7). Moreover, there may be some tension between the goal of increasing democratic accountability to the local community and increasing accountability to clients (Plant 1990, p. 30). As we discuss in the next section, the left may have excessive faith in the ability of democratic participation to solve the problems of citizenship. C. The Need for Civic Virtues Many classical liberals believed that a liberal democracy could be made secure, even in the absence of an especially virtuous citizenry, by creating checks and balances. Institutional and procedural devices such as the separation of powers, a bicameral legislature, and federalism would all serve to block would-be oppressors. Even if each person pursued her own self-interest, without regard for the common good, one set of private interests would check another set of private interests.11 However, it has become clear that procedural-institutional 10. Another theme in recent left writing on citizenship is the importance o f constitutional rights. Indeed, the left’s reconciliation with liberal rights “is one o f the major theoretical phenomena o f our times’^Phillips 1991b, p. 13; Andrews 1991, pp. 207 -1 1 ; Sedley 1991, p. 226). 11. Kant thought that the problem o f good government “can be solved even for a race o f devils” (quoted in Galston 1991, p. 215). O f course, other liberals recognized the need for civic virtue, including Locke, Mill, and the British Idealists (see Vincent and Plant 1984, chap. 1). See also Carens (1986) and Deigh (1988), who argue that basic liberal rights and principles ground a fairly extensive range o f positive social duties and responsibilities, including the obligation to make good use o f one’s talents, to vote, to fulfill the responsibilities o f one’s office, and to aid in the defense o f one’s country, as well as the duty to protect and educate one’s children.

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mechanisms to balance self-interest are not enough, and that some level of civic virtue and public-spiritedness is required (Galston 1991, pp. 217, 244; Macedo 1990, pp. 138-39). Consider the many ways that public policy relies on responsible personal lifestyle decisions: the state will be unable to provide adequate health care if citizens do not act responsibly with respect to their own health, in terms of a healthy diet, exercise, and the consumption of liquor and tobacco; the state will be unable to meet the needs of children, the elderly, or the disabled if citizens do not agree to share this responsibility by providing some care for their relatives; the state cannot protect the environment if citizens are unwilling to reduce, reuse, and recycle in their own homes; the ability of the government to regulate the economy can be undermined if citizens borrow immoderate amounts or demand excessive wage increases; attempts to create a fairer society will flounder if citizens are chronically intolerant of difference and generally lacking in what Rawls calls a sense of justice (Rawls 1971, pp. 114—16, 335). Without cooperation and self-restraint in these areas, “the ability of liberal societies to function successfully progressively diminishes” (Galston 1991, p. 220; Macedo 1990, p. 39). In short, we need “a fuller, richer and yet more subtle understanding and practice of citizenship,” because “what the state needs from the citizenry cannot be secured by coercion, but only cooperation and self-restraint in the exercise of private power” (Cairns and Williams 1985, p. 43). Yet there is growing fear that the civility and publicspiritedness of citizens of liberal democracies may be in serious decline (Walzer 1992, p. 90).12 An adequate conception of citizenship, therefore, seems to require a balance of rights and responsibilities. Where do we learn these virtues? The New Right relies heavily on the market as a school of virtue. But there are other answers to this question. 1. The left and participatory democracy. —As we just noted, one of the left’s responses to the problem of citizen passivity is to “empower” citizens by democratizing the welfare state and, more generally, by dispersing state power through local democratic institutions, regional assemblies, and judicable rights. However, emphasizing participation does not yet explain how to ensure that citizens participate responsibly— that is, in a public-spirited, rather than self-interested or prejudiced, way. 12. According to a recent survey, only 12 percent o f American teenagers said voting was important to being a good citizen. Moreover, this apathy is not just a function o f youth— comparisons with similar surveys from the previous fifty years suggest that “the current cohort knows less, cares less, votes less, and is less critical o f its leaders and institutions than young people have been at any time over the past five decades” (Glendon 1991, p. 129). T he evidence from Great Britain is similar (Heater 1990, p. 215).

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Indeed, as Mulgan notes, “by concentrating too narrowly on the need to devolve power and on the virtues of freedom, issues of responsibility have been pushed to the margins” (Mulgan 1991, pp. 40—41). Empowered citizens may use their power irresponsibly by pushing for benefits and entitlements they cannot ultimately afford, or by voting themselves tax breaks and slashing assistance to the needy, or by “seeking scapegoats in the indolence of the poor, the strangeness of ethnic minorities, or the insolence and irresponsibility of modern women” (Fierlbeck 1991, p. 592). Following Rousseau and J. S. Mill, many modern participatory democrats assume that political participation itself will teach people responsibility and toleration. As Oldfield notes, they place their faith in the activity of participation “as the means whereby individuals may become accustomed to perform the duties of citizenship. Political participation enlarges the minds of individuals, familiarizes them with interests which lie beyond the immediacy of personal circumstance and environment, and encourages them to acknowledge that public concerns are the proper ones to which they should pay attention” (Oldfield 1990b, p. 184). Many people on the left have tried in this way to bypass the issue of responsible citizenship “by dissolving [it] into that of democracy itself,” which in turn has led to the “advocacy of collective decisionmaking as a resolution to all the problems of citizenship” (Held 1991, p. 23; cf. Pierson 1991, p. 202 ).13 Unfortunately, this faith in the educative function of participation seems overly optimistic (Oldfield 1990b, p. 184; Mead 1986, p. 247; Andrews 1991, p. 216). Hence there is increasing recognition that citizenship responsibilities should be incorporated more explicitly into left-wing theory (Hoover and Plant 1988, pp. 289-91; Vogel and Moran 1991, p. xv; Mouffe 1992a). But it seems clear that the left has not yet found a language of responsibility that it is comfortable with, or a set of concrete policies to promote these responsibilities.14 2. Civic republicanism.— The modern civic republican tradition is an extreme form of participatory democracy largely inspired by Machiavelli and Rousseau (who were in turn enamored with the Greeks and Romans). It is not surprising that the recent upsurge of interest in citizenship has given civic republicans a wider audience. 13. See Arneson (1992, pp. 4 8 8 -9 2 ) for a range o f potential conflicts between democratic procedures and socialist goals. As Dworkin notes, there is a danger o f making democracy “a black hole into which all other political virtues collapse” (1992, p. 132). 14. The left neglected many o f these issues for decades, on the ground that a concern with “citizenship” was bourgeois ideology. The very language o f citizenship was “alien” (Selbourne 1991, p. 94; van Gunsteren 1978, p. 9; Dietz 1992, p. 70; Wolin 1992, p. 241; Andrews 1991, p. 13).

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The feature that distinguishes civic republicans from other participationists, such as the left-wing theorists discussed above, is their emphasis on the intrinsic value of political participation for the participants themselves. Such participation is, in Oldfield’s words, “the highest form of human living-together that most individuals can aspire to” (Oldfield 1990a, p. 6). On this view, political life is superior to the merely private pleasures of family, neighborhood, and profession and so should occupy the center of people’s lives. Failure to participate in politics makes one a “radically incomplete and stunted being” (Oldfield 1990b, p. 187; cf. Pocock 1992, pp. 45,53; Skinner 1992; Beiner 1992). As its proponents admit, this conception is markedly at odds with the way most people in the modern world understand both citizenship and the good life. Most people find the greatest happiness in their family life, work, religion, or leisure, not in politics. Political participation is seen as an occasional, and often burdensome, activity needed to ensure that government respects and supports their freedom to pursue these personal occupations and attachments. This assumption that politics is a means to private life is shared by most people on the left (Ignatieff 1989, pp. 72-73) and right (Mead 1986, p. 254), as well as by liberals (Rawls 1971, pp. 229—30), civil society theorists (Walzer 1989, p. 215), and feminists (Elshtain 1981, p. 327), and defines the modern view of citizenship. In order to explain the modern indifference to political participation, civic republicans often argue that political life today has become impoverished compared to the active citizenship of, say, ancient Greece. Political debate is no longer meaningful and people lack access to effective participation. But it is more plausible to view our attachment to private life as a result not of the impoverishment of public life but of the enrichment of private life. We no longer seek gratification in politics because our personal and social life is so much richer than the Greeks’. There are many reasons for this historical change, including the rise of romantic love and the nuclear family (and its emphasis on intimacy and privacy), increased prosperity (and hence richer forms of leisure and consumption), the Christian commitment to the dignity of labor (which the Greeks despised), and the growing dislike for war (which the Greeks esteemed). Those passive citizens who prefer the joys of family and career to the duties of politics are not necessarily misguided. As Galston has put it, republicans who denigrate private life as tedious and selfabsorbed show no delight in real communities of people, and indeed are “contemptuous” of “everyday life” (Galston 1991, pp. 58-6 3 ).15

15. Civic republicans rarely defend their conception o f value at length. For example, after asserting that political life is “the highest form o f human living-together that

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3. Civil society theorists.— We shall use the label ‘civil society theorists’ to identify a recent development from communitarian thought in the 1980s. These theorists emphasize the necessity of civility and self-restraint to a healthy democracy but deny that either the market or political participation is sufficient to teach these virtues. Instead, it is in the voluntary organizations of civil society— churches, families, unions, ethnic associations, cooperatives, environmental groups, neighborhood associations, women’s support groups, charities— that we learn the virtues of mutual obligation. As Walzer puts it, “the civility that makes democratic politics possible can only be learned in the associational networks” of civil society (Walzer 1992, p. 104). Because these groups are voluntary, failure to live up to the responsibilities that come with them is usually met simply with disapproval rather than legal punishment. Yet because the disapproval comes from family, friends, colleagues, or comrades, it is in many ways a more powerful incentive to act responsibly than punishment by an impersonal state. It is here that “human character, competence, and capacity for citizenship are formed,” for it is here that we internalize the idea of personal responsibility and mutual obligation and learn the voluntary self-restraint which is essential to truly responsible citizenship (Glendon 1991, p. 109). It follows, therefore, that one of the first obligations of citizenship is to participate in civil society. As Walzer notes, “Join the association of your choice” is “not a slogan to rally political militants, and yet that is what civil society requires” (Walzer 1992, p. 106). The claim that civil society is the “seedbed of civic virtue” (Glendon 1991, p. 109) is essentially an empirical claim, for which there is little hard evidence one way or the other. It is an old and venerable view, but it is not obviously true. It may be in the neighborhood that we learn to be good neighbors, but neighborhood associations also teach people to operate on the “NIMBY” (not in my backyard) principle when it comes to the location of group homes or public works. Similarly, the family is often “a school of despotism” that teaches male dominance over women (Okin 1992, p. 65); churches often teach most individuals can aspire to,” Oldfield goes on to say, “I shall not argue for this moral point. It has in any case been argued many times within the corpus o f civic republican writing” (1990a, p. 6). But many critics have argued that these earlier defenses rest on sexism and denigration o f the private sphere (e.g., Vogel 1991, p. 68; Young 1989, p. 253; Phillips 1991b, p. 49) or on ethnic exclusiveness (Habermas 1992, p. 8). Skinner’s argument seems to be that while political participation may only have instrumental value for most people, we must get people to view it as if it has intrinsic value, or else they will not withstand internal or external threats to democracy (Skinner 1992, pp. 219—21). For discussions o f the relationship between republican conceptions o f the good and liberalism, see Dworkin (1989, pp. 4 9 9 -5 0 4 ), Taylor (1989, pp. 17 7 -8 1 ), Hill (1993, pp. 6 7 -8 4 ), and Sinopoli (1992, pp. 16 3 -7 1 ).

