Anarchy?

This short piece is a response to an untitled entry of the 17th August, found in the following link:

http://anarchy4444244.blogspot.com/

The Anarchist Banker is a curious character. Rare indeed is it to find an author who so readily combines such words as 'indolent' and 'joy', or 'merrily' and 'mournfully' in order to arouse such paradoxical feelings as can only lead the reader in one of two opposite directions: either away from the text, in sheer baffled frustration, or towards it, in sheer baffled exhileration. It is a testament to The Anarchist Banker's skills as a writer that his wilful, playful self-deprecation constantly slices up his persona at every turn, carving into each fresh instantiation some brand new sign, some new allegory to cling to as he once more throws the reader into a sea of endless metaphor.



This, however, is precisely my issue with the political and ethical system at the heart of The Anarchist Banker's writing. It is a process of thought, alas, not uncommon in our society and one which I feel must be addressed if we are to continue our struggle for political and social freedom. For at the heart of The Anarchist Banker's ideological introversion lies an overwhelming, reactionary individualism, an individualism of such force that the reader cannot help but smile wryly at the thought that it is an individualism which can only truly exist in the act of self-denial ('self-negation', as he would describe it).



Let us, to begin, analyse the fundamental argument at the heart of The Anarchist Banker's latest (untitled) piece. Once stripped of all metaphor, it can, I feel, be defined like this:



i) a) Consciousness must be anterior to all words and writing, for the latter are mere expositions of thought, which stems from consciousness. Even 'unconscious' thought (and, subsequently, its literary products) is the product of consciousness, for the 'subconscious' is always subject to the 'stamp' of consciousness - that of the individual and that of the world.



b) It is by this process that we can separate the ideological rhetoric inherent in many of Carlos Puebla (an allegory, as we shall later see)'s lyrics from their artistic structure. This is a simple case of radical autonomism: whatever the singer may be singing about, aesthetic judgements of his music cannot be influenced at all by the moral content.



ii) Music is a higher form of art because it further separates man from reality, in that it is even more 'illusory' than literature. The various different sounds which together form a piece of music are, in that very process of formation, reduced to the form of allegory. The Plato-Hegelian Form of the piece of music is that which is envisioned by its creator - the artist. This is the highest form of allegory, of illusion and, therefore, of art. All subsequent sub-Forms (Forms derived from the original Form), which presumably include anything from the various instantiations of the piece by the artist to the manner in which the individual listener interprets it on each separate instantiation, are extensions of allegories - or allegories multiplied by themselves and each other. In short, devoid of ideology (here we get very Althusserian indeed), music itself can create in the listener the illusion of having it. For example, music which is capable of allegorical referencing outside of and indepent of itself ie, Cuban 'son', is anterior to any ideological influence because ideology is an ultimate product of consciousness; sound, however, is anterior to consciousness. Therefore, there can be no 'real' process by which sounds are combined to form a musical piece - such a process must be inherently illusory. However, once the piece has been instantiated, its reception will inevitably be conscious. As soon as the 'piece' is conceived of as such by the artist, it ceases to 'be', as consciousness has become anterior to it; the intermingling of ideological preconception with aesthetic response leads to ideological ideals rooted in the piece itself, as it is anterior to consciousness:



Sounds Exist - Sounds shaped together by artist with no intention other than to create a piece of art - Artist considers it 'finished' (and, therefore, a 'work' and conceives of it. It ceases to 'be' - Work Instantiated - Aesthetic Response - Aesthetic Response 'corrupted' by pre-conceived ideology - Aesthetic Judgement and Ideological Response (often linked).



iii) Thus, an individual who has never experienced a particular work of art can be said to be subsequent to it in the sense that his experience of it will be 'uninformed'. It follows that should this individual hear of the work before experiencing it, his experience of it will be 'tainted' by that previous information. Thus, no art which is spread by 'information' can ever retain its own value.



iv) As ideology, as a product of thought, stems from consciousness, it only exists in so far as an individual can conceive of it. Thus, although the act of overcoming a particular present political or ideological system can happen independently of art, whatever system is installed in its place must be the product of dreams, illusions and, ultimately, some form of art. As Revolutions imply not gradual social and political change but, instead, a total deconstuction of the current system, their end product must be Utopian. Ideology can only install the material conditions for its construction.



v) Ideology is the principal tool of revolution. The material and the ideological must be derived from the conceptual and, ultimately, from the immaterial, the realm of art.



vi) 'Artistic Forms Before Consciousness. Consciousness before Thought. Thought before Ideology and the Material'. Dreams, the artistic process and all other forms of experience not conscious of themselves are thus the route to progress. The non-existence of the material, its abstract nature is the route to regress. In some sense, an imagined revolution is far richer than a material one.



