prior probability

In a previous post, I explained why Rawls’s original position is a dressed-up version of Rousseau’s general will in disguise (see here). Today, I will explain why Rawls’s approach to liberty is, at bottom, no different than Rousseau’s.

First off, recall Rousseau’s ingenious solution to the law-liberty dilemma: the Swiss philosopher redefines liberty to mean obedience with the general will. In brief, by complying with the dictates of the general will, you are ultimately obeying yourself because you voluntarily entered into a social compact in which everyone agrees ahead of time to obey the general will.

Now, compare Rousseau’s Orwellian “obedience = freedom” formula with the main gist of Rawls’s Theory of Justice. Rawls’s “money shot” (so to speak) is a hypothetical state of nature (the original position), where everyone would unanimously agree to two high-level principles of justice: (a) equal basic liberty for all, and (b) a universal safety net for the members “the least fortunate group”, whoever they turn out to be (what Rawls calls the “difference principle”).

But notice what Rawls leaves out from this picture: the permanency or finality of his money shot! That is, once the hypothetical votes have been counted — hypothetical because even Rawls has to admit that his original position is just a figment of his imagination! — and once the veil of ignorance is finally lifted, whatever we agreed to in the original position becomes firm and final and can never be changed thereafter! Once again, in other words, it’s what Rawls doesn’t say — the dog that is not barking — that is troubling.

(Of course, you could try to justify the finality of Rawls’s principles — after all, those principles were supposedly chosen on a unanimous basis from behind a veil of ignorance — but this justification does not change the fact that once the veil of ignorance is finally lifted, we are stuck with Rawls’s two principles forever.)

But what about the substance of Rawls’s two principles of justice. Perhaps Rawls’s two principles are so great that we would have no reason to change them. Alas, as I shall explain in my next two posts, neither principle is worth saving. (To be continued …)

Three words: best show ever!

I concluded my previous post thus:

“… Rawls and Rousseau are alike in two profound ways. One is that Rawls’s definition of liberty, deep down, is really no different than Rousseau’s. The other is that Rawls’s ‘original position’, in form and in substance, is just Rousseau’s ‘general will’ in disguise.”

Let’s begin with my second claim. To see why there is a family resemblance, if not a direct correspondence, between Rawls’s original position and Rousseau’s general will, recall Rawls’s solution to the law-liberty dilemma: the “original position”. For Rawls, the original position is a hypothetical state of nature where we choose principles of justice from behind an impenetrable “veil of ignorance”, a shroud so deep and dark that it conceals our personal characteristics like race, gender, wealth, and social status. Or in Rawls’s own words:

“In justice as fairness the original position of equality corresponds to the state of nature in the traditional theory of the social contract. This original position is not, of course, thought of as an actual historical state of affairs, much less as a primitive condition of culture. It is understood as a purely hypothetical situation characterized so as to lead to a certain conception of justice. Among the essential features of this situation is that no one knows his place in society, his class position or social status, nor does any one know his fortune in the distribution of natural assets and abilities, his intelligence, strength, and the like. I shall even assume that the parties do not know their conceptions of the good or their special psychological propensities. The principles of justice are chosen behind a veil of ignorance.” (Rawls, A Theory of Justice, p. 11, reprinted in Cohen 2018, p. 688)

According to Rawls, we would want to hedge our bets (so to speak) by choosing only fair principles if we were to find ourselves in this strange situation because we wouldn’t know our own position or status in the future. Yet what, if anything, you may ask, does this ingenious thought-experiment have to do with Rousseau’s general will? After all, even I have to concede that there is at least one major difference between Rawls’s original position and Rousseau’s general will, a temporal one: TIMING. Rousseau’s general will is ex post, while Rawls’s original position is ex ante.

In brief, Rousseau’s general will is ex post because it does not come into existence until after the formation of civil society, that is, until after men have left the state of nature and have agreed to a social compact in which “Each of us put his person and all of his power in common under the supreme direction of the general will ….” (Rousseau, The Social Contract, reprinted in Cohen 2018, p. 272, Rousseau’s emphasis) Rawls’s original position, by contrast, is ex ante because the original position only exists before we have negotiated a social contract, i.e. prior to the creation of civil society.

Despite this temporal difference, I stand by my unconventional claim that Rawls’s original position is just Rousseau’s general will in disguise, for there is one major parallel between both constructs: the total lack of any information to guide one’s vote in both cases! Whether we are talking about real-life flesh-and-blood men voting to express their general will, as the members of ancient Sparta’s popular assembly the Appella presumably did (see here, for example), or about hypothetical Rawlsian men who are negotiating a social contract from behind a veil of ignorance, in both cases the voters are not allowed to have any information to guide their decisions! Veil of ignorance, anyone?