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deference to authority and intolerance of other faiths; ethnic groups often teach prejudice against other races; and so on. Walzer recognizes that most people are “trapped in one or another subordinate relationship, where the ‘civility’ they learned was deferential rather than independent and active.” In these circumstances, he says, we have to “reconstruct” the associational network “under new conditions of freedom and equality.” Sifhilarly, when the activities of some associations “are narrowly conceived, partial and particularist,” then “they need political correction.” Walzer calls his view “critical associationalism” to signify that the associations of civil society may need to be reformed in the light of principles of citizenship (Walzer 1992, pp. 106-7). But this may go too far in the other direction. Rather than supporting voluntary associations, this approach may unintentionally license wholesale intervention in them. Governments must of course intervene to protect the rights of people inside and outside the group if these rights are threatened. But do we want governments to reconstruct churches, for example, to make them more internally democratic, or to make sure that their members learn to be independent rather than deferential? And, in any event, wouldn’t reconstructing churches, families, or unions to make them more internally democratic start to undermine their essentially uncoerced and voluntary character, which is what supposedly made them the seedbeds of civic virtue? Civil society theorists demand too much of these voluntary associations in expecting them to be the main school for, or small-scale replica of, democratic citizenship. While these associations may teach civic virtue, that is not their raison d’être. The reason why people join churches, families, or ethnic organizations is not to learn civic virtue. It is, rather, to honor certain values and enjoy certain human goods, and these motives may have little to do with the promotion of citizenship. Joining a religious or ethnic association may be more a matter of withdrawing from the mainstream of society than of learning how to participate in it. To expect parents, priests, or union members to organize the internal life of their groups to promote citizenship maximally is to ignore why these groups exist in the first place. (Some associations, like the Boy Scouts, are designed to promote citizenship, but they are the exception, not the rule.)16 A similar issue arises with theorists of “maternal citizenship,” who focus on the family, and mothering in particular, as the school of

16. Also, it is difficult to see how even reconstructed groups could teach what some regard as an essential aspect o f citizenship— namely, a common identity and sense o f purpose (Phillips 1991b, pp. 1 1 7 -1 8 ). We discuss this in Sec. IV below.

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responsibility and virtue. According to Jean Elshtain and Sara Ruddick, mothering teaches women about the responsibility to conserve life and protect the vulnerable, and these lessons should become the guiding principles of political life as well. For example, mothering involves a “metaphysical attitude” of “holding,” which gives priority to the protection of existing relationships over the acquisition of new benefits (Elshtain 1981, pp. 326-27, 349-53; Ruddick 1987, p. 242). This has obvious implications for decisions about war or the environment. However, some critics argue that mothering does not involve the same attributes or virtues as citizenship and that there is no evidence that maternal attitudes such as “holding” promote democratic values such as “active citizenship, self-government, egalitarianism, and the exercise of freedom” (Dietz 1985, p. 30; Nauta 1992, p. 31). As Dietz puts it, “An enlightened despotism, a welfare-state, a single-party bureaucracy and a democratic republic may all respect mothers, protect children’s lives and show compassion for the vulnerable” (Dietz 1992, p. 76). This criticism parallels that of civil society theories. Both maternal feminists and civil society theorists define citizenship in terms of the virtues of the private sphere. But while these virtues may sometimes be necessary for good citizenship, they are not sufficient, and may sometimes be counterproductive. 4. Liberal virtue theory. — Liberals are often blamed for the current imbalance between rights and responsibilities, and not without reason. Liberal theorists in the 1970s and 1980s focused almost exclusively on the justification of rights and of the institutions to secure these rights, without attending to the responsibilities of citizens. Many critics believe that liberals are incapable of righting this imbalance, since the liberal commitment to liberty or neutrality or individualism renders the concept of civic virtue unintelligible (Mouffe 1992a). However, some of the most interesting work on the importance of civic virtue is in fact being done by liberals such as Amy Gutmann, Stephen Macedo, and William Galston. According to Galston, the virtues required for responsible citizenship can be divided into four groups: (i) general virtues: courage, law-abidingness, loyalty; (ii) social virtues: independence, open-mindedness; (iii) economic virtues: work ethic, capacity to delay self-gratification, adaptability to economic and technological change; and (iv)'political virtues: capacity to discern and respect the rights of others, willingness to demand only what can be paid for, ability to evaluate the performance of those in office, willingness to engage in public discourse (Galston 1991, pp. 221-24). It is the last two virtues— the ability to question authority and the willingness to engage in public discourse— which are the most distinctive components of liberal virtue theory. The need to question authority arises in part from the fact that citizens in a representative

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democracy elect representatives who govern in their name. Hence, an important responsibility of citizens is to monitor those officials and judge their conduct. The need to engage in public discourse arises from the fact that the decisions of government in a democracy should be made publicly, through free and open discussion. But as Galston notes, the virtue of public discourse is not just the willingness to participate in politics or to make one’s views known. Rather, it “includes the willingness to listen seriously to a range of views which, given the diversity of liberal societies, will include ideas the listener is bound to find strange and even obnoxious. The virtue of political discourse also includes the willingness to set forth one’s own views intelligibly and candidly as the basis for a politics of persuasion rather than manipulation or coercion” (Galston 1991, p. 227). Macedo calls this the virtue of “public reasonableness.” Liberal citizens must give reasons for their political demands, not just state preferences or make threats. Moreover, these reasons must be “public” reasons, in the sense that they are capable of persuading people of different faiths and nationalities. Hence it is not enough to invoke Scripture or tradition.17 Liberal citizens must justify their political demands in terms that fellow citizens can understand and accept as consistent with their status as free and equal citizens. It requires a conscientious effort to distinguish those beliefs which are matters of private faith from those which are capable of public defense and to see how issues look from the point of view of those with differing religious commitments and cultural backgrounds (cf. Phillips 1991b, pp. 5 7 -5 9 ).18 Where do we learn these virtues? Other theorists we have examined relied on the market, the family, or the associations of civil society to teach civic virtue. But it is clear that people will not automatically learn to engage in public discourse or to question authority in any of these spheres, since these spheres are often held together by private discourse and respect for authority. The answer, according to many liberal virtue theorists, is the system of education. Schools must teach children how to engage in the kind of critical reasoning and moral perspective that defines public reasonableness. As Amy Gutmann puts it, children at school “must 17. See the discussion o f the “principle o f secular motivation” in Audi (1989, p. 284). 18. This shows why civil society theorists are mistaken to think that good citizenship can be based on essentially private virtues. The requirement o f public reasonableness in political debate is unnecessary and undesirable in the private sphere. It would be absurd to ask churchgoers to abstain from appealing to Scripture in deciding how to run their church.

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learn not just to behave in accordance with authority but to think critically about authority if they are to live up to the democratic ideal of sharing political sovereignty as citizens.” People who “are ruled only by habit and authority . . . are incapable of constituting a society of sovereign citizens” (Gutmann 1987, p. 51).19 However, this idea that schools should teach children to be skeptical of political authority and to distance themselves from their own cultural traditions when engaging in public discourse is controversial. Traditionalists object to it on the grounds that it inevitably leads children to question tradition and parental or religious authority in private life. And that is surely correct. As Gutmann admits, education for democratic citizenship will necessarily involve “equipping children with the intellectual skills necessary to evaluate ways of life different from that of their parents,” because “many if not all of the capacities necessary for choice among good lives are also necessary for choice among good societies” (Gutmann 1987, pp. 30, 40). Hence, those groups which rely heavily on an uncritical acceptance of tradition and authority, while not strictly ruled out, “are bound to be discouraged by the free, open, pluralistic, progressive” attitudes which liberal education encourages (Macedo 1990, pp. 53—54). This is why groups such as the Amish have sought to remove their children from the school system. This creates a dilemma for liberals, many of whom wish to accommodate law-abiding groups like the Amish. Some liberals view the demise of such groups as regrettable but sometimes inevitable in a democratic society (Rawls 1975, p. 551; but see Rawls 1988, pp. 26768). Other liberals, however, want to adjust citizenship education to minimize the impact on parental and religious authority. Galston, for example, argues that the need to teach children how to engage in public discourse and to evaluate political leaders “does not warrant the conclusion that the state must (or may) structure public education to foster in children skeptical reflection on ways of life inherited from parents or local communities” (Galston 1991, p. 253). However, he admits that is is not easy for schools to promote a child’s willingness to question political authority without undermining her “unswerving belief in the correctness” of her parents’ way of life. This parallels the dilemma facing civil society theorists. They face the question of when to intervene in private groups in order to make them more effective schools of civic virtue; liberal virtue theorists, on the other hand, face the question of when to modify civic education 19. Public schools teach these virtues not only through their curriculum but also “by insisting that students sit in their seats (next to students o f different races and religions), raise their hands before speaking, hand in their homework on time . . . be good sports on its playing field” (Gutmann 1987, p. 53).

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in the schools in order to limit its impact on private associations. Neither group has, to date, fully come to grips with these questions. D. Conclusion: Responsible Citizenship and Public Policy In most postwar political theory, the fundamental normative concepts were democracy (for evaluating procedures) and justice (for evaluating outcomes). Citizenship, if it was discussed at all, was usually seen as derivative of democracy and justice— that is, a citizen is someone who has democratic rights and claims of justice. There is increasing support, however, from all points of the political spectrum, for the view that citizenship must play an independent normative role in any plausible political theory and that the promotion of responsible citizenship is an urgent aim of public policy. And yet a striking feature of the current debate is the timidity with which authors apply their theories of citizenship to questions of public policy. As we have seen, there are some suggestions about the sorts of institutions or policies that would promote or enforce the virtues and responsibilities of good citizenship. But these tend to be the same policies which have long been defended on grounds of justice or democracy. The left favored democratizing the welfare state long before they adopted the language of citizenship, just as feminists favored day care and the New Right opposed the welfare state. It is not clear whether adopting the perspective of citizenship really leads to different policy conclusions than the more familiar perspectives of justice and democracy. We can imagine more radical proposals to promote citizenship. If civility is important, why not pass Good Samaritan laws, as many European countries have done? If political participation is important, why not require mandatory voting, as in Australia or Belgium? If public-spiritedness is important, why not require a period of mandatory national service, as in most European countries? If public schools help teach responsible citizenship, because they require children of different races and religions to sit together and learn to respect each other, why not prohibit private schools? These are the kinds of policies which are concerned specifically with promoting citizenship, rather than justice or democracy. Yet few authors even contemplate such proposals. Instead, most citizenship theorists either leave the question of how to promote citizenship unanswered (Glendon 1991, p. 138) or focus on “modest” or “gentle and relatively unobtrusive ways” to promote civic virtues (Macedo 1990, pp. 234, 253).20 While citizenship theorists bemoan the excessive focus

20. For other accounts o f the “unobtrusive” promotion o f citizenship, see Habermas (1992, pp. 6 - 7 ) , Hill (1993), and Rawls (1993, pp. 2 1 6 -2 0 ).