Firstly, it is important to recognise that The Anarchist Banker's reference to revolution is, by his own logic, an allegory. Just as an enquiry into the Essentialist nature of 'Forms' of music leads us far beyond Carlos Puebla, so we find behind the notion of 'revolution' the far simpler Form, 'change'. This, in turn, is a material manifestation of 'action' (follow, for instance, Zeno's paradox of the arrow. We ascribe the arrow's movement, it's change of position relative to the world, to the action of having flown from its starting to its end point), and so forth, until we arrive at the conclusion that only complete inertia can satisfy our insatiable lust for movement. The Anarchist Banker is not romanticising the idea that a Revolution can occur in a man's heart just as it can happen in (or to) a State. He is propagating a politics of inaction, of individualism (in the egoist sense, rather than the tolerant sense of individual liberty).



Let us not get bogged down in metaphysical debates, for on those very grounds The Anarchist Banker's argument appears shaky but, there again, so would any other. My concern is with the ethical doctrine that inertia is the path to freedom. Immediately, I shall present a counter argument which The Anarchist Banker would doubtlessly produce at this stage:

'Inertia cannot be the path to freedom, for ultimately the lack of political involvement of an entire population will result in anarchy, in which people will be free to oppress each other, first economically, and, eventually, physically.'

'This argument implies that political involvement is not a simple metaphor for the piecemeal alterations of a material system which bears little resemblance to the intellectual conditions of existence. Within every political system there exists oppression. 'Anarchy' is simply a state of being. Human beings are, ultimately, self-interested and will be so under any political system - indeed the very creation of political systems is simply the manifestation of a desire to prolong and comfort that state of anarchy.'

I wish to point out at this stage that I am not denying the existence of abhorrent forms of economic and physical oppression in our current political climate. However, I believe in the fundamental potential for all systems to be improved. The Anarchist Banker is quite right to point out that tyranny can only be combated by force and, as a product of that forceful overthrow, the likelihood is that that might which did the overthrowing is likely to use its 'force' as a means to establish itself. However, although economic oppression exists, we do not under a tyranny in this country. Each individual is free, regardless of the material conditions of his or her existence, to speak, think and feel without risk of punishment unless that freedom seriously threatens that of others.

It is here that I shall attack The Anarchist Banker's notion of 'freedom'. Under that faulty doctrine of Essentialism, he places the creative process before thought and, thus, removes it from any grounding in its practical consequences. For The Anarchist Banker, consciousness is a prison. I would suggest that this state of imprisonment, his 'anarchy', is precisely a result of his metaphysical detachment; for if one chooses to 'progress' into the realm of illusion and of art, then, by The Anarchist Banker's own rationale, one's main points of reference in the world are other forms of art and, thus, the total absence of all concrete individuals. In the realm of fantasy, it is natural that there can be no oppression; it is, indeed, pure anarchy.

Yet, such an illusion (I am talking here of The Anarchist Banker's own argument, not those he alludes to) ignores the pressing fact that, ultimately, abstract political ideas will impact on the individual to the extent that his 'right to Art', as I shall call it, can be negated. For if ways of 'not acting' are to be the mainstay of our politics of 'freedom', then we could finish in a situation in which those to whom 'not acting' implies an introverted retreat from society (like, I feel, The Anarchist Banker) will be ruled by those for whom this state of inertia can only be achieved through the oppression of others. Allow me to illustrate this point. Suppose I choose to wallow in inertia and to find solace in my detachment from all material things. I could hit the ground running, and attempt to detach myself in my daily life without fear of any practical or moral consequences. Suppose this were even possible, I would still not be free of other individuals; they may not oppress me physically or economically - they may not even live near me; but my prior knowledge of their existence oppresses me insofar as my sense of detachment is rooted in my previous surroundings. I can only obliterate their influence by subjugating them to the force of my own imagination, or my 'art' (something which The Anarchist Banker himself claims is impossible).

I conclude, very simply, by suggesting that the hypocritical philosophy put forward by The Anarchist Banker, the 'art' of self-negation, makes for entertaining literature but represents an inherent danger to the ethical make-up of our society. In an age in which escapism in the form of cognitive stimulae, the ease of access to information (and, indeed, the liberal employment of the term 'artist') and self-involved consumerism, we must, at all costs, refuse to delve further into ourselves at the expense of our relationships with others.

A Lack of Substance?

