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Pragmatic Inquiry and Social Conflict: A Critical Reconstruction of Dewey'sModel of Democracy

«Pragmatic Inquiry and Social Conflict: A Critical Reconstruction of Dewey's Model of Democracy»

by Marion Smiley

Source:

PRAXIS International (PRAXIS International), issue: 4 / 1989, pages: 365-380, on www.ceeol.com.

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Praxis International 365

Praxis International 9:4 January 1990 0260-8448

PRAGMATIC INQUIRY ANDSOCIAL CONFLICT: A CRITICAL

RECONSTRUCTION OF DEWEY’SMODEL OF DEMOCRACY

Marion Smiley

Philosophical pragmatism offers a promising refuge for those who seek to escapethe difficulties associated with foundationalist theories of politics. Yet, for manysocial and political theorists, the price of that refuge appears to be the loss of a critical edge. How, they ask, can pragmatists move beyond the status quo if theyare obliged to develop their evaluative criteria out of social and political practice?Richard Rorty, perhaps the best known among contemporary pragmatists, doesnot help them reconcile their non-foundationalism with a critical politics.1 Indeed,Rorty himself argues not only that pragmatists cannot move beyond the status quo,but that they need not feel compelled to do so. “Responsible pragmatists needonly convince society that loyalty to itself is morality enough”: they need onlyembellish “our” beliefs and “our” values – beliefs and values that enable us to

say “We do not do this sort of thing.”2

Are pragmatists obliged to accept Rorty’s ethnocentrism? Can they do anything other than embellish “our” beliefs and “our” values? I argue throughout whatfollows that pragmatists can move beyond the status quo and that Rorty’s ownethnocentrism falls apart once we acknowledge two facts about social reality. Oneis that society is not, as Rorty suggests, characterized by a shared set of beliefsand emotions, but rather by a series of conflicting values and over-lapping loyalties.

The other is that no individual can ever simply “embellish”– or “read off ” –our social practices without altering them in some fashion. While the absence of

an over-arching “We” renders Rorty’s ethnocentrism unworkable, the dynamicsof interpretation suggest that even Rorty may participate in the social practicesoff of which he “reads.”

What would it mean for Rorty or any other pragmatist to move beyond the statusquo? How could he or she do so without resorting to foundationalist principles?I try to answer both questions below by reconstructing John Dewey’s theory of democracy as a form of social and political inquiry. I suggest that although Dewey’sarguments are often fuzzy and characterized by an overzealous and generallymisplaced faith in science and technology, they provide us with a variety of

important insights into the ways in which we interpret and re-interpret our traditionalbeliefs and values. I attempt to uncover and develop these insights by making explicitthe extent to which Dewey’s own success in generating new values depends noton his scientific theory of pragmatism, but on this pragmatic re-interpretation of a society unbounded by communal ties.




The essay thus has three major aims. The first is to save Dewey from theconservative interpretations of him now put forth by Rorty and his followers.3

The second is to show that while Dewey is not able to generate new values out

of scientific inquiry, he is able to generate such values out of a more purely politicalanalysis of 20th Century America. The third aim is to re-construct Dewey’s politicalanalysis of 20th Century America, along with his model of democracy, as the basisof a critical/political theory of pragmatism that is capable of moving beyond thestatus quo.4

I

While Dewey may be enamored of scientific methodology, he does not, as severalof his critics suggest, place scientific methodology at the center of his politicaltheory.5 Instead, he starts out with an analysis of those “actual tensions, needs,troubles” that plague modern individuals.6 Dewey argues that all of these troubles– ranging from urban poverty to psychological unrest – have their source in the factthat we as modern individuals have lost control over both ourselves and our socialand physical environment. Likewise, he makes clear that if we want to regain controlover both ourselves and our social and political environment, we will have to do twothings. One is to develop a methodology that is “’self-consciously practical.” Theother is to employ this methodology in such a way that we are able to move beyondthose “stupid” practices associated with unregulated economic freedom.

Dewey argues in this context that modern economic practices appear to bepractical, but they are decidedly “not creative”; they are “stupid” – “a mereseizure of opportunities which conditions afford.”7 Dewey’s concern is not onlyto bring these practices under our control, but, in doing so, to move beyond themin light of more “inclusive interests than are represented by each separately.”8

How do we know what our “inclusive interests” are? Dewey appears to be of two minds here. On the one hand, he talks about our “inclusive interests” as partof the democratic process. On the other hand, he argues that these interests canbe discovered only through scientific inquiry.

Dewey often speaks about democracy and scientific inquiry as if they were one

and the same thing. Nevertheless, in the end, he finds it necessary to choose betweenthe two as the source of our evaluation criteria. Not surprisingly, he choosesscientific inquiry over the democratic process. But he does not leave politics behindaltogether. As we shall see, he incorporates various aspects of the political processinto his ostensibly scientific discovery of “new individualism.” By doing so, heeffectively moves beyond his own theory of scientific inquiry and provides thebasis for a more viable model of social and political change.

Dewey’s own theory of scientific inquiry is more complex and subtle than isoften supposed. While he conceives of scientific inquiry and democracy as closelyrelated, he does not set out to develop a political theory of scientific inquiry. On

the contrary, he reminds us over and over again that scientific inquiry is “strictlyimpersonal” as a methodology and as a body of knowledge. Scientific inquiry“adapts itself passively” and “with equal impartiality” to the problems whichit is called upon to solve.9 Likewise, democracy is not a set of power relations,but rather a condition of the free exchange of scientific discoveries.