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given to rights, they seem reluctant to propose any policies that could be seen as restricting those rights. There may be good reasons for this timidity, but it sits uneasily with the claim that we face a crisis of citizenship and that we urgently need a theory of citizenship. As a result, much recent work on citizenship virtues seems quite hollow. In the absence of some account of legitimate and illegitimate ways to promote or enforce good citizenship, many works on citizenship reduce to a platitude: namely, society would be better if the people in it were nicer and more thoughtful.21 Indeed, it is not clear how urgent the need to promote good citizenship is. The literature on citizenship is full of dire predictions about the decline of virtue, but as Galston admits, “cultural pessimism is a pervasive theme of human history, and in nearly every generation” (Galston 1991, p. 237).22 If there are increasing crime and decreasing voting rates, it is equally true that we are more tolerant, more respectful of others’ rights, and more committed to democracy and constitutionalism than were previous generations (Macedo 1990, pp. 6 -7). So it remains unclear how we should be promoting good citizenship and how urgent it is to do so. IV. CITIZENSHIP, IDENTITY, AND DIFFERENCE Citizenship is not just a certain status, defined by a set of rights and responsibilities. It is also an identity, an expression of one’s membership in a political community. Marshall saw citizenship as a shared identity that would integrate previously excluded groups within British society and provide a source of national unity. He was particularly concerned to integrate the working classes, whose lack of education and economic resources excluded them from the “common culture” which should have been a “common possession and heritage” (Marshall 1965, pp. 101-2 ).23

21. For example, Mouffe criticizes liberalism for reducing citizenship “to a mere legal status, setting out the rights that the individual holds against the state” (1992a, p. 227) and seeks to “reestablish the lost connection between ethics and politics,” by understanding citizenship as a form o f “political identity that is created through the identification with the res publica” (p. 230). Yet she offers no suggestions about how to promote or compel this public-spirited participation, and insists (against civic republicans) that citizens must be free to choose not to give priority to their political activities. Her critique o f liberalism, therefore, seems to reduce to the claim that the liberal conception o f citizenship-as-legal-status is not an adequate conception o f good citizenship, which liberals would readily accept. Many critiques o f liberal citizenship amount to the same unenlightening claim. 22. Indeed, we can find similar worries about political apathy in 1950s political sociologists, and even in Tocqueville. 23. See the discussion o f citizenship’s “integrative function” in Barbalet (1988, p. 93).

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It has become clear, however, that many groups— blacks, women, Aboriginal peoples, ethnic and religious minorities, gays and lesbians— still feel excluded from the ‘common culture’, despite possessing the common rights of citizenship. Members of these groups feel excluded not only because of their socioeconomic status but also because of their sociocultural identity— their ‘difference’. An increasing number of theorists, whom we will call ‘cultural pluralists’, argue that citizenship must take account of these differences. Cultural pluralists believe that the common rights of citizenship, originally defined by and for white men, cannot accommodate the special needs of minority groups. These groups can only be integrated into the common culture if we adopt what Iris Marion Young calls a conception of “differentiated citizenship” (Young 1989, p. 258). On this view, members of certain groups would be incorporated into the political community not only as individuals but also through the group, and their rights would depend, in part, on their group membership. For example, some immigrant groups are demanding special rights or exemptions to accommodate their religious practices; historically disadvantaged groups, such as women or blacks, are demanding special representation in the political process; and many national minorities (Québécois, Kurds, Catalans) are seeking greater powers of self-government within the larger country, if not outright secession. These demands for “differentiated citizenship” pose a serious challenge to the prevailing conception of citizenship. Many people regard the idea of group-differentiated citizenship as a contradiction in terms. On the orthodox view, citizenship is, by definition, a matter of treating people as individuals with equal rights under the law. This is what distinguishes democratic citizenship from feudal and other premodern views that determined people’s political status by their religious, ethnic, or class membership. Hence, “the organization of society on the basis of rights or claims that derive from group membership is sharply opposed to the concept of society based on citizenship” (Porter 1987, p. 128). The idea of differentiated citizenship, therefore, is a radical development in citizenship theory. One of the most influential theorists of cultural pluralism is Iris Marion Young. According to Young, the attempt to create a universal conception of citizenship which transcends group differences is fundamentally unjust because it oppresses historically excluded groups: “In a society where some groups are privileged while others are oppressed, insisting that as citizens persons should leave behind their particular affiliations and experiences to adopt a general point of view serves only to reinforce the privilege; for the perspective and interests of the privileged will tend to dominate this unified public, marginalizing or

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silencing those of other groups” (Young 1989, p. 257).24 Young gives two reasons why genuine equality requires affirming rather than ignoring group differences. First, culturally excluded groups are at a disadvantage in the political process, and “the solution lies at least in part in providing institutionalized means for the explicit recognition and representation of oppressed groups” (Young 1989, p. 259). These procedural measures would include public funds for advocacy groups, guaranteed representation in political bodies, and veto rights over specific policies that affect a group directly (Young 1989, pp. 261-62; 1990, pp. 183-91). Second, culturally excluded groups often have distinctive needs which can only be met through group-differentiated policies. These include language rights for Hispanics, land rights for Aboriginal groups, and reproductive rights for women (Young 1990, pp. 175-83). Other policies which have been advocated by cultural pluralists include group libel laws for women or Muslims, publicly funded schools for certain religious minorities, and exemptions from laws that interfere with religious worship, such as Sunday closing, animal-slaughtering legislation for Jews and Muslims, or motorcycle helmet laws for Sikhs (Parekh 1990, p. 705; 1991, pp. 197-204; Modood 1992). Much has been written regarding the justification for these rights and how they relate to broader theories of justice and democracy. Young herself defends them as a response to “oppression,” of which she outlines five forms: exploitation, marginalization, powerlessness, cultural imperialism, and “random violence and harassment motivated by group hatred or fear” (Young 1989, p. 261). It would take us too far afield to consider these justifications or the various objections to them .25 Instead, we will focus on the impact of these rights on citizenship identity. Critics of differentiated citizenship worry that if groups are encouraged by the very terms of citizenship to turn inward and focus on their ‘difference’ (whether racial, ethnic, religious, sexual, and so on), then “the hope of a larger fraternity of all Americans will have to be abandoned” (Glazer 1983, p. 227). Citizenship will cease to be 24. See also Pateman’s discussion o f how citizenship is currently “constructed from m en’s attributes, capacities and activities,” so that citizenship can only be extended to women “as lesser m en” (1988, pp. 2 5 2 -5 3 ; cf. James 1992, pp. 52—55; Pateman 1992). 25. Critics have objected that differentiated citizenship (a) violates equality: granting rights to some people but not others on the basis o f their group membership sets up a hierarchy in which some citizens are ‘more equal’ than others; (b) violates liberal neutrality: the role o f the state in matters o f culture should be limited to maintaining a fair cultural marketplace; and (c) is arbitrary: there is no principled way to determine which groups are entitled to differential status. For a discussion o f these objections, see Glazer (1983), Taylor (1991; 1992a, pp. 5 1 -6 1 ), Hindess (1993), Kymlicka (1989,1991), Phillips (1992), and Van Dyke (1985).

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“a device to cultivate a sense of community and a common sense of purpose” (Heater 1990, p. 295; Kristeva 1993, p. 7; Cairns 1993). Nothing will bind the various groups in society together and prevent the spread of mutual mistrust or conflict (Kukathas 1993, p. 156). Critics also worry that differentiated citizenship would create a “politics of grievance.” If, as Young implies, only oppressed groups are entitled to differentiated citizenship, this may encourage group leaders to devote their political energy to establishing a perception of disadvantage— rather than working to overcome it— in order to secure their claim to group rights. These are serious concerns. In evaluating them, however, we need to distinguish three different kinds of groups and three different kinds of group rights, which both Young and her critics tend to run together: (a) special representation rights (for disadvantaged groups); (b) multicultural rights (for immigrant and religious groups); and (c) self-government rights (for national minorities). Each of these has very different implications for citizenship identity. Special representation rights.— For many of the groups on Young’s list, such as the poor, elderly, African-Americans, and gays, the demand for group rights takes the form of special representation within the political process of the larger society. Since Young views these rights as a response to conditions of oppression, they are most plausibly seen as a temporary measure on the way to a society where the need for special representation no longer exists. Society should seek to remove the oppression, thereby eliminating the need for these rights. Self-government rights.— In some of Young’s examples, such as the reservation system of the American Indians, the demand for group rights is not seen as a temporary measure, and it is misleading to say that group rights are a response to a form of oppression that we hope someday to eliminate. Aboriginal peoples and other national minorities like the Québécois or Scots claim permanent and inherent rights, grounded in a principle of self-determination. These groups are ‘cultures’, ‘peoples’, or ‘nations’, in the sense of being historical communities, more or less institutionally complete, occupying a given homeland or territory, sharing a distinct language and history. These nations find themselves within the boundaries of a larger political community, but claim the right to govern themselves in certain key matters, in order to ensure the full and free development of their culture and the best interests of their people. What these national minorities want is not primarily better representation in the central government but, rather, the transfer of power and legislative jurisdictions from the central government to their own communities. Multicultural rights. — The case of Hispanics and other immigrant groups in the United States is different again. Their demands include public support of bilingual education and ethnic studies in schools and

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exemptions from laws that disadvantage them, given their religious practices. These measures are intended to help immigrants express their cultural particularity and pride without its hampering their success in the economic and political institutions of the dominant society. Like self-government rights, these rights need not be temporary, because the cultural differences they promote are not something we hope to eliminate. But unlike self-government rights, multicultural rights are intended to promote integration into the larger society, not self-government. Obviously, these three kinds of rights can overlap, in the sense that some groups can claim more than one kind of group right. If differentiated citizenship is defined as the adoption of one or more of these group-differentiated rights, then virtually every modern democracy recognizes some form of it. Citizenship today “is a much more differentiated and far less homogeneous concept than has been presupposed by political theorists” (Parekh 1990, p. 702). Nevertheless, most cultural pluralists demand a degree of differentiation not present in almost any developed democracy. Would adopting one or more of these group rights undermine the integrative function of citizenship? A closer look at the distinction between the three kinds of rights suggests that such fears are often misplaced. The fact is that, generally speaking, the demand for both representation rights and multicultural rights is a demand for inclusion. Groups that feel excluded want to be included in the larger society, and the recognition and accommodation of their ‘difference’ is intended to facilitate this. The right to special representation is just a new twist on an old idea. It has always been recognized that a majoritarian democracy can systematically ignore the voices of minorities. In cases where minorities are regionally concentrated, democratic systems have responded by intentionally drawing the boundaries of federal units, or of individual constituencies, to create seats where the minority is in a majority (Beitz 1989, chap. 7). Cultural pluralists simply extend this logic to nonterritorial minorities, who may equally be in need of representation (e.g., women, the disabled, or gays and lesbians). There are enormous practical obstacles to such a proposal. For example, how do we decide which groups are entitled to such representation,26 and how do we ensiire that their ‘representatives’ are in fact 26. According to Young, “Once we are clear that the principle o f group representation refers only to oppressed social groups, then the fear o f an unworkable proliferation o f group representation should dissipate” (1990, p. 187). However, her list o f “oppressed groups” would seem to include 80 percent o f the population— she says that “in the United States today, at least the following groups are oppressed in one or more o f these ways: women, blacks, Native Americans, Chicanos, Puerto Ricans and other Spanish-

