Brexit. Trump. Meloni. Le Pen. Liberalism is struggling — and no wonder. Since neoliberalism emerged triumphant in the Eighties, and certainly since the Financial Crisis ravaged communities from Dundee to Delaware, sensible centrists have dramatically failed to improve the lives of working people. Shorn of any positive economic vision, they’ve instead retreated to vague calls for democracy or equality, even as authoritarians loudly proclaim a better and more xenophobic tomorrow. 

If it’s to survive the century, then, liberalism must rekindle a sense of hope, one that dovetails respect for institutions with a politics of plenty. I believe the solution can be found in two words: liberal socialism. 

For some, the term’s an oxymoron. Many classical and neoliberals see liberalism as doggedly committed to unbridled capitalism, with the economist Ludwig von Mises summarising the ideology as representing “private ownership of the means of production”. Many on the Left would surely agree. For socialists, isn’t liberalism the “bourgeois” ideology par excellence, serving as an intellectual defence of capital ownership and worker exploitation?

In fact, liberalism is a much more dynamic, complex family of creeds than these reductive labels suggest: while thinkers such as von Mises were quick to equate capitalism and liberalism, there’s always been an economically progressive strain to liberal thinking too. For these self-proclaimed liberal socialists, redistribution isn’t simply preferable — but actually the only way of securing liberal goals. Put it like this: domination by bosses is no less oppressive because it happens in the market and is sanctioned by the state. 

Two of the first thinkers to develop these ideas were Thomas Paine and Mary Wollstonecraft. In his seminal book Rights of Man, and in pamphlets such as Agrarian Justice, Paine argued that property was a social rather than a natural institution. This meant that the rich owed society a debt for their property, a debt which could be paid through heavy taxes and fund a lively proto-welfare state. 

Wollstonecraft is, of course, most famous for her stirring arguments for women’s equality in A Vindication of the Rights of Women. Less remembered, though, is her acid claim in the same work that from “respect paid to property flow, as from a poisoned fountain, most of the evils and vices which render this world such a dreary scene to the contemplative mind.” From there, Wollstonecraft went on to argue that both the aristocratic rich and the emerging capitalist class could be compared to a fungus growing upon society, one which distorts its moral virtues through avarice and greed. 

Wollstonecraft and Paine were important precursors. But it was really John Stuart Mill who developed a mature form of liberal socialism. Mill is best remembered today for his uncompromising defence of personal liberty. Less familiar are his innovative economic arguments for workplace democracy. 

In his autobiography, Mill concedes that in his youth he’d been excessively rigid in his economic thinking, seeing “little further” than the classical liberals so beloved by Victorian Britain. In his mature period, however, Mill proudly identified as a socialist. One recent work reconstructs Mill’s liberal form of market socialism. In it, Helen McCabe particularly highlights his commitment to a welfare state and democracy, alongside the democratisation of the workplace through a transition to cooperatives and worker-run firms.

In the 20th century, many of the greatest liberal thinkers identified with liberal socialism too. This includes the economist John Maynard Keynes, and the great anti-fascist Carlo Rosselli, alongside political theorists like Chantal Mouffe. But surely the best example here is John Rawls, the greatest liberal philosopher since Mill. 

After publishing A Theory of Justice, his most famous work, Rawls was variously praised or condemned for offering a moderate defence of the mid-century welfare state. In truth, however, his overall philosophy was much more radical. In Justice as Fairness: A Restatement, published posthumously, Rawls insisted that welfare capitalism still allowed too many inequalities to persist. That was particularly true, he added, of economic inequalities that meant citizens had unequal political power. This, Rawls felt, was incompatible with liberal commitments to citizens getting “fair value” from their political rights in a democracy. Rather, Rawls argued that only a “property-owning democracy” or “liberal socialist” regime could genuinely embody liberal principles of justice. 

Rawls and his fellow liberal socialists were right to worry. Many liberal democracies continue to fall short of their ideals — for all the reasons liberal socialists have highlighted for centuries. Nor is this merely an academic discussion. The further today’s plutocratic reality diverges from the grand egalitarian theories of liberal justice, the weaker liberalism becomes, with an increasing number of voters openly sceptical of democracy. 