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Dewey requires of scientific inquiry that it become part of our social and politicallife. But he does not want to enhance or concentrate the powers of a scientificclass. On the contrary, he makes clear that

[a] class of experts is invariably so removed from common interests as to become

a class with private interests and private knowledge, which in social matters is not

knowledge at all.10

Dewey argues that instead of enhancing the power of a scientific class, we needto develop a scientific approach to life among the citizenry as a whole, an approachthat he refers to simply as “intelligence”: “We must introduce intelligence intosociety at large, the observation of consequences as consequences, in connection

with the acts from which they proceed.”11

While Dewey recommends that social and political theorists, and the populationat large, appropriate the methodology of the physical sciences, he does not wantto turn social and political theory into a purely physical science.12 Indeed, he goesas far as to castigate the physical sciences for not taking values into consideration.

At present, the application of physical science is rather to human concerns than in

them. That is, it is external, made in the interests of its consequences for a possessive

and acquisitive class . . . The glorification of ‚pure science‘ under such conditions

is a rationalization of an escape; . . . a shirking of responsibility.13

Dewey’s approach to pragmatism requires that we develop a social/physical

science to be applied in, rather than to, human concerns. He argues that if weare ever going to be able to bring about social and political change, we will haveto assess our discoveries in the physical world according to our social and political

values. Likewise, we will have to assess social and political values according totheir worldly consequences. How, according to Dewey, can we accomplish bothtasks within scientific inquiry? What sort of evaluative criteria will we have toinvoke? Dewey attempts to answer both questions by articulating the relationshipbetween scientific inquiry, on the one hand, and means-ends rationality, on the other.

Dewey argues in the Logic that if we want to integrate our beliefs about thephysical world with our beliefs about values – and, in doing so, clean up sordid

slums, free men and women from the drudgery of factory work, restore theecological system and bring about world peace – we will have to integrate ourconception of means with our conception of ends. Among other things, we willhave to begin viewing means as a source of our values and our values not asindependent ends, but as ends-in-view or hypotheses. Dewey makes clear that only

when we view means as a source of our values and our values as hypotheses will we be able to develop new ends that are realizable in practice.

[W]hen ends are treated as hypotheses, new results are experienced, while the lauded

immutability of external ideals and norms is in itself a denial of the possibility of

development and improvement.14

Unfortunately, the sort of ends-in-view that are susceptible to experimentationdo not appear to be the sort that enable us to choose between conflicting socialand political practices. In other words, they do not appear to be associated withevaluative criteria. Rather, they look more like consequences. And indeed, Dewey




refers to ends as consequences in several places. For instance, in his criticismof current social judgments, Dewey writes that such judgments “exclude ends(consequences) from the field of inquiry.”15 Likewise, in his discussion of scien-

tific judgment, he writes that “judgment which is actually judgment institutesconsequences (ends) in strict conjugate relation to each other.”16

Dewey tries to defend his conflation of ends/values and consequences by arguing that values are consequences that have been deemed valuable in the past. But, asgenerations of Dewey critics have pointed out, Dewey’s argument here is hopelesslycircular.17 How, then, does he appear able in other places, notably in his moreexplicitly political works, to generate values out of what he calls scientific inquiry?I argue below that he does so not by relying on an objective means-ends analysis,but by symbolically reinterpreting the boundaries of our community in such a waythat we choose to pursue more “intelligent” ends in the first place.

Dewey does not himself distinguish between scientific inquiry and symbolicinterpretation. (Indeed, as we shall see, he treats the two as part of an integratedprocess.) Nor does he make explicit that he has developed new economic valuesby symbolically reinterpreting the boundaries of our community. Instead, hecontends that he has developed these values merely by looking to the means by

which our ends-in-view can be realized. Likewise, he contends that in rejecting unregulated economic activity, he has shown not that the aims and values of oldindividualism are petty in and of themselves, but that these aims and values “arealmost inconceivably petty in comparison with the means now at our command.”18

The means that Dewey has in mind here are those associated with modern tech-nology. To employ modern technology for the purposes of private pecuniarygain is petty, Dewey writes, because “modern technology has so much more tooffer.”19

Dewey assumes here that we can discover the potentiality of technology withoutreference to our own particular ends. But no set of institutions has a specific potentialbuilt into it; and even if we could find one that did we would not be able to concludeautomatically that its potential was worth realizing. Dewey has to have a particularend in mind before he can show that private pecuniary gain is petty in comparison

with the potential of technology. And indeed, we see Dewey making the nature

of that end explicit in his contention that employment of technology for purposesof private pecuniary gain is petty because it “can do so much more, it can liberateimagination and endeavor for the sake of making corporate society contribute tothe free culture of its members.”20

The end that Dewey has in mind here is a new form of individualism, one basednot on selfish, pecuniary gain, but rather on definite social relationships and publiclyacknowledged functions. From the standpoint of the individual, new individualismentails “taking responsibility for communal projects and integrating oneself intothe larger whole.” From the standpoint of the community, it entails the “liberationof individual potentially in harmony with the interests and goods of all.”21

Dewey contends in Individualism: Old and New that he can generate both aspectsof new individualism out of a scientific inquiry into the economic and technologicalmeans at our disposal.