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accountable to the group ?27 But the basic impulse underlying representation rights is integration, not separation. Similarly, most multicultural demands are evidence that members of minority groups want to get into the mainstream of society. Consider the case of Canadian Sikhs who wanted to join the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) but, because of their religious requirement to wear a turban, could not do so unless they were exempted from the usual dress code regarding headgear. The fact that these men wanted to be a part of the RCMP, one of Canada’s “national symbols,” is ample evidence of their desire to participate in the larger community. The special right they were requesting could only be seen as promoting, not discouraging, their integration.28 Some people fear that multicultural rights impede the process of integration for immigrants by creating a confusing halfway house between their old nation and citizenship in the new one. But these worries seem empirically unfounded. Experience in countries with extensive multicultural programs, such as Canada and Australia, suggest that first- and second-generation immigrants who remain proud of their heritage are also among the most patriotic citizens of their new country (Kruhlak 1992).29 Moreover, their strong affiliation with

speaking Americans, Asian Americans, gay men, lesbians, working-class people, poor people, old people, and mentally and physically disabled people” (1989, p. 261). In short, everyone but healthy, relatively well-off, relatively young, heterosexual white males. Even then, it is hard to see how this criterion would avoid an ‘unworkable proliferation’, since each o f these groups has subgroups that might claim their own rights. In the case o f Britain, e.g., “the all-embracing concept o f ‘black’ people rapidly dissolved into a distinction between the Asian and Afro-Caribbean communities, and then subsequently into finer distinctions between a wide variety o f ethnic groups. What in this context then counts as ‘adequate’ ethnic representation?” (Phillips 1992, p. 89). Nevertheless, many political parties and trade unions have allowed for special group representation without entering an escalating spiral o f demands and resentment (Young 1989, pp. 1 87-89). 27. “There are few mechanisms for establishing what each group wants. . . . Accountability is always the other side o f representation, and, in the absence o f procedures for establishing what any group wants or thinks, we cannot usefully talk o f their political representation” (Phillips 1992, pp. 86—88). In the absence o f accountability, it might be more appropriate to talk o f consultation than representation. 28. This is in contrast to many Aboriginal communities in Canada who, as part o f their self-government, have been trying to remove the RCMP from their reserves and replace it with a Native police force. O f course, some demands for multicultural rights also take the form o f withdrawal from the larger society, although this is more likely to be true o f religious sects (e.g., the Amish) than o f ethnic communities per se. 29. Moreover, a proliferation o f such demands is unlikely, since they usually involve clear and specific cases o f unintended conflict between majority rules and minority religious practices. And since proof o f oppression is neither necessary nor sufficient to claim these rights, there is little risk that they will promote a politics o f grievance.

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their new country seems to be based in large part on its willingness not just to tolerate but to welcome cultural difference.30 Self-government rights, however, do raise deep problems for traditional notions of citizenship identity. While both representation and multicultural rights take the larger political community for granted and seek greater inclusion in it, demands for self-government reflect a desire to weaken the bonds with the larger community and, indeed, question its very nature, authority, and permanence. If democracy is the rule of the people, group self-determination raises the question of who ‘the people’ really are. National minorities claim that they are distinct peoples, with inherent rights of self-determination which were not relinquished by their (sometimes involuntary) federation with other nations within a larger country. Indeed, the retaining of certain powers is often explicitly spelled out in the treaties or constitutional agreements which specified the terms of federation. Self-government rights, therefore, are the most complete case of differentiated citizenship, since they divide the people into separate ‘peoples’, each with its own historic rights, territories, and powers of selfgovernment, and each, therefore, with its own political community. It seems unlikely that differentiated citizenship can serve an integrative function in this context. If citizenship is membership in a political community, then in creating overlapping political communities, self-government rights necessarily give rise to a sort of dual citizenship and to potential conflicts about which community citizens identify with most deeply (Vernon 1988). Moreover, there seems to be no natural stopping point to the demands for increasing self-government. If limited autonomy is granted, this may simply fuel the ambitions of nationalist leaders who will be satisfied with nothing short of their own undifferentiated nation-state. Democratic multination states are, it would seem, inherently unstable for this reason. It might seem tempting, therefore, to ignore the demands of national minorities, keep any reference to particular groups out of the constitution, and insist that citizenship is a common identity shared by all individuals without regard to group membership. This 30. O f course, liberals cannot accept a group’s demand to practice its religious or cultural customs if these violate the basic rights o f the members o f these groups (e.g., clitoridectomy, restrictions on exit). It is important to distinguish what we can call “internal” and “external” group rights. Internal rights are rights o f a group against its own members, used to force individuals within the group to obey traditional customs or authority. External rights are rights o f the group against the larger society, used to provide support for the group against economic or political pressure from outside for cultural assimilation. In western democracies, group-differentiated rights are almost always external rights, since internal rights are clearly inconsistent with liberal democratic norms. See Kukathas (1992) and the reply in Kymlicka (1992).

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is often described as the American strategy for dealing with cultural pluralism. But with a few exceptions— such as the (mostly outlying or isolated) American Indian, Inuit, Puerto Rican, and native Hawaiian populations— the United States is not a multination state. It faced the problem of assimilating voluntary immigrants, not o f incorporating historically self-governing communities whose homeland has become part of the larger cômmunity. And where it was applied to national minorities— for example, American Indians— the ‘common citizenship’ strategy has often been a spectacular failure, as even its supporters admit (Walzer 1982, p. 27; cf. Kymlicka 1991). Hence, many of these groups are now accorded selfgovernment rights within the United States. Indeed, there are very few democratic multination states that follow the strict ‘common citizenship’ strategy. This is not surprising, because refusing demands for self-government rights may simply aggravate alienation among these groups and increase the desire for secession (Taylor 1992a, p. 64).S1 Hence, demands for self-government raise a problem for proponents of both common citizenship and differentiated citizenship. Yet remarkably little attention has been paid, by either defenders or critics, to this form of differentiated citizenship (or to the most common arrangement for instantiating self-government rights, namely, federalism ).32 What, then, is the source of unity in a multination country? Rawls claims that the source of union in modern societies is a shared conception of justice: “Although a well-ordered society is divided and pluralistic .. . public agreement on questions of political and social justice supports ties of civic friendship and secures the bonds of association” (Rawls 1980, p. 540). But the fact that two national groups share the same principles of justice does not necessarily give them any strong reason to join (or remain) together, rather than remaining (or splitting into) two separate countries. The fact that people in Norway and Sweden share the same principles of justice is no reason for them to regret the secession of Norway in 1905. Similarly, the fact that the anglophones and francophones in Canada share the same principles of justice is not a strong reason to remain together, since the Québécois rightly assume that their own national state could respect the same principles. A shared conception of justice throughout a political community does not necessarily generate a shared identity, let alone a

31. In any event, the state cannot avoid giving public recognition to particular group identities. After all, governments must decide which language(s) will serve as the official language o f the schools, courts, and legislatures. 32. For a survey o f philosophical work on federalism, see Norman (1993b).

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shared citizenship identity that will supersede rival identities based on ethnicity (Nickel 1990; Norman 1993a).33 It seems clear, then, that this is one place where we really do need a theory of citizenship, not just a theory of democracy or justice. How can we construct a common identity in a country where people not only belong to separate political communities but also belong in different ways— that is, some are incorporated as individuals and others through membership in a group? Taylor calls this “deep diversity” and insists that it is “the only formula” on which a multination state can remain united (Taylor 1991). However, he admits that it is an open question what holds such a country together.34 Indeed, the great variance in historical, cultural, and political situations in multination states suggests that any generalized answer to this question will likely be overstated. It might be a mistake to suppose that one could develop a general theory about the role of either a common citizenship identity or a differentiated citizenship identity in promoting or hindering national unity (Taylor 1992b, pp. 65-66). Here, as with the other issues we have examined in this survey, it remains unclear what we can expect from a ‘theory of citizenship’.

33. If governments wish to use citizenship identity to promote national unity, therefore, they will have to identify citizenship, not only with acceptance o f principles o f justice but also with an emotional-affective sense o f identity, based perhaps on a manipulation o f shared symbols or historical myths. For a discussion o f this strategy, see Norman (1993a). 34. European philosophers are confronting increasingly these dilemmas as they seek to understand the nature o f the European Community and the form o f citizenship it requires. Habermas and his followers argue that European unity cannot be based on the shared traditions, cultures, and languages that characterized successful nation-states. Instead, European citizenship must be founded on a ‘postnationaP constitutional patriotism based on shared principles o f justice and democracy (Habermas 1992; Berten 1992; Ferry 1992). Others, however, argue that such a basis for unity is too ‘thin’. As Taylor notes, even the model experiments in constitutional patriotism, France and the United States, have always also required many o f the trappings o f nation-states, including founding myths, national symbols, and ideals o f historical and quasi-ethnic membership (Taylor 1992b, p. 61; cf. Lenoble 1992; Smith 1993). According to Taylor, it is not for philosophers to define a priori the form o f citizenship that is legitimate or admissible. Rather, we should seek forms o f identity which appear significant to the people themselves (Taylor 1992b, p. 65; Berten 1992, p. 64).