As we have already seen (see here, if you don’t believe me), Rousseau accomplishes this despotic and domineering goal (i.e. suppression of information) by prohibiting debate and discussion among the voters and by banning “factions” and “partial associations” to boot. But by the same token, Rawls is no different in this respect. Although Rawls is able to suppress information in a far more elegant and original way — i.e. by positing a hypothetical and mythical-sounding “veil of ignorance” — don’t be fooled. Rawls’s method is just as despotic and domineering as the Swiss philosopher’s is. In fact, Rawls, even more so than Rousseau, removes altogether our ability to access any information via his veil of ignorance.

But the deeper problem with Rawls is this: if you dig down deep enough, Rawls’s so-called “theory of justice” is in practice no different than Rousseau’s seductive but dangerous redefinition of freedom as total and absolute obedience to the so-called general will. Stay tuned, for we will do this digging in my next post. (Nota bene: I will resume my series on the paradox of politics on Monday, 8 December.)

In my previous post, I concluded my series on the seductive but dangerous Jean-Jacques Rousseau with the following observation:

“… we are not yet done with Rousseau, not by a mile, for a major 20th century political philosopher would not only try to rehabilitate the general will and dress up Rousseau’s dangerous idea in classical liberal garb; his work now dominates the Anglo-American sphere.”

To the point, that 20th century figure is none other than John Rawls and that influential work is, of course, A Theory of Justice. (If you know, you know.) Rawls’s solution to the law-liberty dilemma is deservedly famous: he posits a hypothetical state of nature, which he calls “the original position”, where we would unanimously (!) choose not one but two high-level “principles of justice” from behind an impenetrable “veil of ignorance”: (a) equal liberty for all, and (b) a safety net for the members “the least fortunate group”, whoever they turn out to be (the so-called “difference principle”).

Although Rawls is usually classified as a “liberal” in the Enlightenment sense [1] — i.e. he is supposed to be in favor of individual liberty, not against it — and although A Theory of Justice eshews such Rousseauian terms as the “general will”, [2] in truth, however, I will argue that Rawls and Rousseau are alike in two profound ways. One is that Rawls’s definition of liberty, deep down, is really no different than Rousseau’s. The other is that Rawls’s “original position”, in form and in substance, is just Rousseau’s “general will” in disguise. Rest assured, I will begin to elaborate on both of these points in my next post.

[1] See, e.g., Leif Wenar, “John Rawls”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall 2025 Edition), Edward N. Zalta & Uri Nodelman (eds.), https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2025/entries/rawls/.

[2] The term “general will”, for example, makes but one appearance in The Theory of Justice, while the words “common good” appear just twice.

“To protect the social compact from being a mere empty formula, therefore, it silently includes the undertaking that anyone who refuses to obey the general will is to be compelled to do so by the whole body. This single item in the compact can give power to all the other items. It means nothing less than that each individual will be forced to be free.” Jean-Jacques Rousseau [1]

Thus far, we have defined Rousseau’s godlike “general will” (see here), and we have clarified how this concept could be put into practice (here). Today, I will explain why Rousseau’s general will is one the most seductive but dangerous ideas in all of political philosophy. First off, recall what Rousseau means by the general will and how this concept would work in reality. To recap, Rousseau’s general will is the popular expression of the common good — nothing more, nothing less — and so long as the eligible voters (all?, most?) are “adequately informed” and do not communicate with each other before voting (no free speech?), whatever a majority of the voters decide on will be an expression the general will.

But not so fast, you might say. Aside from the many practical problems with Rousseau’s radical political scheme — what does it mean, for example, to be “adequately informed”, and how can people be informed at all if they are not allowed to communicate with each other? — what about Rousseau’s biggest blind spot of all: the tyranny of the majority? How does Rousseau solve this timeless problem?

Here is where Rousseau’s evil genius is on full display: the Swiss philospher performs an Orwellian sleight of hand; he waves the equivalent of an intellectual magic wand to make the age-old problem of majority rule disappear altogether. For Rousseau, true freedom is not the freedom to pursue one’s private interests; it’s obedience to the general will! The tyranny of the majority is thus a non sequitur or logical impossibility. Why? Because by complying with the dictates of the general will, one is ultimately obeying oneself.