Writing in today (16/08/2009)’s issue of The Guardian, Alan Johnson summed up the Conservatives’ electoral strategy, in one short paragraph, better than I ever could:
‘In Cameron and Osborne’s corner of London, decontaminating the Conservative brand requires lashings of style to compensate for the lack of substance.’
The only flaw I could pick out in such a succinct appraisal was the employment of the term ‘substance’. Mr Johnson is not quite correct; the Conservatives do have a certain substance – and that substance is potentially toxic.
Popular MEP Daniel Hannan’s desire to dismantle the NHS and erect, in its place, a prohibitive, financially-motivated temple for Tory values are a perfect reflection of the ideals of a reactionary party who, in an era of tolerance – an era in which few are yet willing to stand in the way of humanitarian and egalitarian progressive democracy – could only ever hope to slip into power through the back door.
The response of Cameron’s political machine has, as ever, been swift. Once again, we have been told that the ‘nasty party’ is a thing of the past and that those who have a real say in party policy are, in fact, ‘progressives’. My great fear is this: that the debate as to the real intentions of the Conservative Party will overshadow the absence of any official and concrete policy emanating from among those MPs who, so we are told, have a real influence over the party line.
In response to the Tory rift, Labour’s moral positivism has returned in force, with fresh allegations that the Conservatives’ ‘modernising’ public persona bears little relation to its ‘unchanged rightwing underbelly’ (the words of Cabinet Minister Pat MacFadden). This may well be the case but it does nothing to excuse the lumbering, inefficient bureaucracy the NHS is slowly becoming under a Labour government talking the egalitarian talk while overlooking some of the blatant inequality at the root of the present system. Take, for instance, the fact that the vast costs of running the NHS are incurred mainly by retired people (who contribute much less in taxes) and subsidised mainly by the younger generation.
Tragically, it had all been going so well for Cameron; all he and his Party apparently needed to do was keep quiet and watch Labour talk their way out of power. Nobody questioned the absence of policy. Nobody even paid any particular attention to the gross and extravagant expenses claims filed by Conservative MPs as Gordon Brown (having just worked minor miracles at the G20 Conference) reacted a tad slower than the erstwhile Cameron to the whole sordid affair. Indeed, observing Cameron’s very public verbal flogging of his own party was akin to watching a criminal offering a speech of repentance, having just been given a lighter sentence than his partner in crime. Now, Cameron runs the risk of being talked out of contention by a party which, in exposing the inherent chasm between reform and traditional values at the heart of his political machine, has adopted his own policy of propaganda to distract the public from discussion of policy.
In my opening essay (read below), I suggested a sickness at the heart of British politics. Let us hope that our awareness of our own health can help us to discover it.

A More Positive Use of the Vote

The Conservatives’ substantial lead in the polls belies a growing sickness at the heart of British politics which threatens to sabotage a democracy which we are still in the process of building – a sickness which must be acknowledged before it can be cured.

‘The principle of subjective freedom is of great importance and significance...Everybody wishes to take part in discussions and deliberations. But one he has had his say...his subjectivity is gratified and he will put up with a lot...freedom of speech has proved far less dangerous than silence imposed by force. With the latter...men have to swallow everything, while if they are permitted to argue, they have an outlet as well as some satisfaction. And in this way, a thing may be pushed ahead more easily.’ - Hegel