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Mouffe, Chantal. 1992a. Democratic Citizenship and the Political Community. In Mouffe 1992b. Mouffe, Chantal. 1992b. Dimensions of Radical Democracy: Pluralism, Citizenship and Community. London: Routledge. Mulgan, Geoff. 1991. Citizens and Responsibilities. In Andrews 1991, pp. 3 7 -4 9 . Nauta, Lolle. 1992. Changing Conceptions o f Citizenship. Praxis International 12:20-34. Nickel, James. 1990. Rawls on Political Community and Principles o f Justice. Law and Philosophy 9 :2 0 5 -1 6 . Norman, Wayne. 1993a. The Ideology o f Shared Values. University o f Ottawa, Department o f Philosophy, typescript. Norman, Wayne. 1993b. Toward a Philosophy o f Federalism. In Group Rights, ed. Judith Baker. Toronto: University o f Toronto Press, in press. Okin, Susan. 1989.Justice, Gender, and the Family. New York: Basic. Okin, Susan. 1992. Women, Equality and Citizenship. Queen's Quarterly 9 9 :5 6 -7 1 . Oldfield, Adrian. 1990a. Citizenship and Community: Civic Republicanism and the Modern World. London: Routledge. Oldfield, Adrian. 1990b. Citizenship: An Unnatural Practice? Political Quarterly 6 1 :1 7 7 -8 7 . Parekh, Bhikhu. 1990. The Rushdie Affair: Research Agenda for Political Philosophy. Political Studies 3 8 :6 95-709. Parekh, Bhikhu. 1991. British Citizenship and Cultural Difference. In Andrews 1991, pp. 1 8 3 -2 0 4 . Parry, Geraint. 1991. Paths to Citizenship. In Vogel and Moran 1991, pp. 1 6 7 -9 6 . Pateman, Carole. 1988. The Patriarchal Welfare State. In Democracy and the Welfare State, ed. Amy Gutmann. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. Pateman, Carole. 1992. Equality, Difference and Subordination: The Politics o f Motherhood and W omen’s Citizenship. In Beyond Equality and Difference: Citizenship, Feminist Politics, and Female Subjectivity, ed. Gisela Bock and Susan James. London: Routledge. Phillips, Anne. 1991a. Citizenship and Feminist Theory. In Andrews 1991, pp. 7 6 -8 8 . Phillips, Anne. 1991b. Engendering Democracy. University Park, Pa.: Pennsylvania State University Press. Phillips, Anne. 1992. Democracy and Difference: Some Problems for Feminist Theory. Political Quarterly 6 3 :7 9 -9 0 . Pierson, Christopher. 1991. Beyond the Welfare State: The New Political Economy of Welfare. University Park, Pa.: Pennsylvania State University Press. Plant, Raymond. 1990. Citizenship and Rights. In Citizenship and Rights in Thatcher's Britain: Two Views. London: IEA Health and Welfare Unit. Plant, Raymond. 1991. Social Rights and the Reconstruction o f Welfare. In Andrews 1991, pp. 5 0 -6 4 . Pocock, J. G. A. 1992. The Ideal o f Citizenship since Classical Times. Queen’s Quarterly 9 9 :3 3 -5 5 . Porter, John. 1987. The Measure of Canadian Society. Ottawa: Carleton University Press. Rawls, John. 1971. A Theory of Justice. London: Oxford University Press. Rawls, John. 1975. Fairness to Goodness. Philosophical Review 84 :5 3 6 -5 4 . Rawls, John. 1980. Kantian Constructivism in Moral Theory. Journal of Philosophy 7 7 :5 1 5 -7 2 . Rawls, John. 1988. The Priority o f Right and Ideas o f the Good. Philosophy and Public Affairs 17:251-76. Rawls, John. 1993. Political Liberalism. New York: Columbia University Press. Ruddick, Sara. 1987. Remarks on the Sexual Politics o f Reason. In Women and Moral Theory, ed. Eva Kittay and Diana Meyers. Totowa, N.J.: Rowman & Allanheld. Rustin, Michael. 1991. Whose Rights o f Citizenship? In Andrews 1991, pp. 2 2 8 -3 4 . Sedley, Stephen. 1991. Charter 88: Wrongs and Rights. In Andrews 1991, pp. 2 1 9 -2 7 .

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Selbourne, David. 1991. Who Would Be a Socialist Citizen? In Andrews 1991, pp. 9 1 -1 0 4 . Shklar, Judith. 1991. American Citizenship: The Quest for Inclusion. The Tanner Lectures on Human Values, 10:386-439. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Sinopoli, Richard. 1992. The Foundations of American Citizenship: Liberalism, the Constitution, and Civic Virtue. New York: Oxford University Press. Skinner, Quentin. 1992. On Justice, the Common Good and the Priority o f Liberty. In Mouffe 1992a, pp. 2 1 1 -2 4 . Smith, Rogers. 1993. American Conceptions o f Citizenship and National Service. The Responsive Community 3 :1 4 -2 7 . Taylor, Charles. 1989. The Liberal-Communitarian Debate. In Liberalism and the Moral Life, ed. N. Rosenblum. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Taylor, Charles. 1991. Shared and Divergent Values. In Options for a New Canada, ed. R. L. Watts and D. G. Brown. Toronto: University o f Toronto Press. Taylor, Charles. 1992a. Multiculturalism and “The Politics of Recognition," ed. Amy Gutmann. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. Taylor, Charles. 1992b. Quel principe d’identité collective. In L'Europe au soir du siècle: Identité et démocratie, ed. Jacques Lenoble and Nicole Dewandre. Paris: Editions Esprit. Turner, Bryan. 1989. Outline o f a Theory o f Citizenship. Sociology 24:189-217. Van Dyke, Vernon. 1985. Human Rights, Ethnicity, and Discrimination. Westport, Conn.: Greenwood. van Gunsteren, Herman. 1978. Notes towards a Theory o f Citizenship. In From Contract to Community, ed. F. Dallmayr. New York: Marcel Decker, van Gunsteren, Herman. 1988. Admission to Citizenship. Ethics 98:731—41. Vernon, Richard. 1988. The Federal Citizen. In Perspectives on Canadian Federalism, ed. R. D. Oiling and M. Westmacott. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall. Vincent, Andrew, and Plant, R. 1984. Philosophy, Politics, and Citizenship: The Life and Thought of the British Idealists. Oxford: Blackwell. Vogel, Ursula. 1991. Is Citizenship Gender-Specific? In Vogel and Moran 1991. Vogel, Ursula, and Moran, Michael. 1991. The Frontiers of Citizenship. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Walzer, Michael. 1982. Pluralism in Political Perspective. In The Politics of Ethnicity. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Walzer, Michael. 1989. Citizenship. In Political Innovation and Conceptual Change, ed. T. Ball and J. Farr. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Walzer, Michael. 1992. The Civil Society Argument. In Mouffe 1992b. Wolin, Sheldon. 1992. What Revolutionary Action Means Today. In Mouffe 1992b. Young, Iris Marion. 1989. Polity and Group Difference: A Critique o f the Ideal of Universal Citizenship. Ethics 99:250—74. Young, Iris Marion. \990. Justice and the Politics of Difference. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press.

[4 ] OUTLINE OF A THEORY OF CITIZENSHIP1 B r y a n S. T u r n e r Abstract T he problem of citizenship has re-emerged as an issue which is central, not only to practical political questions concerning access to health-care systems* education institutions and the welfare state, but also to traditional theoretical debates in sociology over the conditions of social integration and social solidarity. Citizenship as an institution is thus constitutive of the societal community. These sociological debates typically start with an analysis of the conceptual framework of citizenship in the work of T.H . Marshall. This article reviews the standard objections to Marshall’s concept of citizenship and the hyphenated society, and develops a critique of the unitary character of the concept of citizenship in the Marshallian tradition. There are in fact, as the etymological development of the concept itself demonstrates, several distinct forms of citizenship. In reply to a recent contribution by Michael M ann to the theory of citizenship, the article contrasts the history of citizenship in Germany, France, Holland, England and the United States; on the basis of this overview, we can identify two crucial variables. T h e first concerns the passive or active nature of citizenship, depending on whether citizenship is developed from above {via the state) or from below (in terms of more local participatory institutions, such as trade unions). The second dimension is the relationship between the public and the private arenas within civil society. A conservative view of citizenship (as passive and private) contrasts with a more revolutionary idea of active and public citizenship. By combining these two dimensions, it is possible to produce a historically dynamic theory of four types of democratic polities as societal contexts for the realization of citizenship rights.

Citizenship as Participation With the development of a world economic recession and the emergence of monetaristic politics, the threat to the welfare state has become a central topic of social science debate in the 1980s (Lee and Raban 1988). This attack on the principles of public welfare is directly associated with the emergence of the New Right and the dominance of Thatcherism in British politics (Green 1987; Kavangh 1987; Marquand 1988), but the parameters of this issue are in fact global. From a sociological perspective, these changes in political orientation and the creation of monetarist perspectives in social policy may, however, be treated as symptoms of a fundamental change in the politics of industrial societies, namely the break-up of corporatism and the collapse of the reformist consensus which dominated the post-war period of social reconstruction. The break-up of the corporatist consensus may be furthermore linked to radical reorganisations in global capitalism which some authors now regard as an

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entirely new stage in the development of world capitalism, leading to the disorganisation of capitalism (Offe 1985) or to the end of organised capitalism (Lash and Urry 1987). These structural reorganisations in world capitalism and the demise of government commitment to welfare expansion have had profound implications for social science research and teaching, producing a greater emphasis on interdisciplinarity and applied research as a defence of the welfare state (Bean, Ferris and Whynes 1985). While radical sociologists in the 1960s were often influenced by the critical work of Louis Althusser (1971), for whom the provision of welfare and the existence of health-care institutions were merely facets of the ideological state apparatus, in the crisis of the 1980s, critical theorists have returned to the questions of distributive justice, individual rights and notions of equality as the basis for social reconstruction and social reform (Turner 1986a). While the notion of abstract Human Rights (possibly in association with some commitment to Natural Law) no longer commands widespread intellectual support, it is clear that the institution of definite ‘rights’ is an essential feature in the protection of public space as an arena of legitimate debate. The secular institution of rights cannot, therefore, be separated from the question of democracy; and the infrastructure of democracy is a fundamental, if limited, restraint on the employment of coercive force. It is ‘the democratic apparatus, which prevents the agencies of power, law and knowledge from fusing into a single leading organ5(Lefort 1988: 29). In this outline of a theory of citizenship, it is argued that the current attempt to defend the principles of welfare in fact requires a far deeper sociological, historical and philosophical enquiry into the character of social membership and political participation, namely an enquiry into the extent and characteristics of modern social citizenship (King and Waldron 1988; Turner 1986b). This enquiry should have the theoretical goal of attempting to achieve a synthesis in the levels of analysis between the individual citizen, the organisation of social rights and the institutional context of democracy. This renewed interest in the issue of social participation and citizenship rights has, in turn, resulted, at the theoretical level, in a revival of interest in the work of T.H. Marshall (1963, 1965, 1981) which provides an important point of departure for any debate about the contemporary complexities of the relationship between citizenship entitlements and the economic structure of capitalist society. Marshall’s Account of Citizenship In the United States Marshall was particularly influential on the work of T. Parsons (1971), R. Bendix (1964) and S.M. Lipset (1960), but his sociology of citizenship is perhaps only now being adequately recognised and discussed in Britain (Halsey 1984; Roche 1987). In America Marshall’s work was developed as a framework for the analysis of ethnic problems and race relations (Parsons

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and Clark 1966), whereas in Britain Marshall’s work originally developed and flourished in the context of post-war social reconstruction and as a social justification for an extension of state provision in the area of national welfare (Titmuss 1963). While Marshall’s analysis of citizenship is well known* it will be valuable here to outline briefly the three dimensions of citizenship which he considered in his original work. Marshall* whose intellectual roots were in the liberal tradition of James Mill and J.S. Mill, elaborated a specifically social version of the individualistic ideas of English liberalism. One theoretical and moral weakness of the liberal tradition was its failure to address directly the problem of social inequality in relationship to individual freedoms (Laski 1962). At the heart of Marshall’s account ,of citizenship lies the contradiction between the formal political equality of the franchise and the persistence of extensive social and economic inequality* ultimately rooted in the character of the capitalist market place and the existence of private property. Marshall proposed the extension of citizenship as the principal political means for resolving* or at least containing* those contradictions. The initial idea for his theory of citizenship was developed in 'Citizenship and social class’ in 1949 (Marshall 1963). It was further developed in Social Policy (Marshall 1965)* where he addressed the question of the evolution of welfare policies in Britain between approximately 1890 and 1945 as a specific example of the growth of social rights. However* his famous contribution to the analysis of social policy contained no explicit statement of his theory of social citizenship. Finally, he proposed a theory of capitalist society as a ‘hyphenated society’ in The Right to Welfare and Other Essays (Marshall 1981) in which there are inevitable tensions between a capitalist economy, a welfare state and the requirements of the modern state. Marshall was thus primarily concerned with the social-welfare history of Britain between the eighteenth and twentieth centuries in terms of the growth of citizenship as expressed in three dimensions namely, the civil, the political and the social. Marshall argued that in the eighteenth century there had been a significant development of civil rights which were mainly targeted at the legal status and civil rights of individuals; and these rights were to be defended vthrough a system of formal law courts. Civil rights were concerned with such basic issues as the freedom of speech, rights to a fair trial and equal access to the legal system. Secondly, Marshall noted an important growth in political rights in the nineteenth century as an outcome of working-class struggle for political equality in terms of greater access to the parliamentary process. In this area* political citizenship required the development of electoral rights and wider access to political institutions for the articulation of interests. In the British case* this involved the emergence of political rights which were associated with the secret ballot box* the creation of new political parties and the expansion of the franchise. Finally, he drew attention in the twentieth century to the expansion of social rights which were the basis of claims to welfare and which