But once we examine Dewey’s actual arguments, we see that he has insteadsmuggled both aspects of new individualism back into the economic and technological




developments that he is ostensibly exploring. Recall how Dewey presents theeconomic and technological developments of the 20th Century. He begins bypointing out how spatial options made possible by a frontier ethos have been

obliterated by the rise of modern technology. He then goes on to suggest that therise of modern technology has in turn created a “new-found connectedness” andrelations that “verge upon the collective and corporate.”22 According to Dewey,

what we need to do now is to develop a moral culture to support these collectiveand corporate economic relations.

Not surprisingly, the culture that Dewey himself develops is both collective andcorporate. But is it, as Dewey suggests, the result of an objective means-endsanalysis? On the one hand, Dewey does appear to have developed the values of new individualism out of a scientific inquiry into the means at our disposal, i.e.modern technology. On the other hand, his scientific inquiry is far less objectivethan he assumes. Among other things, he has chosen to characterize moderntechnology not as a set of physical relations, but as a set of social relations that“verge upon the collective and corporate.” While such a characterization is not“wrong,” it does involve choosing among a variety of possible interpretationsof modern technology, many of which speak to the potential for a hierarchical (oreven a totalitarian) ordering of society, rather than to collectivism.

The question becomes how, if at all, Dewey can sustain his own characterizationof modern technology as potentially corporate and collective. As we have seen,he cannot contend that he has generated the values of new individualism out of

an objective means-ends analysis. But neither does he have to fall back on founda-tionalist principles or concede pure arbitrariness. Indeed, as I suggest in the nextsection, Dewey might be able to generate the values of new individualism out of a pragmatic means-ends analysis by showing how these values help us addressthe “actual tensions, needs, troubles” that confront 20th Century Americans intheir daily lives.

II

While Dewey’s particular interpretation of modern technology may not be purely

objective, it is, according to Dewey, practical. Dewey tries to show throughoutIndividualism: Old and New why a more communally oriented form of individualismis necessary to the health and well-being of 20th century Americans.

The unrest, irritation and hurry that are so marked in American life are inevitableaccompaniments of a situation in which individuals do not find support and content-ment in the fact that they are sustaining and sustained members of a social whole. They are evidence, psychologically, of abnormality . . . and acute maladjustment.23

Indeed, Dewey continues, 20th century Americans are so acutely maladjustedthat we need to come up with a “deep-seated cause’’ for their maladjustment. Dewey

himself locates such a cause in the breakdown of smaller, local communities ina technological society.

Loyalties which once held individuals, which gave them support, direction and unityof outlook in life, have well-nigh disappeared. In consequence, individuals areconfused and bewildered. Indeed, it would be difficult to find in history an epoch as




lacking in solid and assured objects of belief and approved ends of action as in thepresent.24

Here we encounter a somewhat different conception of an individual’s loss of control than we did before. In the sections of Individualism: Old and New previouslycited, Dewey focused on the relationship between material and cultural progressand argued that individuals cannot take control until their ideals are brought intoharmony with the realities of the age in which they act. Here Dewey focuses onthe ability of an individual to understand what he or she is doing. He argues that the

tragedy of the ‘lost individual’ is due to the fact that while individuals are now caughtup in a vast complex of associations, there is no harmonious and coherent reflectionof the import of these connections in the imaginative and emotional outlook onlife.25

A “unified mind” can come into being only when “conscious intent andconsummation are in harmony with consequences actually affected.”26 In other

words, individuals can understand what they are doing only when they have availableto them a sense of those consequences that connect their activities with the restof the world. (Such an analysis “expresses conditions so psychologically assuredthat it may be termed a law of mental integrity.”)27

Dewey argues that only an integrated community – what he calls a “public”– can supply the symbols necessary for an understanding of the interconnectionsbetween individuals and society. Only a public can give to individuals a sense of

those consequences that connect their activities with the rest of the world. A publicis not merely a group of individuals or a set of institutions. It is also, and mostimportantly, the acknowledgment of a particular configuration of consequences:an association in which “ever-expanding and intricately ramifying consequencesof associated activity are known in the fullest sense of that word.”28

Dewey contrasts the public with the private in several ways, underscoring theextent to which the public is necessary not only for the sake of a “unified mind,’’but also for he sake of collective control. At the beginning of “Chapter 1: SearchFor a Public,” Dewey draws the line between the private and the public on thebasis of the extent and scope of particular consequences. He argues that the public,

as distinct from the private, embraces “consequences of acts which are so importantas to need control.”29

Unfortunately, Dewey never makes explicit just how important consequenceshave to be in order to be deemed in need of control. As a result, we are neverable to grasp the exact boundaries of Dewey’s public. In Part III, I supply criteria of importance that might enable us to discern these boundaries. Suffice it to pointout here that Dewey does not feel compelled to supply such criteria himself. Instead,he goes on to stress the importance of consciousness and acknowledgment to bothour understanding of a public and our generation of evaluative criteria. According to Dewey, a public is not merely an external configuration of consequences. It

is also a mindset, a sense shared among members of a community that particularstates of affairs are the consequences of our actions and that these consequencesare in need of control.

Not surprisingly, Dewey’s choice to conceive of a public in terms of acknowledgedconsequences – rather than, say, in terms of emotional or affective ties – enables him




to carve out an important place for scientific inquiry. Indeed, since the purposeof scientific inquiry is to trace the consequences of individual and collectivebehavior, scientific inquiry cannot help but be useful in the creation of a public,

a public which, Dewey admits, looks very much like a community of scientists.30

Several questions remain, though. First of all, how do we know, on the basis of scientific inquiry, which consequences are “so important as to need control”?Second, how could the acknowledgment of these consequences lead us to develop“projected purposes and prospective goods”? And finally, how could these purposesand goods enable us to reject old practices and develop new ones?