The media and public reaction to Gordon Brown’s latest howler - in which the Prime Minister appeared to advocate an ‘increase by zero percent’ in government spending– was, lamentably, unsurprising. The general contempt (now, in some quarters, bordering on pity) in which Brown is held by the media and the public at large is not extraordinary in an age of celebrity and soundbites, in which the slightest aberration by any public figure is magnified, processed and packaged as a ‘story’. More questionable, however, is the cause of the significant rise in approval for a populist Conservative party which appears intent on riding the unfortunate wave of party-political historicism, essentialism, mistrust and inertia sweeping across the barren landscape of British politics. I believe that in an era in which no more than a fifth of the population of this country even bother to vote, it is more important than ever to guard against a brand of thinking which will surely lead us away from the rational processes of progressive social engineering which democracy, theoretically, encourages. A brand of thought which will ultimately drive us further into apathy and the realm of satire, the most regressive and redundant of all political forces.
I wish to make it clear at this stage that my sympathies lie neither with Brown’s posse nor with the Conservative Party and that the purpose of this essay is not to attack (the absence of) Conservative policy but, rather, to appeal to reason and logic in our application of our democratic rights. My criticism of David Cameron’s rule of silence on key issues (chiefly, the economy) with regard to the political designs of his own party – as well as his constant, juvenile taunting of the floundering, wounded beast that is Gordon Brown’s cabinet – is borne of my conviction that this form of propaganda (let’s not be shy about it) serves only to alienate the population still further from its democratic right to vote for the party or organisation which best suits its interests[i].
It is crucial, from the outset, to avoid the sort of essentialist thought with regard to voting which serves only to cloud any rational approach to questions of duty and ethics. For, as the central question of this essay is how (not) to apply the vote, there are many who would suggest opening the discussion by asking ‘What is the vote?’ or ‘What is the essence of the vote, or the act of voting?’. Such questions, in my opinion, can lead only to an infinite regress and the self-indulgent squabbling over phraseology which, sadly, have become standard features of much of Western thought. In order to briefly illustrate this point, allow me to offer a fairly standard (and, in itself, perfectly valid) response to the essentialist question:
“The vote is the legal right of all individual citizens of a particular democratic state or organisation to express their political opinion and to dismiss their government. The act of voting is the individual’s personal realisation of the potential of that legal right.”
There are and have been, of course, more exhaustive and eloquent ‘definitions’ than mine but the point is that no matter how exhaustive or eloquent one’s investigation into the so-called essence of the vote may be, ambiguities and inconclusiveness will simply reproduce across increasingly irrelevant planes ad infinitum. In the example above, an essentialist would be forced to question, along Platonic lines, the essence of each of the key terms which constitute the definition. Take, for instance, the term ‘democratic’. To remove it would invalidate the overall statement, for, as we all know, there is a large number of states in which the vote is not a legal right. Yet to include it forces the essentialist to ask, ‘What is democratic?’. Supposing one could find a satisfactory definition (many, if asked to provide a definition, would simply turn our statement around and use the concept of the vote in their definition of democracy!), one would then have to reconcile this with a similarly exhaustive definition of ‘the state’, and so on.
These absurd kinds of processes have entertained philosophers for centuries and will continue to do so. Yet, not only do I feel that such thought processes are liable to muddy the waters we must seek to cross in order to achieve some form of clarity with regards to our application of democracy, I would further suggest that the essentialist attitude exists at the very core of the current British political climate (by which I mean the intrinsic relationship between political propaganda, the media and the general public). Its dangers could not be more apparent. For the subliminal message from the Conservatives, as any political observer should agree, is that a vote for David Cameron is, more than anything, a vote against Gordon Brown. According to any valid essentialist definition of the vote, it therefore seems ethically right to vote for David Cameron (who, unlike certain of his racist, anti-EU political allies in Poland and the Czech Republic, is not an enemy of democracy) on the basis that, if one wishes to dismiss the current government (which the vast majority of the voting and non-voting public demonstrably does), then a vote for the Conservatives represents the most logical way of enacting that democratic right. This ultimately irrational form of ethical compromise, and partial sacrifice of individual freedom, I like to call ‘tactical voting’ and shall return to later.
For now, however, there is a pressing intermediary point to be dealt with – what I shall term the party-political historicism of the British public. By this, I mean the general (misguided, as I shall later suggest) sense among the voting and non-voting population that there are only two legitimate political attitudes to adopt – Labour and Conservative, or, more generally, ‘left’ and ‘right’. It is a sentiment rooted in what I consider to be an exaggerated faith in the relative political continuity this country has enjoyed since the Second World War. Although I do not intend to sidetrack my argument with an in-depth analysis of political apathy in the UK and abroad, I feel that the peculiarly widespread political apathy in British society, when contrasted with other Western European countries (compare the percentages of populations voting in national and municipal elections over the past 15-20 years, for instance), has led to an illusion of political stability in this country which can help explain, to a greater or lesser extent, how it is that a party so lacking in official policy as the Tories can command such an overwhelming share in the polls ahead of the next general election.
The illusion of stability, indeed, the illusion that our ‘democracy’ is approaching the fully-formed Socratic ideal is, I fear, entrenched in a severe case of bad faith. A faith, a self-perpetuating intellectual malady rooted in the empty tribalist rhetoric of many leading politicians for whom the outdated terminology of political ‘camps’ is a tool for the mobilisation of mistrust of the party they wish to attack. An example can be found in the same session of Prime Minister’s questions in which Brown made his “zero per cent” gaffe, in which Cameron accuses the Prime Minister of attempting to re-open class divisions with accusations that Tory spending cuts would be in line with traditional Conservative policy – that of relinquishing state intervention in the private and public sector, at the expense of the poor. Cameron’s attack on the veil of moral positivism still donned by certain Labour politicians when practical argument fails them would be worthy of merit if, and only if, it were not, in itself, a re-assertion of that old divide. For in placing himself in the role of the accused, Cameron offers himself two options: either to defend Tory projections for public and capital spending reductions or to throw back counter-accusations made worthy of the name only by the moral high ground already established by his own tribalist rhetoric (and refusal to talk policy, made all the easier by Brown’s buffoonery). Not surprisingly, he chooses the latter. Brown’s awkward presentation of an economic policy which, badly conceived in practical terms as it may or may not be (I am not an economist. Neither, for that matter, is Cameron), is theoretically compatible with many dominant economic theories to have been produced in response to the recession (Nobel Prize winner Paul Krugman is the most obvious example) gets attacked for, apparently, containing a veiled argument that any refutation of it is simply a Conservative argument for social injustice par excellence. Whether or not this was Brown’s intention (these days, it really is hard to tell), Cameron redraws the old political battlemap himself with aplomb.
This illusory dichotomy re-enforces the myth of the permanence of ‘left’ and ‘right’ as embodied by two distinct political parties in Great Britain. Strangely, given the misleading information on Iraq provided by the Blair administration and the (still) ongoing expenses scandal, we remain fixated on the notion that only the dominant parties retain enough ‘credibility’ to rule (may I also remind the reader that Boris Johnson is Mayor of London). The root of the historicist attitude at the heart of our apparently unwavering faith in the natural order of ‘left’ and ‘right’ (if left is wrong, right must indeed be ‘right’ and vice versa) appears to be a gross misappropriation of Hegelian dialectics. It is an irrational faith in the ultimate synthesis of a political climate which, in reality, has no thesis or antithesis to begin with. This quasi-religious faith, it seems to me, can be simplified to something like this:

I) Labour, although no longer truly a socialist party (socialism is, of course, dead), are the most credible left-wing party in the country. The Conservative Party are, and have always been, the right. The two parties’ traditionally overwhelming control over the vote indicates that they are the strongest, and therefore best, candidates to rule.
II) As we have seen, ‘true’ socialism was unworkable in this country. So too, ultimately, was Thatcherism. The compromise, or synthesis, between the two more radical positions accounts for the comparatively neutral position of the two major parties today.
III) Relative neutrality is a sign of progress. Compromise is a strong indicator of reason, and reason is a fundamental pillar of a functioning democracy. Reason is the driving force behind our State, therefore we live in a progressive democracy.
IV) Progressive democracy must, of course, constantly evolve towards an ultimate state of perfection. Therefore, the neutrality of each party must remain in relative opposition to the other. Put simply, when one pulls, the other must push, so that ultimately, through the application of reason, a logical compromise or synthesis – and therefore progress – can be attained.
V) If we accept iii) and iv) then it logically follows that any outside challenge to the established dichotomy, in order to be credible (for credibility is rooted in reason, and reason is already established within the natural dichotomy), must slide naturally into the place of the part of the dichotomy it supersedes. If it cannot enter into the established political and dialectical framework, then it is either radical (and, therefore, unreasonable, untenable and, potentially, dangerous to natural democratic progression), or not credible, or both. No sudden and radical deviation from the established dialectic is possible without having the potential to harm it, for in such a case, compromise would not be possible, nor reason applicable.
VI) As long as the strong parties remain strong (or weaken and are replaced by similar, ‘credible’, parties) and no radical system, organisation or practical ideology appears capable of breaking up the synthetic dichotomy (an extremely unlikely event, for as we have seen in ii), radical positions have a natural antithesis and, logically, the dialectic between the two will produce a more progressive, rational and credible product. Free of its original radical disposition, such a product cannot harm the natural political order and can only enter it on a rational basis), democracy can function organically. Mass participatory democracy, while somewhat desirable, is not necessary as long as a large enough slice of the population vote for elections to be credible. As radical change is neither possible nor imminently desirable, the changes necessary for democratic evolution can occur without the official consent of the majority of the general public, as long as the credibility of the electoral process and the natural balance of power remain intact.
It is easy to see the twisted logic in operation here. We assume that might is right, that the most credible candidates in an election, regardless of actual policy, are those who have experience of mass popularity (within the voting, as opposed to non-voting, public), of government, and have formed part of a political dialectic which, itself, exists only as a figment of the historicist imagination. If we fall into the trap of finding security in political tradition and seeing arrested political change as a natural product of this ‘secure’ system, we risk throwing away any hope of achieving something like a genuine, participatory, operating democracy.
At this stage, one might object that the dichotomy outlined above is being invalidated as we speak by Labour’s current weakness. The Labour Party are battling simply to remain the second most popular party in the country, as recent surveys, municipal and European Parliament elections have shown. Indeed, I am happy to concede that, at certain points, the British voting and non-voting public have, and will, be presented with more than two ‘credible’ options for government. However, I strongly deny that this invalidates the existence of the party-political historicist attitude, for the few occasions when this is the case are simply moments which reflect the shift in dominance of each particular ‘side’ of the dichotomy. The historicist method outlined above does not exclude the possibility of either party temporarily or permanently dropping out of its position of dominance within its ‘side’ of the essential dialectical framework. The only necessary condition for this occurrence is that any party or ideology which replaces it must be ‘credible’ enough to fit the position of its predecessor. In practical terms, this means that should Labour cease (temporarily or otherwise) to be the main ‘natural’ opposition to the Tories, whichever party replaces them will assume their mantle within the established framework. In fact, it would represent a natural step in the evolution of dualistic politics, a fresh antithesis to the temporary new synthesis of old Labour and Tory values. Moreover, as a supplementary observation, it should be noted that no radical party or ideology threatens the established dichotomy. The relative success of the BNP, for instance, is of minor importance (according to the historicist method) as its radicalism, untamed, cannot hope to supersede even those parties which seek to overthrow Labour.(I should like to point out that I am not, for one moment, defending this case of bad political faith. I am simply proclaiming its existence).
Indeed, the argument against the existence of this political dualism – our innate belief that we can only ever have two ‘credible’ options when it comes to voting - is itself a product of that very system of thought. Our increasing reliance on a historicist notion of ‘credibility’ has, tragically, led to a deeper and deeper faith in the strength of our democracy, an insidious faith which, ironically, threatens to drown our democratic values. A confusion between the actual and conceptual meanings of ‘credibility’ has led us to a false conclusion along the following simple lines of logic:
I) For a party or ideology to be ‘credible’, it must show that it can apply itself in government. (the only rational way it can do this is either to have experience in government or as the ‘most credible’ form of opposition). As alternative political models and concepts have fallen by the wayside and the current political parties have gathered in relative strength against them, so the credibility of the two ‘sides’ (left (of centre) and right (of centre)) has increased.
II) Such is the credibility of the major parties when compared with radically different systems of thought that the democracy in which they participate and seek to improve can only gain in credibility (and, therefore, reason and, subsequently, strength) with them. Moreover, as this self-perpetuating and self-regulating form of credibility increases, so any radical form of opposition to the system becomes ever more discredited.
III) An increasingly credible democracy must surely mean that there can be no pervading dichotomy, for a strong democracy, according to our essentialist doctrine, reflects the often varied and conflicting desires of its citizens. Our citizens have the legal right to express their political opinion within this credible democratic system.
Therein lies the absurdity of the party-political historicism at the centre of the current British political scene. For, as I highlighted earlier, the illusion of stable democracy, as perpetuated by party-political historicist faith, contains within it the sad truth that it does not require mass participation in order to function and, indeed, flourish. An argument proclaiming the existence of a true political pluralism in this country, which denies the existence of the dichotomy I have described, can only exist in opposition to the actual realisation of mass participation outside of the ‘natural political dialectic’. Therefore, even if we accept i) and ii), we arrive at a paradox at iii). For if we accept that our form of democracy is credible and strong, then it should logically follow that our electoral system reflects, and actively encourages, mass participation. Yet party-political historicism, on the surface, arrives at the same conclusion on the exact opposite basis: our democracy is credible and strong, so it appears to argue, precisely because it can function independently of the general will of its citizens. This is no exaggeration. The overall absence of political imagination of that minority of the general public who vote is eclipsed in its gravity only by the irrational faith in the notion that ‘might is right, and everything will be alright’ embodied by the silent majority.
How, then, to combat this growing separation between our government and ourselves, its citizens? How can a mostly apathetic population once more seize the reins of political change? Having exposed the myth of historicism at the core of the current British political framework, I feel that before offering a final resolution, I must first attempt to argue against what I have already termed ‘tactical voting’, a phenomenon which I imagine most political commentators would agree is, at the very least, partially responsible for the anticipated success of the Conservative Party.
We have already seen that party-political historicism has instilled in the majority of the population a paralysing, irrational faith in the logical progress of what we naively refer to as our ‘democratic’ political system. Clearly, we, as citizens, have in fact much less political power than we think. Yet here is where the irrational essentialism, no more than a cheap and dirty form of electioneering, currently adopted by the Conservative Party, rears its ugly head and ties itself to the blind party-political historicist faith. For, I have already argued, the Conservative Party have provided the general public with precious little in the form of concrete policy, preferring, instead, to take cheap shots at a Labour Party whose ineptitude is itself dragging our political system into the realm of satire. The British public’s apparent desire to vote for Cameron in order to guarantee the disposal of Brown is a logical product of the historicist faith: Labour’s weak credibility must, within the political framework, give way to the Conservatives’ strong credibility (itself instantiated, once more, by the notion of dualism: it is created merely in opposition to Labour weakness). In the dualistic democracy, when the framework’s overall credibility comes under threat from the relative weakness of one of its ‘sides’, threatening the overall equilibrium, it is only natural that the voting public’s tendency will be to guarantee the disposal of that side by supporting its opposite. This tendency, I stress, is ethically and logically indefensible. The inclination to use the vote as a negative force for reaction, rather than a positive force for action - voting against rather than for - is not only a symptom of the historicist malaise but, even more importantly, a misguided attitude towards our democratic rights, rooted in essentialism.