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established entitlements to social security in periods of unemployment, sickness and distress. Thus., corresponding to the three basic arenas of social rights (the civil, political and the social), we find three central institutions of contemporary society (the law courts, parliament and the welfare system). Marshall’s final theorisation of this issue conceptualised capitalism as a dynamic system in which the constant clash between citizenship and social class determined the character of political and social life. These tensions were summarized in his notion of the hyphenated society, that is a social system in which there were perpetual tensions between the need for economic profitability, the taxation requirements of the modern state and the rights of citizens to welfare provision. While Marshall’s theory proved influential in the development of American social theory in the area of race relations and in the development of British sociology in the analysis of the welfare system, Marshall has been continuously criticised for certain (alleged) problems in his theoretical analysis of rights. For example, Anthony Giddens (1982) has criticised Marshall for developing an evolutionary perspective on the historical emergence of citizenship in which social rights appear to be the effect of a broad and imminent development within society. Marshall was also criticised for failing to consider the wider social context within which welfare policy developed in Britain, particularly in war-time and post-war reconstruction. Giddens also noted that citizenship rights are not a unified, homogeneous set of social arrangements. The liberal rights, which were the outcome of bourgeois struggles, cannot be compared with the claims to welfare which were developed by socialism and other forms of working-class action. Whereas liberal rights to the parliamentary process tend to confirm and reaffirm the social and political dominance of private property over labour, welfare rights are, at least in principle, a potential challenge to the very functioning of capitalism as an economic system. Therefore, there is no necessary similarity between liberal bourgeois rights in the nineteenth century and socialist demands for equality in the twentieth century. There is furthermore no necessary parallel or even development of different rights. For example, while civil rights may be developed in capitalism, political citizenship may often be denied (Jessop 1978). Marshall was also criticised for perceiving the historical emergence of citizenship as an irreversible process within contemporary society, whereas the experience of the last fifteen years, following the oil crisis of 1973, shows that welfare-state rights are clearly reversible and not to be taken for granted. On these grounds Marshall has also been criticised by writers who regard Marshall’s underlying value system as essentially complacent and conservative (Roche 1987). Marshall was also challenged for failing to perceive that additional social rights might be developed in the area of culture, where citizenship could be regarded as a claim upon a national cultural system, and these cultural claims might be further associated with the educational revolution of the twentieth century with the emergence of mass education and the university system of the post-war period. While the argument that the university system

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expressed the cultural expansion of citizenship has become associated with Talcott Parsons (Parsons and Platt 1973), in fact the link between democracy and higher education was also fundamental to the American pragmatist tradition which was grounded in Dewey’s view of mind (Mills 1966). Although there are clearly problems in Marshall’s theory, I suggest that Marshall has often been criticised on the wrong grounds, and at least some criticisms of Marshall are based upon a misunderstanding of the original texts. Marshall was, for example, clearly aware of the broad social and military context within which welfare rights have developed, because he saw war-time conditions in Britain as providing favourable circumstances for the successful claim for welfare rights and provisions. Furthermore, it is not clear that Marshall’s theory in fact requires an evolutionary perspective, assuming the irreversibilty of claims against the state; Marshall saw the contingent importance of war-time circumstances on the development of social policy. It is clear however that political rights are of a very different order from economic rights, since in many respects the development of citizenship in capitalist societies stopped, as it were, at the factory gates. Democracy did not develop fully into economic democracy, although experiences between societies (in terms of workers’ participation and control) are clearly variable (Lash and Urry 1987). Giddens is clearly wrong to suggest that Marshall treated civil and social rights as equivalent, or as having the same integrative functions. Marshall specifically argued that, whereas individualistic civil rights directly corresponded to ‘the individualistic phase of capitalism’, the social rights of trade unionism were ‘even more anomalous, because they did not seek or obtain incorporation’ (Marshall 1963:103). There was, however, an unresolved issue at the centre of Marshall’s theory, namely that it is not clear whether social rights are in a relation of tension, opposition or contradiction to the economic basis of capitalist societies (Goldthorpe 1978; Halsey 1984; Lockwood 1974). Although these criticisms are important, I would like to identify some rather different criticisms of Marshall in order to suggest a more elaborate version of his original scheme. Any theory of citizenship must also produce a theory of the state, and this aspect of Marshall’s work was the most under-developed (Barbalet 1988:109). In Marshall’s scheme it is implicitly the state which provides the principal element in the maintenance and development of social rights, being the political instrument through which various political movements seek some redress of their circumstances through the legitimisation of their claims against society. Furthermore, Marshall failed to develop an economic sociology which would provide some explanation of how the resources which are necessary for welfare are to be generated and subsequently re-distributed by the state to claimants in terms of health provision and general welfare institutions. In considering these aspects of Marshall’s theory, it is important to put a particular emphasis on the notion of social struggles as the central motor of the drive for citizenship. Marshall failed to emphasize the idea that historically the growth of social citizenship has been typically the outcome

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of violence or threats of violence, bringing the state into the social arena as a stabiliser of the social system. Although a number of writers on citizenship have drawn attention to the function of mass wars in promoting successful claims to democratic participation (Gallie 1983), it is necessary to have a broader notion of ‘struggle5 as a critical aspect of the historic growth of citizenship. This emphasis provides the context within which we can begin to see the real importance of new social movements for social change (Klandermans 1986; Melucci 1981). However, Barbalet (1988:103) has correctly pointed out that the institutionalisation of social rights also requires new political, legal and administrative practices which may have been only indirectly related to these social movements. We can further elaborate the Marshall scheme by adopting a notion from Parsons (1966), namely that the development of citizenship involves a transition from societies based upon ascriptive criteria to societies based upon achievement criteria, a transition which also involves a shift from particularistic to universalistic values. Thus the emergence of the modern citizen requires the constitution of an abstract political subject no longer formally confined by the particularities of birth, ethnicity or gender. Parsons, following Max Weber’s work on the city (1966), thought that Christianity had made possible the separation of the political and social, while also developing a notion of social relations which were independent of ethnicity and which treated faith, or abstract consciousness, as the ultimate source of community in modern societies (Parsons 1963). It is possible to regard the differentation of the political and the social as the Parsonian version of the classical separation of the state from civil society (Berger 1986:75). We can suggest therefore that the historical development of citizenship requires certain universalistic notions of the subject, the erosion of particularistic kinship systems in favour of an urban environment which can probably only flourish in the context, initially, of the autonomous city. Citizenship is, as it were, pushed along by the development of social conflicts and social struggles within such a political and cultural arena, as social groups compete with each other over access to resources. Such a theory of citizenship also requires a notion of the state as that institution which is caught in the contradictions between property rights and political freedoms. Finally, the possibilities of citizenship in contemporary societies are, or have been, enhanced by the problems of war-time conditions in which subordinate groups can make more effective claims against the state. This emphasis on the importance of mass war as a primary factor in social change is an important criticism of the conventional 'society-centred’ perspective of both classical sociology and Marxism (Giddens 1985; Marwick 1974). Although the welfare system was clearly expanded in Britain in the post-war period of reformism and reconstruction, there has been both a political attack on the welfare state and considerable institutional demolition of welfare institutions with the rise of Thatcherism and the spread of global recession

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since 1973. The causes of these changes are yet to be fully analysed, but the decline of the welfare system may be associated with the historical decline of the organised working class and class-based communities (Offe 1987). The spatial reorganisation of working-class communities under conditions of disorganised capitalism also makes the articulation of interests far more problematic, and these changes are also associated with the erosion of neo-corporatism and the class de-alignment of traditional political alliances with the restructuring of capitalism and the emergence of new social movements (Lash and Urry 1987). With the growth of global capitalism, the state is no longer able to mediate between private property owners and the working class, because its economic autonomy is constrained by international agreements and institutions such that "local5 political decisions by the state may have very adverse consequences for the value of its currency within the international money markets. The problem with Marshall’s theory therefore is that it is no longer relevant to a period of disorganised capitalism. The British state, in fact, has very little scope for manoeuvre: while capital operates on a global scale, labour tends to operate within a local national market, articulating its interests in terms of a national interest group. Marshall’s theory assumed some form of nation-state autonomy in which governments were relatively immune from pressures within the world-system of capitalist nations (Giddens 1985). Marshall’s theory was initially focussed on the British case, but a general theory of citizenship, as the crucial feature of modern political life, has to take a comparative and historical perspective on the question of citizenship rights, because the character of citizenship varies systematically between different societies. The emergence of citizenship is a feature of the very different and specific histories of democratic politics in western societies, but a genuinely historical analysis of citizenship would be concerned with, not only the Greek and Roman legacy, but with problematic comparisons between western and non-western traditions. Ruling Class Strategies? A particualrly important and systematic criticism of Marshall’s theory of citizenship has been developed by Michael Mann (1987), who attacks the ethnocentric specificity and evolutionism of the Marshallian perspective. The problem is that, while Marshall’s scheme may fit the English example, it is historically and comparatively inappropriate for other societies. It may be the case that England is the exception rather than the rule. Mann (1987:340) notes that Marshall’s argument is entirely about Great Britain. There is not a single mention of any other country. Did Marshall regard Britain as typical of the capitalist West as a whole? In fact, it would be more accurate to say that the Marshallian version of the theory of citizenship is entirely about England, since he takes for granted the socio-political unity of Great Britain (Turner 1986b:

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46). The question of citizenship within the British state cannot be analysed historically without reference to the erosion of the cultural and political autonomy of the Celtic fringe (Hechter 1975; Turner 1984). As Anthony Smith (1986) argues, the creation of citizenship within the gesellschaft-like political space of the modem state may well require the subordination, or even eradication, of gemeinschaft- like membership within an ethnic primary group (or ethnie). However, Mann’s comment on the Anglophile character of Marshall’s theory is merely the pretext for a more important exercise, namely the development of a comparative framework for the historical elaboration of five strategies of citizenship (liberal, reformist, authoritarian monarchist, fascist, and authoritarian socialist). Having divided the regimes of pre-industrial Europe into two ideal-types (absolute monarchies and constitutional regimes), Mann proceeds to inquire into how the traditional regimes developed strategies to cope politically first with the bourgeoisie and secondly with the urban working class during the period of industrial capitalist development. Britain provides the principal example of a liberal strategy. The state retained a liberal character and the working class was successfully incorporated through the welfare state which ‘meshes into, rather than replaces, private market and insurance schemes’ (Mann 1987:343). Under the impact of trade-union struggle and class conflict in the nineteenth century, Britain eventually moved from a liberal to a reformist solution. The United States and Switzerland are also examples of a liberal strategy, but social citizenship remained underdeveloped in both. However, their buoyant economies have permitted their citizens to insure themselves against personal hardship. By contrast, in France, Spain, Italy and Scandinavia, the development of citizenship was bitterly disputed by monarchical and clerical reactionaries, and the absolutist legacy remained (with the exception of France) largely unchallenged, until the modern period. Germany, Austria, Russia and Japan provide examples of an authoritarian monarchist strategy. While these absolutist regimes initially resisted the citizenship claims of both bourgeoisie and proletariat, they were eventually forced to modernise their polities. Wilhelmine Germany enjoyed the most successful strategy of political and economic development, which resulted in the bourgeoisie, and to some extent the proletariat, being ‘negatively incorporated’ (Roth 1963) into the system via a superficial development of' political citizenship. The Soviet Union and Nazi Germany provide Mann with two illustrations of authoritarian socialist and fascist strategies. Although neither system provided comprehensive civil and political rights, there was a significant development of social citizenship. In Germany, policies of full employment and public works programmes were combined with another objective: rearmament. In the Soviet Union, a programme of social citizenship for all existed alongside substantial social inequalities in the shadow economy and the black market. Both systems, while proclaiming powerful legitimating

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ideologies, had to depend on an extensive apparatus of violence and repression. However, while German fascism was very unstable, the Soviet system was more successful in domesticating its labour force by converting the trade unions into ‘a-political welfare state organizations’ (Mann 1987:350). Mann’s treatment of citizenship represents, not only a major theoretical advance over the Marshallian paradigm, but also an important contribution to our understanding of the historical processes of citizenship formation. However, Mann’s theory appears to be weak on three crucial issues, and this debate with Mann’s ruling-strategy thesis then provides the context in which I wish further to elaborate an alternative to, or at least a modification of, Mann’s theory. The first criticism is that, because Mann perceives the origin of citizenship as a strategy of class relationships in which the state has a major role to play in creating social stability, he fails to consider the questions of aboriginality, ethnicity and nationalism in the formation of modern citizenship. As I have already noted following Smith (1986), the creation of citizenship within the political boundaries of the modern nation-state has typically involved or required the subordination or incorporation of ethnic minorities and/or aboriginals. This incorporation may be achieved by the relatively painless process of the cultural melting pot (Glazer and Moynihan 1970), or it may be brought about by more violent means. Citizenship in societies like Canada, New Zealand and Australia has, as its dark underside, the ‘modernisation’ of aboriginal communities. The debate about citizenship in the United States cannot take place without an analysis of the historical impact of the black South on American civil society, and yet Mann curiously ignores the issue of racial orders. Any further development of Mann’s account of citizenship would have to examine social stratification in terms which are not class-reductionist, and his laudable attempt to provide a historical treatment of different types of ruling class strategies should be extended to include an analysis of the white-settler societies (Denoon 1983). My second critical observation is that, while Mann (1987:340) warns us that ‘tradition matters’, he completely neglects the impact of organised Christianty and Christian culture on the structuring of private/public spaces, and how the typically negative evaluation of the political in mainstream Christian theology continues to place an individualistic brake on the expansion of active political citizenship. I have argued elsewhere (Turner 1986b: 16) that both Christianity and Islam contributed to the development of citizenship by providing a universalistic discourse of political space (the city of god and the Household of Islam) which challenged ethnicity and kinship as the primordial ties of the societal community (Parsons 1971). However, Christianity also produced an important limitation on the emergence of an active view of the citizen as a carrier of rights. Christianity has emerged in the modern period as a radical threat to authoritarian or reactionary regimes (Poland, Soviet Union, South Africa or some Latin American states) in only exceptional circumstances, and

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specifically where alternative means of legitimate protest have been destroyed. In these circumstances* Christian theology often requires considerable revision and redirection (Robertson 1986). The Protestant Reformation provided an ideology of rebellion against Catholic hegemony and papal authority* and* partly through the development of vernacular versions of the Bible, established a cultural basis for the eruption of the nation-state. However, once in power, the Protestant churches were forced to turn to the local nation-state or to regional authorities for secular (that is* military) support of the faith. In theory* of course* the reformed churches regarded the state as a necessary evil* but in practice they came* not only to depend on secular political support* but also provided an ideology of ‘godly rule5. The churches required, however reluctantly, state power for the subordination of antinomianism, and in return they offered a theory of passive* obedient citizenship. In his Institution de la Religion chrétienne* Calvin was at pains to emphasise the Christian obligation to obey the laws of the land and to respect government, since the aim of the state was to create peace and stability during our miserable, but happily brief* sojourn on earth (Calvin 1939:197fï). The effect of Protestant doctrine was to create a private sphere (of devotional religious practice* the subjectivity of the individual conscience, the privatised confessional and familial practices) in which the moral education of the individual was to be achieved, and a public world of the state and the market place, which was the realm of necessity. While religion through the institutionalised means of grace monitored the interior subjectivity of the individual, thé state through the institutionalised means of violence regulated public space. This division did not provide an environment which was congenial to the full development of a view of the citizen as an active and responsible member of the public arena. Mann’s revision of the Marshallian version of liberal citizenship does not have a perspective on these religio-cultural variations in the constitution of political space. Of course, the churches were not merely the vehicles for Christian cultural beliefs towards the political: they materially influenced the ways in which public space was shared. For example, Colin Crouch (1986) has provided an important comparative framework for understanding the interaction between state and religion in the formation of European states. He distinguishes between: ( 1 ) secular liberalism versus Catholic corporatism (in the French Republic); (2) hegemonic Catholic corporatism (Portugal and Spain in which as a result the liberal tradition was very marginal); (3) Protestant neutrality (Denmark, Norway, Sweden); (4) consociationism (The Netherlands, Switzerland and Belgium) in which the public affairs of civil society are organised separately for and by the different communities. Crouch argues that these traditional patterns for ‘sharing public space5had long-term implications for modern politics. Thus, It is important to distinguish this organic, Catholic fascism from the secular Nazism of Germany. This was made dramatically clear by Austrian history following the

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Anschluss, when the whole edifice of Austrofaschismus and its corporatism was abolished and replaced by the Nazi system, based on the Fuhrerprinzip rather than corporatism. But the abiding, specifically Austrian tradition remained corporatist and space-sharing (Crouch 1986:186).

Again any understanding the issue of citizenship in a society like Israel would have to depend on an historical account of the settlement between religion and politics during the period of state formation. My final (and possible most important) criticism of Mann concerns the notion of a "ruling class strategy’. Mann can only conceive of citizenship being handed down from above (for example by the state) such that rights are passive. Thus, citizenship is a strategy which brings about some degree of amelioration of social conflict and which is therefore a major contribution to social integration. Such a view of citizenship from above precludes, or restricts, any analysis of citizenship from below as a consequence of social struggles over resources. Because Mann concentrates on strategies from above, he cannot adequately appreciate the revolutionary implications of the oppositional character of rights. Is it possible that Mann regards the demands of millenarian Fifth Monarchy Men, incendiarist peasants, revolutionary republicans of the French Revolution, or radical Chartists as always capable of being successfully assimilated into the system by the calming oils of citizenship? I find Engels’s view in Anti-Diihring more historically plausible: iri the same way bourgeois demands for equality were accompanied by proletarian demands for equality. From the moment when the bourgeois demand for the abolition of class privileges was put forward alongside it appeared the proletarian demand for the abolition of classes themselves - at first in religious form, leaning towards primitive Christianity, and later drawing support from the bourgeois equalitarian theories themselves (Engels 1959:146-7). There is an important distinction here. In ideal-typical terms, and as a heuristic device for the development of theory, we can either regard rights as privileges handed down from above in return for pragmatic cooperation (Mann’s thesis), or we can regard rights as the outcome of radical struggle by subordinate groups for benefits (Engels’s thesis). There are in fact two related difficulties. The first is Mann’s negation of rights fr.om below, and the second is that, because the only important categories in Mann’s theory are ultimately the Marxist categories of class, capitalism as a mode of production, the state and geo-politics, he cannot deal theoretically with the peace movement, feminism, Solidarity, the Green Movement, animal liberation or struggles for children’s rights as genuine or important contributions to historical change - at least such movements do not figure in his account. While the co-optation of these movements rather than the satisfaction of their demands may be a common outcome (Piven and Cloward 1971), this is not always, or inevitably, the outcome (Schram and Turbett 1983). Furthermore, failure to satisfy demands within the welfare state creates conditions for new social movements which

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then become dependent on the state for the satisfaction of needs (de Geest 1984). Mann’s analytical framework appears.to preclude any such consideration of the impact of new social movements on the expansion of citizenship from below. By combining these two aspects of citizenship (the private/public division, and the above/below distinction), we can develop a heuristic typology of four political contexts for the institutionalisation or creation of citizenship rights:

Above

Citizenship

Below

Revolutionary contexts

Passive democracy

Public Space

Liberal pluralism

Plebiscitary authoritarianism

Private Space

Revolutionary citizenship combines demands from below with an emphasis on the public arena, regarding the private world of the individual with suspicion. However revolutionary struggles for democratic rights often end in forms of public terror. Where revolutionary citizenship collapses into totalitarianism, l'imaginaire sociale (the social imaginary) results in the idea of cPeople-as-One, the idea of society as such, bearing the knowledge of itself, transparent and homogeneous5 (Lefort 1986:305). In liberal pluralism, while interest group formation typically leads to movements for rights from below, the revolutionary thrust of social protest may be contained by a continuing emphasis on the rights of the individual for privatised dissent. The classical liberal view of politics insisted on diversity and freedom of private opinion against the threat of uniformity of belief. Hence, J.S. Mill in his essay ÉOn Liberty’ in 1859 expressed the fear that the spread of mass opinion would mean that Europe was ‘decidedly advancing towards the Chinese ideal of making all people alike’ (Mill 1962:130). These forms of democratic citizenship may be contrasted with citizenship rights from above in which the citizen is a mere subject rather than an active bearer of effective claims against society via the state. Passive democracy recognises the legitimate function of representative institutions, the courts and a welfare state system, but there is no established tradition of struggles for citizenship rights. For the reasons which are outlined in Mann’s argument, citizenship remains a strategy for the regulation and institutionalisation of class conflicts by public or governmental agencies rather than a set of practices which articulate popular demands for participation. Finally, we can identify an authoritarian form of democracy from above in which the state manages public space, inviting the citizens periodically to select a leader, who is then no longer