As I have already suggested, Dewey never responds directly to the first question,although he does remark in another context that consequences are often “sufferedbefore they are perceived” and are often “suffered so deeply as to require intelligentperception.”31 In response to the second question, Dewey writes that whenindividuals become conscious of the consequences of their conjoint activity, theirconjoint activity takes on a new value and they are led to develop a new “commoninterest.”

Recognition of evil consequences brings about a common interest which requiresfor its maintenance certain measures and rules, together with the selection of certainpersons as their guardians, interpreters and, if need be, their executors.32

With increased awareness of the consequences of their conjoint activity, individualsare led to develop shared purposes and standards which enable them to “secureconsequences which are liked and eliminate those which [they] find obnoxious.”“Thus,” Dewey concludes, “perceptions can generate a common and criticalinterest.”33

Presumably, they can do so only because we have already evaluated them, i.e.decided which are “obnoxious” and which are worth pursuing. Dewey appearsable to avoid such an evaluation only by assuming that values and purposes arethemselves a product of “observation.” According to Dewey, observation of anykind entails choice. In the case of social conflict, observation entails that we choosebetween conflicting interests. It does so, Dewey argues, because of the role of both symbolic interpretation and political community in scientific inquiry.

Dewey argues throughout the Public and Its Problems that when we observeconsequences, we interpret them through symbols. Symbols must be shared inorder to be understood. They must be shared within a “Great Community,” a community that Dewey equates in this context with the “communication of consequences symbolically interpreted.”34 As Dewey makes clear, we have not

yet achieved a Great Community: the “new age has no symbols consistent withits activities.”35 Indeed,

the machine age has so enormously expanded, multiplied, intensified and complicatedthe scope of indirect consequences, . . . that the resultant public cannot identify

itself.

36

If the resultant public wants to identify itself, it will have to produce symbolsconsonant with its activities. Once it does so, its members will be able to observeconsequences “productively,” i.e., they will be able to choose between conflicting interests. Dewey is forced to argue here that the public, or a Great Society, is




both a necessary condition and the result of observation. On the one hand, he arguesthat we cannot observe consequences productively until we achieve a Great Society.On the other hand, he argues that a Great Society follows from our collective

observation of consequences. “Communication of the results of social inquiry isthe same thing as the formation of public opinion.”37

Below I suggest how Dewey might break out of the circle that he creates bysuch an assumption. Suffice it to point out here that because Dewey finds it necessaryto interpret consequences symbolically in the first place, he cannot help butmerge scientific inquiry with public opinion. Both are then submitted as a conjointcondition of political community. According to Dewey, “only when free socialinquiry is indissolubly wed to the art of full and moving communication willcommunity have its consummation.”38 For only then will individuals agree on

which consequences are to be controlled.Dewey is not always consistent about the relationship between symbolic interpreta-

tion, scientific inquiry and political community, though. In particular, once hebegins to talk about the value of those consequences recognized by a community,he finds it necessary to introduce aspects of public opinion and the democraticprocess into scientific inquiry itself. Moreover, it is only because he does so thathe appears able to talk about scientific inquiry as generating a public of the sortthat he has in mind.

In the beginning, Dewey talks about consequences in the neutral way characteristicof natural scientists: “We take our point of departure from the objective fact that

human acts have consequences and that some of these consequences are per-ceived.”39 Likewise, what is important at this point about the consequencesperceived by members of a community is that they be perceived in the same way.

We see Dewey writing, for instance, that a Great Community is one in whichindividuals “form their judgments and carry on their activity on the basis of public,objective and shared consequences.”40

Later on, Dewey slips the evaluation of consequences into his conception of community itself.

Whenever there is a conjoint activity whose consequences are appreciated by all

singular persons who take part in it, and where the realization of the good is such

as to effect an energetic desire and effort to sustain it in being just because it is a

good shared by all, there exists a community.41

Similarly, Dewey writes value into the symbols through which consequencesare interpreted by a community. He starts out talking about symbols in a relativelyobjective fashion: events cannot be passed on from one individual to another, butmeanings may be shared by means of symbols. Wants and impulses are then attachedto those shared meanings and are thereby transformed into desires and purposes

which, since they implicate a common or mutually understood meaning, “presentnew ties, converting a conjoint activity into a community of interest and

endeavor.”42 There is “thus generated what may be termed a general will andsocial consciousness: desire and choice on the part of individuals in behalf of activities that, by means of symbols, are communicable and shared by all con-cerned.”43

How can Dewey talk about observation and a general interest together here if, as




I have suggested, wants and needs and a general interest do not follow automaticallyfrom perception? Two possibilities come to mind. Either consequences arethemselves value-laden as a result of the way in which we ascribe, i.e. symbolically

interpret, them. Or else Dewey introduces an external mechanism for deliberationinto his conception of a community of inquirers, a mechanism that enables indi-

viduals to attach value to particular consequences. Since, as we shall see, Deweymakes a point of characterizing the public as a democracy, we might do well tobegin with the latter of these two possibilities, or, in other words, with the possibilitythat political processes, and not scientific inquiry per se, enable Dewey to generateevaluative criteria out of social conflict.

Dewey first refers to a public as a democracy in the continuation of a passagealready cited.