Why is it so ethically and logically ‘wrong’, then, to use the vote to get rid of a government the vast majority of us don’t want? For a start, let me expand upon a sentiment which I introduced earlier in this essay. An apparently natural response, one which is the fundamental basis of the Conservative electoral strategy, would be that the essence of the vote is to protect the citizens of a particular State from the threat of tyranny (at least from within the State itself. An invading army cannot be voted out, not even in Iraq) or inadequacy. It is the people’s right to dismiss their government. This, in itself, is perfectly valid. Yet, if we are to really follow the essentialist method, the vote becomes meaningless, or at least limited in its practical application. For if the essential nature of the vote is merely to ensure such endlessly debatable notions as political freedom (to what degree does the freedom of one not threaten to oppress that of another? Is it possible to live ‘free’ of freedom, if one so wishes?) and its protection, then is voting for a party one does not necessarily fully support, simply to remove another, not a surrender of that very right every citizen has to be protected from tyranny, inadequacy, or the tyranny of inadequacy? Clearly, we reach a paradox: a vote for Cameron, so his party argues, is a vote against political weakness, and, therefore, an expression of political freedom. Yet, against that claim, there springs from the inquiry into the essence of the vote the following counter-statement: a vote for Cameron, as dictated merely by the fear of helping to perpetuate political weakness (keeping Labour in power) is an admission that the citizens’ power to dismiss government is the power to dismiss a particular government and not, necessarily, to protect its overall political freedom. The essential definition of the vote, no matter how refined, cannot account for how it should best be used.
Here, it may be argued that, paradoxical as the essentialist doctrine may appear to be, the practical implications of the counter-statement I have offered above dictate that we are faced with a choice between tactical voting and giving up. It is not ideal to vote ‘against’ rather than ‘for’ but it is simply the most credible option. However, while I would agree that voting is always better than not voting, I wish to propose a logical alternative to giving up: that we turn away from any essentialist enquiry into the concept of the vote and, instead, ask ourselves, ‘What can the vote be used for?’ For it is only by asking this fundamental question that we assert our free political will. It is only by constantly striving to learn from and to improve our political system that we can edge closer to attaining a participatory democracy which embodies a direct relationship between citizen and politician, ruler and ruled.(Of course, I would agree that the vote can, and must, be used in order to protect ourselves from tyranny or political inadequacy. In attacking the essentialist doctrine, I am not disputing the validity of the definitions we derive from it. What I am suggesting is that it is almost abhorrent to use this form of ‘logic’ in order to justify voting for a party which does not necessarily embody our best political interests. ).
Free of the endless and, ultimately, fruitless (in a practical sense) inquiry into the essential nature of the vote, we may now ask ourselves the simple and fundamental question, ‘Why should I vote for this party or government? What policy or strategy have they offered, regardless of that which they oppose, which would justify voting for them?’. If we are to work towards a fully functioning democratic State, in which the majority of people have a direct say over who they are governed by, then the vote must be used as a positive expression of political choice and not the surrender of our individual rights and beliefs to the rule of tradition and the dim-witted, blindly obedient acceptance of an artificial political order. The apparent absence of real political choice is a direct result of this entrenched bad faith. I contend that, in order to combat this political poverty, we must realise and act upon the following principles:
I) If we vote against, rather than for, we automatically deny ourselves the fundamental democratic right to express rational political belief. In so doing, we surrender our very right to vote. For if we allow ourselves to succumb to empty essentialist slogans (‘people power’ is my personal favourite), we drown any notion of real political choice in a wave of placid acceptance, and destroy the rational basis of all democracy: the existence, before all else, of the individual citizen and his or her personal autonomy. Put simply, tactical voting is undemocratic.
II) The absurdity of tactical voting (or not voting) can be found in its end product: a weak government is dismissed and replaced by another which does not represent the desires of anything like the majority of the population. This new government may, indeed, be much stronger than the previous government. Equally, it may prove itself even more disastrous. Such a scenario would suggest that tactical voting is a gamble. In this sense, far from being the most rational approach to the exertion of political control by the population, it is an inherently irrational contradiction of democratic values. (Of course, all voting, even in a utopian democracy, represents a gamble to some degree. We can never control the exact behaviour of our governments and, furthermore, we cannot predict future events outside the control of the State and how governments will respond to them. There is, however, a difference: the ‘gamble’ of tactical voting is itself an admission of the absence of real political control by a particular population; however, a situation in which all citizens vote freely for the party which they want in power represents democratic control of the electoral process by that population. The unpredictable nature of future events comes after, and will be at least a partial result of, that rational democratic process.).
III) If we vote for the party or organisation which best suits our interests, we can begin to dismantle the party-political historicism which has resulted in the colossal spectre of two great ‘sides’ (no more than brands) in British politics. The political dichotomy, which I described earlier, grows in strength the more we suspend our democratic rights and fling ourselves into the quagmire of dualism. The practical consequences of a more evenly distributed voting pattern can only be beneficial:

A) The relative electoral weakness of the major parties will remind them that smears, propaganda, misappropriation of information and all other forms of electioneering must, at the very least, begin to take a back seat behind discussion of actual policy.
B) As votes for the major parties diminish, so those votes will go elsewhere. A more level political playing-field will naturally encourage the idea of political control by the citizens over their government, rather than vice versa. The outcome can only be increased participation and, therefore, a stronger democracy. (The idea that there are precious few parties to vote for beyond those which form part of the dichotomy – the Conservatives and Labour or, now, whichever party overtakes Labour at the next general election – is another myth of party-political historicism and ‘credibility’. There are dozens of political organisations whose voice cannot be heard purely due to a lack of funding and exposure. The absence of ‘profile’ denies these groups any real ‘credibility’ in the public eye. This reversal of cause and effect is one of the foundations of the ‘credibility’ myth[ii]).
C) The phenomenon of ‘protest’ voting will slowly decline. Greater political participation on behalf of the population must lead to greater political awareness and rational faith in the political system. The protest vote, if nothing else, is an act of political desperation. A citizen who votes for a party out of anger at the actions (or inaction) of his or her government, the absence of real political choice or a feeling of personal abandonment by the political system acts from the same irrational position as the citizen who votes against rather than for. Yet it is even more dangerous a practice than mere tactical voting, for even along essentialist lines, the protest vote is an irrational surrender of political freedom. From a logical standpoint, the beneficiary party will always be random and meritless in its gain of that individual’s support. Let us take, for example, an individual voting for the British National Party in order to ‘protest’ against some flaw in the present system (perhaps a lack of ‘strength’ or even ‘credibility’). The individual may or may not necessarily agree with that group’s stringent policy on immigration, or the open racism of many of its members, but to him or her, the act of voting for that party is an act of protest; that party’s radical opposition to the general political climate which that individual so abhors is the end in itself. Such an irrational waste of a citizen’s democratic rights will always exist to some degree. However, greater political choice, the toppling of the dichotomy, will offer so many citizens a greater sense of political freedom that such a dangerous misuse of the vote can only decrease in its frequency.
Only by following these steps can we assume a greater control over our political system and begin to drive out the wedge between the actions of our governments and the desires and needs of our citizens. Although I am not for one moment attempting to dissuade anybody from voting for the Conservative Party for rational reasons, I am adamant that the use of the vote, in support of any party, must be one rooted in a conviction that it is that particular party will serve the best interests of the population of its country. Our democracy is fragile and far from complete (to say nothing of international democracy); we must, at all costs, approach political questions rationally and free of the bias bred in us by the illusion of stability created by a stagnant, self-perpetuating political framework. It is a framework which allows a party like the one currently led by David Cameron to hop into power with barely a hint of official policy, one in which Prime Minister’s Questions have become almost as absurd and cheap as popular satire -where puns, smears, allegations and personal insults are beginning to take the place of political debate. As Hegel cynically observed, talk is cheap: if we replace our freedom to decide for ourselves what is best for us with the mere freedom to ‘voice our opinion’, we substitute the illusion of freedom for actual, operating democracy.
[i] It is vital to deal with the obvious objection to my use of terminology here at the outset. One might object that ‘the best interests’ of an individual citizen may go no further than the expulsion of the present government. I find such a response untenable, for an obvious reason: if one were to truly suspend all political interest beyond the expulsion of the present government, then one would have to have absolutely no interest in any other facet of current politics. One cannot vote against anything without voting for something else, so such a suspension of political interest, if it can be made possible, must lead to not voting at all. Even a ‘blank’ vote is a vote for the absence of government.
[ii] Although, of course, it must be noted that lack of funding and profile does mean, for the moment, that such parties would be ill-equipped to make a realistic challenge for government. This does not mean, however, that one should not vote for them even if their policies are sound. Once again, ‘credibility’ in the sense of having experience of mass politics, a strong political machine and high profile, must not be allowed to dictate an individual’s political choice. As smaller parties grow in popularity, so will their profile and their ability to attain funds and, therefore, strengthen their own claim for a serious role in the political framework.