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responsible on a daily basis to the electorate. Private life emerges as a sanctuary from state regulation and, in the Germany described by Max Weber and Carl Schmitt, the private offered one possible, if fragile, shelter from the obrigkeitliche Willkur (arbitrariness of the authorities). This politico-cultural complex'was the historical case of leader-democracy (Fuhrerdemokratie). This typology is regarded here as a mechanism for transcending the limitations of Marshall’s theory of citizenship. Although Marshall distinguished between various types of citizenship rights (civil, political and social), he did not develop any view of active or passive citizenship. While agreeing with Mann’s argument that we need a comparative perspective on citizenship in different historical contexts, Mann’s thesis is limited by the (largely implicit) Marxist pardigm in which citizenship is merely a strategy of dominant towards subordinate classes. Hence Mann does not consider social movements, which are not necessarily or directly tied to class, as social forces, which contribute to the expansion of social rights. In order to elaborate this alternative typology, I shall proceed by an examination of the etymological and cultural roots of the concept of citizenship in order to emphasise the argument that citizenship does not have a unitary character. From Denizens to Citizens Historically the concept of citizenship is bound up with the development of the city-state in the classical world of Rome and Greece. In the ancient world, the city-state was a public arena for rational, free men which functioned as a collective insurance against external threats, and internal dispute. In classical Greek and Roman societies, the dominant classes depended extensively upon slave labour for both direct production and domestic services. Thus, the dominant class was an urban population of free, legally constituted, citizens who nevertheless depended on the exploitation of large agrarian estates by slave labour. Since these slaves were often acquired by military conquest, every freeborn citizen was threatened by the possibility of servitude and loss of status (Gouldner 1965). Because the full rights of citizenship were conferred upon members of the polis who had a right to speak and to govern, there was an ideological need to explain and to legitimise the subordinate status of women, adult slaves and children; the homosexual subordination of young men was therefore an acute legal and philosophical problem (Foucault 1987). The problems of justifying on rational grounds the existence of slavery came to dominate much of the central issues of classical philosophy (Finlay 1960). Of course, the class structure of the ancient world was far more complex than a simple division between slave and non-slave (Turner 1988). In early republican Rome, the major social division was between the patricians and the plebians; the patrician class waa constituted by large landowners who had the rights to function politically and to hold office, playing a major role in the

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formation and direction of the army. The plebiaun class was composed primarily of landless tenants, who were forced to work" patrician property and were excluded from entry into political life (Darnsey 1970). Through the operation of credit relations, a plebian debtor would often be forced into the status of a debt-slave. As the Roman Empire developed, these divisions in society became more precisely determined and defined, creating an enduring division between the lower classes (the humiliores) and the privileged class (the honestiores) (Hopkins 1974), Within this social context, the notion of citizenship rights had very circumscribed significance, being the status of (rational) property owners who had certain public duties and responsibilities within the city-state. It would be wrong of course to imagine that the notion of citizenship remained historically static. There was, for example, a definite decline in the moral weight and importance of political commitment to tht polis after its initial Socratic formulation. The Cynics and the Epicureans tended to give greater importance to the idea of individual autonomy and moral development rather than to the more collective virtues of Aristotelian philosophy. It was the Stoics who reformulated a notion of civic obligation. Thus Marcus Aurelius (121-80 AD) argued that our membership of (and therefore our citizenship in) a common political community was a necessary outcome of the fact that human beings qua humans have a common rational faculty, but his idea of political involvement represented a cweary loyality’ (Sabine 1963:174) towards his status in society. Eventually the Stoical values of discipline, frugality and industry reflected the changing political reality of the Roman Empire, whose size, social differentiation and bureaucratic complexity no longer corresponded to the moral idea of the polis as an ethical association. While Cicero (106-43 BC) had attempted to translate the ancient Greek conceptions of civic virtue and public obligation to the polis into a new rhetoric which would be adequate to the changing conditions of Roman society, in the world of later Roman absolutism, philosophers like Seneca (4 BC-65 AD) could at best offer comfort to the citizen and in his De Clementia beg rulers like Nero to rule with mercy. The citizen-legion which had been the basis, not only of Roman military power, but an essential basis of social solidarity had broken down (Anderson 1974: 53-103; Mann 1986:283-298). Thus, in place of the value of citizenship there is a common equality shared by all sorts and conditions of men; and in place of the state as a positive agency of human perfection there is a coercive power that struggles ineffectually to make an earthly life tolerable (Sabine 1963:179-80). The problem in late Roman antiquity was how to combine an abstract notion of universal citizenship with strong political commitment, that is how to overcome political disengagement by citizenship (Wolin 1961:77-78), These tensions in the classical world between the heavenly city of rational beings and the earthly city of self-interested men, and between the moral development of the individual and the need for political duty in the public sphere became in

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large measure also part of the Christian legacy within which political life was ethically dubious. The term for citizen was derived in classical times from civitas, giving rise in Roman times to the notion of a civitatus. This etymological origin provided eventually the French term citoyen from cité, namely an ensemble of citizens enjoying limited rights within a city context. Thus in French we find in the twelfth century the notion of citeaine and eventually in the thirteenth century the notion of comcitien (Dauzat 1949). A citoyen was the ‘habitant d’une cité, d’une ville, d’un pays libre; qui aime son pays’ (Nodier 1866; 145). A citizen was ‘brave, honnête’. It is interesting to note that in the Social Contract of 1762, JJ . Rousseau complained that it was a common mistake to confuse ‘townsman’ with ‘citizen’. He asserted that ‘houses make a town, but citizens make a city’ (Rousseau 1973:175). In English, the notion of a citizen can be detected in the medieval concept of citizen, but at least in the sixteenth century this term was interchangeable with the notion denizen ( m pt o m s ra th e r th a n ta ck lin g the underlying cause, ft is w o rth n o tin g , m eanw hile* that ’«he lite ra tu re on w o m en 's *u n d er-îrep resen ta ü o n rare!} ad d resses it as so m eth in g in m n s ic to the ndlurv o f hheral dem oeraev Ihe m o re u n iq u e m ove m ad e hv recent theorist'» is to co n sid er the b ro a d e r collection o f rights a n d resp o n sib ilities th a t a h r a J y u n d erp in liberal d e m o c ratic notions o f c itize n sh ip and the v u n s in w hich these have been re n d e re d , f e m in is t s have d ra w n attention* for exam ple, to the r ela tio n sh ip b etw een c itize n sh ip an d *he d efen ce o f o n e 's n atio n , o r betw een a h /e n s h s p an d the w ork that one docs, noting th a t in b o th in stan ces ihe sta tu s o! w om en a s c m / e n s a p p e a rs p ro fo u n d !} am biguous. In m u ch o f ?he late n in e teen th - an d e a rl) tw en tieth -cen tu r} b a ttle for ^ o m e n 's su ffrage, the fact th a t w om en did not light to defend the realm w as regarded as a definitive a rg u m en t, C a ro le P atem an has n o ted th a t p ar: o f the c ou n ter-argu m en t fo r ex ten d in g ! he v o te to w om en \*a> th a t in th e ir role as m ut hers a n d e d u c a to r s w om en t o o w ere p erform in g a public service: th a t th e women w ho died m ch ild b irth w ere sacrificing th eir lives to the n a tio n just as much as m en w ho died in battle* that the w o m en w h o dev o ted their lives to bearing an d rearin g ch ild ren w ere pet form ing tasks w ith o u t w hich n o soeietv could survive: th a t this seem ingly p riv ate a c t o n v w as as m uch a q u alificatio n for citizenship a s g o in g out to w ork o r d efending the n a tio n . ; T h e trou b lin g legacy irom this, she arg u es, is th at m en and w om en were then in c o rp o ra te d in to citizenship m d ecisive!} different wavs; m en p rim arily as soldiers a n d vvoikefs. vs om en p rim arily as m o th e rs. Sim ilar p o in ts have been m ade in relation to the d ev elo p m en t o f the w elfare suite In m ost p o st-w a r liberal dem o cracies, the m eaning o f c itize n sh ip w a s i',*svph A Sdiii?ii|->iicr. ( apiutii\w

and ÜïW'hnn* itondon *\\ku -md t nwtn.

'54*. p. :72ft, 1 a rm\*m of co?)dan*?^ the V&Kv Randall Momrn and i’i'hiuw (Basmgsioke Macmillan, 2m! a t laS“*j lun a M kt dwuvyion ol the î^mjcs nf .‘presentation, see Phillips, f tm'thiennf* fh’m*** nu t o n h a f e u , T h e tw o form s o f political p a rtic ip a tio n th a t a re m o st equalK d istrib u te d acro ss the p o p u latio n s o f c o n te m p o ra ry d em o cracies a ic noting in elections an d signing petitions the tw o activities, sig n ific a n t!). th at d em a n d the least o f o u r tim e. \ l \ o th e r m o m e n ts o f d em o c ra tic en g ag em en t i m o h e mxmp> th a t are large!) self« selecting an d w ere n o t a u th o r i/e d to speak fo r the rest. In co n sid erin g w h at co u n ts as fair a n d eq u al re p re se n ta tio n , the \e ry w eakness o f liberal dem ocracy ihen tu rn s in to its stre n g th . Precisely becau se it sets its d e m a n d s si? lorn, asking o n l\ th at we tu rn up at the p o llin g b o o th to register an occasional vote, ii can an ticip ate m a jo rity in v o h e m e m . i n this wav the liberal p lu ralist tra d itio n tends to m ak e elections in to virtu al!) a b s o lu te im m p y ,: the o n h leg itim ate m e th o d o f ascertain in g the will o f the o n h definable east o f c h a ra c te rs k now n as "the P eo p le" All fu rth e r ex ten sio n s o f dem ocracy can be criticized as u n rep resen tativ e. T h is is w here we m ust tu rn to the c o u n te r-a rg u m e n ts th a t press fem inism to a m ore p a rtic ip a to r) en g ag em en t, L iberal dem o cracy tak es the high g ro u n d o f Michael Wahcr, ‘A day m the tile of 4 vocKibo aUrcn. m Wjl/vr.. i)b!i\u.uu>m E.surcs >m Disobedience War a m i is a p o w e r f u l o b sta c le to f a r t h e r d em o c ra tiz a tio n ,

H efe n ig e iie ity anil G roup D ifference T he final a re a o f c o n te n tio n m ay p rove th e m ost difficult for liberal dem o cracy to sw allow , fo r it tak es issue w ith the in d iv id u al as the basic u n k m d em o cratic fife. If we co n sid e r liberal d em o cracy as an a m alg am o f c e rtain ke> p rinciples from the liberal a n d d e m o c ra tic tra d itio n s, w h at it tak es from liberalism is a n a b stra c t individu alism w hich m ay n o te th e d ifferen ces her w een us, hu! says these

differences sh o u ld n o t c o u n t, A t its best, this is a sta te m e n t o f p ro fo u n d eg alitarian ism th at offers all citizens the sam e legal an d political rig h ts, reg ard less o f th eir w ealth , sta tu s, race o r sex, A t its w o rst, it refuses the p e rtin en ce o f c o n tin u in g difference a n d in e q u a lity p r e t e n d i n g for the p u rp o ses o f a rg u m e n t th at we a re all o f us basically the sam e, F em inists w o rk in g o n issues o f legal o r e c o t m m k e q u ality h ave n o te d how difficult th isc a n m ak e it for w om en to p ress fo r any differentia! tre a tm e n t th a t m a y be necessary fo r sig n ific a n t eq u a lity . irk

im i

Young, Justice and the PoHtks of ih ffm m r iPriiiccton. S ). Pnnceton V rm tu m Press.

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Musi Feminist* dm* Up