Whenever there is a conjoint activity whose consequences are appreciated by allsingular persons who take part in it, . . . there is insofar a community. The clearconsciousness of a communal life, in all its implications, constitutes the idea of a democracy.44

Once Dewey establishes democracy as an ideal public, he goes on to fuse it withdemocracy-as-process: the “political phase”45 of democracy. Since democracyas an ideal is analogous to a scientific community, such a fusion enables Deweyto talk about scientific observation as leading to the development of new evaluativecriteria. We get a hint of these criteria in Dewey’s discussion of the usefulnessof a democracy. He argues that democracy makes control possible in that itrenders the interest of the public “a more supreme guide and criterion of govern-mental activity.” Likewise, democracy enables the public to “form and manifestits purposes authoritatively.” And finally, democracy enables the public notonly to mediate between conflicting claims, but to do so “in the interests of all.”46

Dewey’s last claim leads him into a discussion of the “problem of democracy,”a problem that recognizes its source in conflicting interests and practices.

Of course, there are conflicting interests; otherwise there would be no socialproblems. The problem of democracy is how conflicting claims are to be settled

in the interests of all – or at least of the great majority. The method of democracy– insofar as it is that of organized intelligence – is to bring these conflicts out intothe open where their special claims can be seen and appraised, where they can bediscussed and judged in light of more inclusive interests than are represented byeach separately.47

By providing an institutional framework for observation, one in which particularrules are followed (e.g. rules pertaining to equal representation and majority rule),Dewey appears able to make good his claim that observation leads to the developmentof new evaluative criteria. Moreover, by going on to equate such an institutionalframework with the ideal of a scientific community, Dewey also appears able to

retain his objective approach to the discovery of consequences. The questionbecomes whether or not he can move back and forth so easily between his twointerpretations of a public – i.e. between his interpretation of a public as a democracyand his interpretation of a public as a scientific community.

Dewey begins the Public and Its Problems with a discussion of publics in general.




Democracy, he argues, is one form that a public can take. By the end of Chapter 2,though, he has come to the conclusion that democracy is the ideal of associatedlife itself. “Regarded as an ideal, democracy is not an alternative to other principles

of associated life. It is the idea of community life itself.”48

While Dewey is willing to call the public, or a democracy, an ideal, he insiststhat it is a factual ideal. “It is an ideal in the only intelligible sense of an ideal:namely, the tendency and movement of something which exists carried to its finallimit, viewed and completed, perfected.”49 Since Dewey generally rejects valuesnot derived from practice, and chides others for talking about ideals in the firstplace, it is of course very important to him that democracy be factual. As he himself makes clear, “only when we start from a community as a fact, grasp that factin thought so as to clarify and embrace its constituent elements, we can reach anideal of democracy which is not utopian.”50

Clearly, Dewey does not live up to his own standards. The democratic community with which he begins is nowhere near factual. Indeed, as Dewey himself makesclear, since the democratic ideal does not yet exist, we will have to “borrow fromthe method of science” to articulate its conditions.51 Among the conditions thatDewey articulates are the freedom of social inquiry and the free distribution of the results of inquiry. While these two conditions may indeed be more easily metin a democracy than in any other form of government, they do not characterizeany factual democracies that we know about now. Moreover, even if they did,their presence would not guarantee the development of standards conducive to the

“general interest.”Dewey’s more substantive notion of democracy-as-process would appear to bemore promising. Unlike his ideal of democracy, democracy-as-process is clearlyfactual. Moreover, it enables individuals to mediate between conflicting interestsand develop a more inclusive interpretation of the general good. But it does notdo so by embodying any scientific ideal. Rather, it operates politically in that itprovides us with a framework within which to express our individual interests,interests that lead us to take particular consequences seriously and to develop waysof promoting those consequences that are attractive and preventing those that are“obnoxious.”

If Dewey were to take the political aspects of democracy into consideration,he would have to acknowledge two things. First, although democracy may beimportant to the discovery of consequences, and hence both to the solution of communal problems and to the development of a communal identity, it cannotbe confused with a scientific community. As we have seen, democracies of thesort that Dewey describes are characterized by a variety of purely politicalphenomena, including, among other things, both the expression of personal interestsand the wielding of political power. Second, the boundaries within which personalinterests are expressed and political power wielded may play a much more importantrole in our discovery of consequences than Dewey realizes.

Indeed, Dewey himself may be able to generate new values out of social inquiryonly because he consciously expands the membership of that group whose interestscount in our search for consequences. As we have seen, Dewey makes a point of including in our public both members of the lower classes and citizens of other nations.Hence, unlike those who continue to assume a localized political community, Dewey




is able to discover that the consequences of unregulated economic activity are notonly increased productivity, but also poverty, slums, and international war. Hisdiscovery presumes that concrete changes have taken place in the world. But such

changes are not sufficient conditions of his discovery. Necessary also is that hehas decided to take the interests of those suffering into consideration in the first place.Dewey does not provide us with a theory of interests and consequences. Norcould he do so without abandoning his more general arguments about the neutralityof scientific method. But he does remark that our choice to take particular con-sequences seriously is determined in part by the boundaries of our community,or, in other words, by who belongs to our community and what their interests are.

No one can take into consideration all of the consequences of the acts he performs.