But Rousseau doesn’t just redefine the meaning of freedom. He also employs his new definition of what it means to be free to justify the elimination of “factions” and “partial associations”. Recall Rousseau’s definition of the general will: “If, when an adequately informed people deliberates, the citizens were to have no communication among themselves, the general will would always result from the large number of small differences, and the deliberation would always be good.” [2] Here is the entire passage:

“If, when an adequately informed people deliberates, the citizens were to have no communication among themselves, the general will would always result from the large number of small differences, and the deliberation would always be good. But when factions, partial associations at the expense of the whole, are formed, the will of each of these associations becomes general with reference to its members and particular with reference to the State. One can say, then, that there are no longer as many voters as there are men, but merely as many as there are associations. The differences become less numerous and produce a result that is less general. . . .

“In order for the general will to be well expressed, it is therefore important that there should be no partial society in the State, and that each citizen give only his own opinion.” [3]

In other words, factions and partial associations are, by definition, contrary to the general will and must therefore be banned. But as Madison warned us long ago: “Liberty is to faction what air is to fire, an aliment without which it instantly expires.” [4] Do you now see why Rousseau’s ideas are so dangerous, even more risky and sinister than Plato’s proposed system of philosopher-kings? With Plato, at least one can argue that his Republic is not meant to be taken seriously, that Plato meant for us to read his work with irony. [5] Rousseau, however, is dead serious. The Swiss philosopher would not only destroy freedom of speech (recall that the voters under his system would not be allowed to communicate with each other before voting); he would also eliminate factions and partial associations.

To conclude (for now), a strong case can be made that it is Jean-Jacques Rousseau, not Plato or Marx, who is the true villain of modern political theory. Why? Because both Plato and Marx advocated for their preferred despots, whether it be a dictatorship led by workers or one led by public intellectuals, in the open. Rousseau, by contrast, conceals his authoritarianism with his seductive talk of the general will and the common good.

Nevertheless, we are not yet done with Rousseau, not by a mile, for a major 20th century political philosopher would not only try to rehabilitate the general will by dressing up Rousseau’s dangerous idea in classical liberal garb; his work now dominates the Anglo-American sphere. (To be continued …)

In my previous post, we compared and contrasted Rousseau’s idea of the “general will” with traditional majority rule. According to Rousseau, the general will is aimed at the common good, while majority rule (the “will of all”) is just the sum of our private wills or selfish interests. Today, we will consider a more practical question: is it really possible to put Rousseau’s general will into practice? Alas, the Swiss political philosopher is vague on specifics. At most, he drops two tantalizing hints in this particular passage in Book II of The Social Contract:

“If, when an adequately informed people deliberates [délibère], the citizens were to have no communication among themselves, the general will would always result from the large number of small differences, and the deliberation [délibération] would always be good.” [1]

In other words, according to Rousseau, two conditions must be met in order to express or measure the general will: (1) the people who are voting must be “adequately informed”, and (2) eligible voters (whoever they are) must cast their votes without speaking or otherwise communicating with each other ahead of time. Say what? Don’t let the words délibère and délibération confuse you. When Rousseau uses these words, he is simply referring to the act of getting together to cast votes and not to the process of debate and discussion preceding a vote.

Nevertheless, although Rousseau is short on specifics (he doesn’t explain what he means by “adequately informed”, for example), he does drop one big logistical hint when he praises “the unique and sublime system instituted by the great Lycurgus,” i.e. the legendary lawgiver of the ancient Greek city-state of Sparta. [2] On this note, it is revealing that Rousseau praises Sparta and not Athens — or his hometown of Geneva, for that matter — for Sparta’s political model (see here) was very different from the classical extended debate model of the Athenian Assembly (here). So, what was Lycurgus’s “unique and sublime system” of voting?

In summary, Sparta had a popular assembly called the Appella, which met once a month. The Appella was a popular body because every male citizen over the age of 30 could participate in the monthly assembly and cast a vote. But the members of this democratic body did not debate or deliberate; they shouted! Or in the words of James S. Fishkin (1995, pp. 23-24), a historian at Stanford:

“Missing in the Spartan method was the entire social context of careful debate and deliberative argument fostered by the Athenian institutions of the Assembly, the citizens’ juries, the legislative commissions, and the Council. Aristotle dismissed the Spartan applaudometer as childish. Yet if we ask which model of ancient democracy we have come closer to realizing in our modern quest for direct democracy, we must concede that there are ways in which the Spartan model is closer than the Athenian to contemporary practices.” [3]

Is this Spartan shouting method of voting or “applaudometer” what Rousseau really had in mind when he wrote The Social Contract? Either way, why does the Swiss philosopher want to dispense with debate and deliberation altogether? In Rousseau’s defense, my best guess is that he did not want the voters to be fooled by demagogues or slogans, [4] for Rousseau’s general will, however it is operationalized, is meant to measure or express a special form of public opinion: specifically, public opinion on what laws or courses of action the voters think is best for the political community as a whole. (Recall that the general is supposed to aim at the common good.)