That, it goes without saying, leaves room for extremists to thrive. In one 2019 study, for instance, a pair of political scientists attribute much of the popularity of right-populists to their promises to upend liberal elites and their policies. This flows from both the perception that liberal elites are out of touch with regular people, and that the institutions they govern aren’t accountable to their own citizens. This isn’t just perception: in American politics money really does talk, and loudly. The 1% are far more likely to get their way than the “people” the American constitution claims as the source of political legitimacy. 

The public, for their part, are hardly unaware of how they’re being treated. Surveys around the world show that people want the rich to pay more, think highly of unions despite decades of falling membership, and worry about soaring levels of inequality. When they realise liberals are not only failing to fix these problems — but are actively compounding them — they unsurprisingly drift towards authoritarians promising miracle cures, even if the latter prove worse than the disease. 

Liberal socialism, then, is inextricably bound to the future of liberal democracy. I try to retrieve this worthwhile tradition in my book — both backwards from Paine and Mill and on towards the future. Happily, I found plenty of contemporary scholarship to explore here, with an increasing number of academics now identifying with liberalism’s egalitarian ideals. What we might call a “liberalism of hope” has plenty of proponents, notably economists like Daniel Chandler. Philosophers, for their part, are moving in a similar direction: William Edmundson, Igor Shoikhedbrod and Elizabeth Anderson are just three examples among many. 

This panoply of thinkers disagree about much. Yet all are united in rejecting what Alexandre Lefebvre calls the empty cynicism of neoliberal “liberaldom”. For Lefebvre, “liberaldom” is the kind of society that promises freedom and equality for all, yet ultimately makes no real effort to deliver. But it doesn’t have to be that way. By being a theory of hope for all, liberal socialism represents the best of the liberal tradition, and an ideology that can stand firm against the buffeting winds of our century. 

“By being a theory of hope for all, liberal socialism represents the best of the liberal tradition.”

What might that look like in practice? Perhaps the best real-world examples are in Scandinavia. There is, to be fair, some argument about just how socialist they are. But as Scott Sehon notes, these debates are largely semantic: by most metrics, Denmark and Norway are far more socialist than almost any other state. A similar point was even made by Sweden’s iconic Prime Minister Olaf Palme when he pointed out that his country had moved further down the “road to socialism” than many explicitly Marxist states. 

The point here is that the Nordic model has produced the world’s highest quality of living for decade after decade. In large part, Oslo, Helsinki and the rest achieved this by dovetailing strong liberal-democratic institutions with redistributive economic programmes, similar to the philosophy advanced by Wollstonecraft or Paine. The connection to liberal socialist theory is even clearer given how Nordic governments integrated “co-determination” into the workplace. Offering workers a strong say on the boards of large companies, theorists such as Rudolph Meidner have even advocated giving staff shares in their employers, with the ultimate aim of making firms completely worker-owned. 

Unfortunately, the advent of neoliberalism meant the Swedish economist’s vision was never really implemented, even as Nordic ambitions have retreated somewhat from their mid-century peak. This was a serious mistake. In an era where millions feel they have little control over their lives at work, and where digital surveillance technology is now intruding on their domestic schedules, the democratisation of work and industry is long overdue. 

There are signs, in fact, that other progressive leaders are rediscovering liberal socialism for themselves. That’s especially true in Canada, where the New Democratic Party has a strong liberal socialist heritage. Former leader Ed Broadbent was a cheerleader for Millite cooperatives, and his thinking and activism have lately been reappraised. South of the border, Bernie Sanders and the “Squad” have done much to update a liberal style of socialism for new generations, with millions of millennials now enthusiastic backers of the Green New Deal. Combined with the resurgence of liberal socialism in the academy, the tradition’s future seems bright — and just as well. Rosa Luxemburg once said that everyone faced a choice between socialism and barbarism. With the barbarians now looming, the choice for any liberal should be clear.

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