. . . He must limit attention and foresight to matters which, as we say, are distinctly

our own business. . . . The man of even the most generous outlook has to draw theline somewhere, and he is forced to draw it according to whatever concerns those

closely associated with himself.52

If Dewey were to explore the implications of his remarks here he would haveto acknowledge that consequences are not simply discovered, but are insteadascribed, along with their valuation, by members of a particular community.Likewise, he would have to admit that our ascription of consequences dependsnot only on a causal analysis, but also on a set of more purely social assumptionsabout “our business” and “what concerns those closely associated with us.” And

finally, he would have to acknowledge that there exists a variety of interpretationsof “our business” and hence a variety of different ways of understanding theconsequences that “our actions” have in the world.

The question becomes whether or not Dewey could acknowledge these threethings without leaving his concept of the public behind. I argue in the next andfinal section of the essay not only that Dewey could acknowledge these three things,but that if we were to do so ourselves, we could re-construct his notion of thepublic in such a way as to understand how new values are generated out of socialand political conflict. I attempt throughout what follows to suggest what such a re-construction might look like and how it might enable us to move beyond the

status quo as pragmatists.

III

As we have seen, Dewey talks about a public primarily in terms of both a configura-tion of consequences and our consciousness of this configuration. But he also talksabout a public as a group of individuals. According to Dewey, a public includes

all of those who are affected by the consequences of actions to such an extent that

it is deemed necessary to have those consequences systematically cared for.53

Dewey never supplies us with criteria for deciding whether or not particularconsequences are serious enough to be placed under our “systematic care.” Buthe does suggest that we are more likely to take consequences/suffering seriouslyif we are “closely associated” with those suffering – or, in other words, if theirsuffering is “our business” in the first place. How can we know whether or not the




suffering of others is “our business”? As pragmatists, we cannot rely on eitheruniversal truths or foundationalist principles. Instead, we are forced to explore“our” traditions and conventions.

But “our” traditions and conventions are not as easy to discover as contemporarypragmatists suggest. Instead of finding a Rortyian consensus, we discover a plethora of opinions not only about what “our” business is, but about who “we” are.Likewise, instead of discovering the consequences of our actions, we are confronted

with a variety of interpretations. While some of us consider the poor and membersof other nations to be “closely associated” to us, others do not. Likewise, whilesome of us do not consider their suffering to be a consequence of our actions,others do. Since both sets of interpretations are based partly on subjective con-siderations, we cannot choose among them objectively. But we can assert themin such a way as to bring about social and political change.

Dewey himself appears to have accomplished three things by including the poor andmembers of other nations in our community of interests. First of all, he appears tohave rendered their suffering “our business.‘‘ Second, he appears to have shown thatour economic system has more consequences than many of us now realize. Third, heappears to have incorporated those suffering into our “public‘‘ (i.e. into that group

whose interests we take into consideration when tracing the consequences of ouractions). All three accomplishments necessitated that Dewey both develop an ex-panded conception of community and convince us to accept that conception ourselves.

How did Dewey hope to convince us to accept his expanded conception of

community? As we have seen, he did not provide us with any ideal communalboundaries. Nor did he instruct us on how we might discover such boundariesourselves. Instead, he proceeded to ascribe to us the very consequences that we

would have discovered if we had already accepted his expanded conception of community. Dewey, recall, concentrated throughout his two major political workson showing that 20th century America is no longer the group of local communitiesthat it once was. It is instead a “Great Society”, a society whose members are“inextricably joined together” by virtue of the fact that all of their problems –poverty, alienation and a loss of identity – are the consequences of a vast systemof technology that has yet to be controlled. He then went on to interpret this vast

system of technology as potentially collective and corporate. By doing so, hemanaged not only to move back and forth between two otherwise significantlydifferent terms – a Great Society and a Great Community, but to re-enforce hisown assumptions about whose interests should be taken into consideration whentracing the consequences of our actions.

Whether or not we ultimately accept Dewey’s expanded conception of communitydepends on both the appropriateness of the symbols that he provides us with andour own cultural, economic and personal interests in accepting or rejecting thesesymbols. If, for example, we are willing to accept the appropriateness of Dewey’sGreat Community as a way of describing the technological developments of the

20th Century, then we may find ourselves including particular individuals in ourcommunity that we would not otherwise have included. Likewise, once we includethese individuals in our community, and take their interests seriously, we maybe led to re-think the consequences of our actions and alter once again our conceptionof communal boundaries.




The mode of interpretation that enables us to do so takes as central the samethree phenomena that Dewey uses to characterize his ideal public: a configurationof consequences, our acknowledgment of these consequences, and our conception

of communal boundaries. But instead of viewing these three phenomena as aspectsof an ideal public, it views them as component parts of a more dynamic processthrough which we construct and reconstruct the boundaries of our community.By doing so, it enables us not only to avoid the logical difficulties associated withDewey’s own notion of the public, but to use the differences that exist among us to generate a new sense of who “we” are and how far “our” actions extendout into the world.

If we were to construe such a process analytically, we might be able to reconstructDewey’s notion of the public as a model for explaining the dynamics of pragmaticanalysis. But we could not assume, as Dewey does, either the continual expansionof our communal boundaries or the continual extension of our configuration of consequences. For, our communal boundaries often shrink – when, for instance,

we exclude others from our sphere of concern. Likewise, when our communalboundaries shrink, our ascription of consequences, and hence our conception of the “public interest”, also diminishes in scope. By holding each other causallyresponsible for fewer consequences than we did before, we make known that weno longer feel “closely associated” with those suffering. Once their suffering ceasesto be considered “our business,” we are led in turn to exclude them from thatgroup whose suffering is “serious enough” to be placed under our systematic care.