But this still leaves one remaining open and damning question. After all, people might disagree on what the common good is or what the common good requires. If so, why should the voters in the minority be required to obey the general will? In other words, whatever happened to the tyranny of the majority? Rest assured, I will address this key question in my next post. For now, however, it suffices to say that Rousseau’s ominous answer to this set of questions has haunted us ever since.

“Man was/is born free, and everywhere he is in chains. One who believes himself the master of others is nonetheless a greater slave than they.” Jean-Jacques Rousseau [1]

So, what is Rousseau’s solution to the paradox of politics? In brief, his solution has two-parts: he posits a radical and new form of direct democracy (the “general will”), and he also redefines the concept of liberty. True liberty for Rousseau is not the freedom to pursue one’s private interests. It is not the “natural liberty” of a Thomas Hobbes, a John Locke, or an Adam Smith; it is something else entirely: freedom consists of political participation and strict obedience — namely, obedience to a supreme god-like entity he calls the “general will” or volonté générale.

But this ingenious Rousseauian solution begs three key questions: (1) what is this quasi-mystical “general will”, (2) how is it measured or expressed, and last but not least, (3) why should one acquiesce to it, i.e. why obey? First off, according to Rousseau, the general will is a special kind of public opinion (cf. David Hume; see here, for example) or Spartan popular rule: it is the collective will of the people, but at the same time, Rousseau’s general will is distinct from traditional majority rule or what he calls the “will of all” (volonté de tous).

How so? How does one distinguish Rousseau’s so-called general will from conventional majority rule? For Rousseau, majority rule or the “will of all” is just the sum of our private wills or selfish factional interests. The general will, by contrast, is aimed at achieving the common good, i.e. at what is best for everyone:

“There is often a great difference between the will of all and the general will. The latter considers only the common interest; the former considers private interest, and is only a sum of private wills.” [2]

In other words, Rousseau’s god-like “general will” only emerges when the people prioritize the common good over their personal, self-serving interests. Now, what about my other two questions: how is the general will measured or put into operation, and why are we obliged to obey it? Stay tuned, for I shall address these all-important secondary questions in my next two posts.

Before we resume my survey of the paradox of politics, let’s recap three major motifs in Rousseau’s Second Discourse, themes that still resonate with many people, especially progressives, today:

1. Critique of Hobbes. First off, Rousseau rejects the Hobbesian portrait of man in the state of nature. According to Rousseau, men were once angels: the Second Discourse describes a bygone golden age unspoiled by any small-scale (let alone large-scale) cooperation, an idyllic world in which there is no specialization or division of labor.
2. Critique of Locke. Rousseau also rejects Locke’s classical liberal defense of property rights. For Rousseau, the first man who said “this is mine” committed the original sin of private property, for the pursuit of property not only makes us dependent on others; it is also the root cause of social inequality, human conflict, and moral corruption.
3. Critique of commercial society. Even if you disagree with Rousseau’s critiques of Hobbes and Locke (as I do), Rousseau’s Second Discourse is still worth reading. Why? Because Rousseau’s main point seems to be a valid one: we are stuck in a never-ending and pointless rat race; worse yet, the accumulation of property transmutes man into the moral equivalent of a slave, a slave to his self-interest, his vanity, and a desire for distinction.

In short, where James Madison, John Stuart Mill, and Alexis de Tocqueville warn us against the tyranny of the majority, Rousseau rails against private property, social inequality, and moral corruption. So, what is to be done? Can man be redeemed now that property is an established institution and the pursuit of self-interest, the norm? I will present Rousseau’s ingenious but treacherous proto-Rawlsian solution to the law-liberty dilemma in my next post …

In honor of Paul Walker, who died on this day (30 Nov.) in 2013.

In addition to my regular batch of scholarly papers, sundry blog posts, and podcast trancripts, two of my book-length readings are Viking-themed, part of an independent research project for a seminar on “Vikings and Warlords” at Rollins College:

• Arthur L. Herman, The Viking Heart: How Scandinavians Conquered the World, Mariner Books (2021)
• Werner Herzog, The Future of Truth, Penguin Press (2025)
• George Lakey, Viking Economics, Melville House (2017)
• Daniel Nina, Verano del 2019 [nunca ocurrió], Pasillo del Sur (2022)
• Marcus Willaschek, Kant: A Revolution in Thinking, Belknap Press (2025)