Dewey himself was not able to incorporate either the expansion or the contractionof communal boundaries into his theory of scientific inquiry. Nor was he ableto acknowledge the gaps that frequently develop between our conception of communal boundaries and our configuration of consequences. For, instead of developing a dynamic model of the public, he viewed the public as an idealconfiguration of consequences, a move necessitated, as we have seen, by hisobjectivist conception of scientific inquiry. Once we replace Dewey’s objectivistconception of scientific inquiry with one that takes the social and political aspectsof symbolic interpretation seriously, we can fully acknowledge – and explain –the dialectical relationship that exists between our communal boundaries and our

discovery of “new” consequences. We can do so, I have suggested, for essentially three reasons. First of all, we

have chosen to view the three aspects of Dewey’s public – consequences in needof control, consciousness of these consequences and communal membership – asseparate aspects of a dynamic process. Second, within this process, we recognizethe existence of conflicting conceptions of both communal membership and causalresponsibility. And finally, we acknowledge that, as a result of these conflicts,

we often change our minds about who belongs to our community and how farour actions extend out into the world.

Since such changes occur within our practice of ascribing consequences, we

do not have to rely on foundationalist principles to judge particular social andpolitical policies either “stupid” or “creative.” But we do have to interpret thecausal connections that develop around us. As Dewey himself makes clear, theseconnections are often felt, rather than perceived. They are suffered, but they arenot “known.” For they have no symbols consonant with their being. If we want




to make these connections known – and do so as pragmatists – we will have tozero in on existing interpretations of our communal boundaries. Likewise, if, indoing so, we want to bring about social and political change, we will have to take

into consideration both how these interpretations conflict and the sorts of symbolsthat we might use to develop a greater sense of community.

Not surprisingly, the model of community that grounds our analysis has a varietyof features in common with Dewey’s notion of a public. Among other things, itis negatively constructed on the basis of acknowledged consequences. Publicsdevelop and shift their boundaries in light of continual efforts to alleviate harm:“Recognition of evil consequences brings about a common interest which requiresfor its maintenance certain measures and rules.”54 By reconstructing our com-munal boundaries in light of newly discovered evil consequences, we enableourselves not only to generate evaluative criteria out of social inquiry, but alsoto solve practical problems.

Problem-solving in this context comes to entail both the development of a politicalculture and structural change. As Dewey himself makes clear, mental and moralbeliefs change more slowly than outward conditions. If we are ever going to alleviateharm, we will have to come up with a new set of political symbols, symbols thatboth express and create a sense of communal purpose among us. Likewise, we

will have to develop new kinds of social and political institutions. “To form itself,the public has to break existing social and political forms.”55 And finally, indeveloping new forms, we will have to take into consideration and manipulate

the various sources of power in society that make such developments possible.By so dynamizing Dewey’s model of a public – and placing it in a political,as opposed to a scientific context – we inevitably alter Dewey’s general pragmaticoutlook. Although causal connections remain crucial to our analysis, we no longer

view the origins of harm as objectively discoverable. Rather, we recognize thatour ascription of consequences is conditioned not only by our causal analysis, butby our conception of communal boundaries. Likewise, we recognize that whileproblem-solving still entails developing ends that are compatible with our existing means, it also entails developing ends that are compatible with more purely socialand political interests. Presumably, cases will arise similar to those that Dewey

cites – in which all of us are threatened by a universal harm (e.g. nuclear war).But there will also be other cases (probably many more) in which some of us willcreate harm for others. In these cases, those of us who trace consequences willhave to associate ourselves with a particular group and their particular interests.

Our analysis will thus become political in at least three senses. First of all, we will have begun with an articulated (and perhaps expanded) conception of communalboundaries. Second, in tracing the consequences of our actions, we will havechallenged existing conceptions of “our business”, as well as the structures of power on which these conceptions are based. And third, in our effort to generateevaluative criteria out of our causal analysis, we will have found it necessary to

give political symbols to the configuration of consequences that we “discover.”By doing so, I have suggested, we might be able to alter our conception of communalboundaries in such a way as to make the solution of our collective problems possible.

Thus, while we cannot assume either continual progress or the sort of controlthat Dewey posits, we do not have to accept Rorty’s ethnocentrism as the price




of our anti-foundationalism. For “our” beliefs and traditions do not form the seam-less web that Rorty envisions. Nor do members of our community constitute Rorty’sover-arching “We.” As Dewey’s political analysis suggests, our loyalties overlap

and our communal boundaries shift in ways that enable us to move beyond the statusquo through pragmatic inquiry. What I have tried to show above is how we mightreconstruct Dewey’s analysis as a way of generating new beliefs and traditions outof an inquiry into who “we” are and how far “our’’ actions extend into the world.

NOTES

1. Rorty develops his general pragmatic approach in both Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (Princeton: 1979) and Consequences of Pragmatism (Minneapolis: 1982). His more recent works

on pragmatism include: ‘’Postmodernist Bourgeois Liberalism,” Journal of Philosophy 80 (1983),pp. 583-589; “Habermas and Lyotard on Postmodernity,” Praxis International 4 (April 1984),pp. 32-44; “Solidarity and Objectivity,” Nanzen Review of American Studies 6 (1984), pp. 1-19;and “Science as Solidarity,’’ mimeo, paper presented at the Yale Legal Theory Workshop, November1984; “The Priority of Democracy to Philosophy,” The Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom,ed. Merrill D. Peterson and Robert C. Vaughan (Cambridge, England: 1988), pp. 257-281;Contingency, Irony and Solidarity (Cambridge, England: 1989).

Rorty expresses surprise in Contingency, Irony and Solidarity that others have characterized himas conservative and tries to re-formulate his ethnocentrism by building on Wilfrid Sellar’s theoryof “we-intentions.” I argue in that while Sellar’s theory of “we-intentions” enables Rorty to provideus with a richer understanding of ethnocentrism, it does not enable him to move beyond theconservative implications of his earlier works.

2. Rorty, “Postmodernist Bourgeois Liberalism,” p. 585.3. Rorty refers to Dewey as a postmodernist throughout his works. See in particular his essay

“Dewey’s Metaphysics” in Consequences of Pragmatism , pp. 72-89.Richard Bernstein argues in a recent review of Rorty’s work that Rorty has obscured the truly

progressive nature of Dewey’s pragmatism. [“One Step Forward, Two Steps Backward,” Political Theory 15 (November 1987), pp. 538-563.] Rorty responds to Bernstein’s criticism in the pagesthat follow. [“Thugs and Theorists,” pp. 564-580.]

4. Since my ultimate goal is to reconstruct Dewey’s pragmatism, I diverge from the bulk of research on Dewey in the field of political theory. Most contemporary scholars set out either toexplicate Dewey’s political theory from within or to place Dewey’s work in a larger theoreticalperspective. I rely on the best of these studies in my own reconstruction of Dewey’s theory of socialand political inquiry: Richard Bernstein, John Dewey (New York: 1966); William Brickman,

“Dewey’s Social and Political Commentary,” Guides to the Works of John Dewey, JoAnn Boydson,ed.; Anthony Damico, Individuality and Community: the Social and Political Thought of John Dewey,George Geiger, John Dewey in Perspective (New York: 1958); James Gouinlock, John Dewey’s Philosophy of Value (New York: 1972); Timothy Kaufmann-Osborne, “The Liberal Science of Community,” Journal of Politics 46 (1984), pp. 1142-65; George Novak, Pragmatism vs. Marxism;

John Smith, “The Value of Community: Dewey and Royce,” Southern Journal of Philosophy XIII(1974); A. H. Somjee, The Political Theory of John Dewey (New York: 1968); H. S. Thayer,

Meaning and Action: A Critical History of Pragmatism (New York: 1968); and Morton White, Science and Sentiment in America (New York: 1972).

5. For a very interesting discussion of the charge of scientism against Dewey and otherpragmatists, see: Peter Manicus, “Pragmatic Philosophy and the Charge of Scientism,” Transactions of the Charles Pierce Society XXIII (1989), pp. 179-222.

6. John Dewey, Logic: The Theory of Inquiry (New York: 1938), p. 499.7. Dewey, Quest For Certainty (New York: 1960) [1929], p. 274.8. Dewey, Liberalism and Social Action (New York: 1963) [1935], p. 70.

9. Dewey, Philosophy and Civilization (New York: 1963), p. 319.10. Dewey, Public and Its Problems (New York: 1954) [1927], p. 207.

Although Dewey claims that he does not want to enhance the powers of a scientific class, he does




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not always remain consistent on this point. See, for example, his essays on scientific inquiry inProblems of Men (New York: 1946).

11. Public and Its Problems, p. 12.

12. In Problems of Men, Dewey addresses such a suggestion directly: “I disdain any efforts toreduce matters of conduct to forms compatible with those of physical science. . . . I do proclaim,on the other hand, an identity of procedures.” (p. 212.)

13. Dewey, Public and Its Problems, p. 160.14. Dewey, Logic, p. 497.15. Dewey, ibid., p. 499.16. ibid., p. 515.17. For an extremely intelligent discussion of the various arguments that have surrounded Dewey’s

conflation of ends/values and consequences, see: Cheryl Noble, “A Common Misunderstanding of Dewey on the Nature of Value Judgments,” Journal of Value Inquiry 12 (1978), pp. 53-63.

18. Individualism: Old and New, p. 81.19. ibid., p. 82.

20. Dewey, Individualism: Old and New, p. 81.21. ibid.22. ibid., p. 84.

23. ibid., p. 51.23. Dewey, ibid., p. 51.24. ibid.25. ibid., p. 57.26. ibid., p. 54.27. ibid.28. Dewey, Public and Its Problems, p. 146.29. ibid., p. 15.30. Dewey folly acknowledges the structural similarities between the Great Community and a

scientific community. Indeed, he makes clear at the outset that because the Great Community doesnot exist, we will have to “borrow from the spirit and method of science in order to articulate itsconditions.” (Public and Its Problems, p. 174.)

31. ibid., p. 131.32. ibid., p. 139.33. ibid., p. 34.34. ibid.35. ibid., p. 109.36. ibid., p. 126.37. ibid., p. 177.38. ibid., p. 183.39.

ibid.,p. 12.

40. ibid.41. ibid., p. 149.42. ibid., p. 153.43. ibid.44. ibid., p. 149.45. Dewey argues that one must „distinguish between democracy as a social idea and political

democracy as a system of government.“ (ibid., p. 143).46. ibid., pp. 44-45.47. ibid., p. 45.48. ibid., p. 59.49. ibid., p. 58.

50. ibid., p. 59.51. ibid., p. 52.52. ibid.53. ibid., p. 60.54. ibid., p. 17.55. ibid., p. 31.

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