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Interview: Peter Mandelson

Just before being reappointed to the Cabinet Peter Mandelson, one of the key architects of New Labou

"I think if the party were to be taken over by those who want to reject new Labour, reject what the party has done over the past decade and all its achievements - we would be inviting a very long time in opposition."

Standing at the window of his hotel room in Manchester, Peter Mandelson is apprehensive as he talks about what has gone wrong with the Brown government and how best to repair the damage. Before this meeting, he repeatedly said he would not go on the record; that he is wary of interviews. But having spent two days at the party conference, and deciding that the need for a carefully planned revival of the party is more "urgent" than ever, Mandelson agrees to make his most wide-ranging intervention on British politics since leaving the country for the European Commission in 2004.

His message is clear. The government must not move to the left; rather, it must create a fresh and coherent strategy to "renew new Labour" and win the next election.

First, the obvious leadership question. Mandelson finally disappoints those rebel MPs who have been agitating for Gordon Brown's departure by supporting the Prime Minister - but with a strong qualification. "I do not think changing the face at the top is the panacea some imagine," he says. "But the whole of the leadership must remain true to the values and prin ciples that have delivered us success in the past ten years."

Since May, Mandelson has been talking again to his old rival Gordon Brown, and not just about the Doha round of trade talks that have dominated his role as Commissioner for External Trade in recent months. "It would be odd if we didn't discuss domestic issues," he says. "We have a shared interest in Labour's fortunes. [But] the last thing Gordon needs is another full-time adviser."

The relationship between Mandelson and Brown has always been more complicated, and emotional, than is widely thought. Each could not be more different in personality - one a witty, metropolitan sophisticate, the other an intellectual hardened by the machinations of Scottish politics - but their fortunes became interconnected through a mutual desire for Labour to become the natural party of government.

From 1985, when this former London Weekend Television producer arrived as director of campaigns and communications at Labour's then headquarters in Walworth Road, south London, Mandelson worked closely with both Brown and Tony Blair, the two MPs who - in that order - he believed would lead the party into government. After John Smith's sudden death in 1994, Mandelson agonised as he found himself caught between loyalty to Brown and the realisation that Blair would ultimately emerge as leader of the party.

Soon after, it would be reported and accepted as conventional wisdom that Mandelson had duplicitously betrayed Brown by moving early to support Blair; it became part of the myth of how Brown was robbed of the leadership. But in spite of this and their many arguments in the past, there remains a mutual respect. It has been said that Brown's hostility to Mandelson had less to do with Mandelson than with his own, unstable relationship with Blair. The reality is that, with Blair out of the way, relations have become easier.

"I don't think one has to be a brilliant psycho-analyst to see that there was quite a lot of transfer of anger on to Peter that couldn't be inflicted on Blair himself. That came from the Labour Party generally and also from Brown and the people around him," says the novelist Robert Harris, one of Mandelson's most loyal friends.

"We have had our ups and downs," Mandelson says of Brown. "But remember, we have known each other for over 20 years."

Asked if Brown's leadership is the disaster that, in private, some Labour MPs say it is, Mandelson disagrees. "I don't accept that judgement of him, and I really don't think this is simply a matter of personalities."

What of Brown's personality? What are his qualities? "The reason why Gordon's speech at conference was a success was that it opened more of a window on to Gordon Brown," Mandelson says later, speaking from China. "The public want to feel a connection, a personal one, with their prime ministers. They know he has a full head of policy ideas and experience. But they also want to know more about him. These are serious times. But that doesn't mean he has to be only about policy, and he showed another side of him."

His support is not unequivocal. "It's a matter of political choices. A choice of who we are, what we stand for and what we want to do for our country. Do we want to go back to some variation of Seventies/Eighties Labour politics? Why should our voters be interested in that? You are saying to people: Go ahead, vote for the Conservatives instead. David Cameron would just have to sit back and watch the votes come rolling in. Labour would no longer deserve to win."

Walking around the conference halls with Mandelson in Manchester, I was struck by how warmly so many cabinet ministers embraced him. And yet, also present were many of his old enemies, including Charlie Whelan, Brown's old spin doctor who is now political director for Unite, the UK's largest union. Whelan was busy briefing journalists at the conference, as well as speaking to ministers.

Mandelson warns Brown not to be swayed by such voices. "When I listen to some of the trade union leaders and others who are organising hard on the left of the party, demanding renationalisation and an end to new Labour, sneering at the so-called Blairites, I realise there are still those who prefer the comfort of opposition to the hard tasks of government.

"If anyone thinks that the party has a future by splitting the difference between the old left and new Labour, that we can take six of one and half a dozen of the other and rebuild the party around that, we will go downhill fast. Because the country has to have a real sense of what we are about, a clear definition, and there has to be a hard edge to the party in what we stand for and how we present ourselves to the electorate. Not nodding in this direction, then that direction, pleasing this group, reaching out to the other, without any clear, purposeful direction.

"The public will conclude we are more interested in shoring up our own ranks and maintaining the appearance of unity than governing with a real project. The new Labour way is harder because it requires both more imagination and more rigour. It also takes more courage to demand change than unity. I came away from conference having talked to many former colleagues and friends and I've never felt such a sense of urgency for Labour to think through how it's going to win the next election."

There is a sense that the government has been too passive for too long. "We have to have more imagination and better ideas . . . I don't feel resigned to defeat, I don't feel fatalistic. I can't bear these people who, looking over the precipice, are frozen into inaction.

"That's not what got us into government in the first place, that's not what has driven us forward these past ten years, and there's no reason why we should be paralysed by our prospects now."

Born in 1953, Mandelson grew up in Hampstead Garden Suburb, in north-west London, where Harold and Mary Wilson were neighbours and good friends of the family: Tony, Mandelson's father, an advertising manager for the Jewish Chronicle, his mother, Mary (Herbert Morrison's daughter), and his elder brother, Miles. The young Mandelson was active in the Young Socialists while at Hendon County Grammar. After a period as Labour represen tative for Stockwell on Lambeth Council, he joined an elite band of young producers at LWT working on Weekend World, presented by the former Labour MP Brian Walden. In 1985, he applied for the role of Lab our's communications and campaigns director. The successful candidate remembers entering the party's dreary office, with its barely functioning table and chair, and having to start, against the odds, the job of helping remake the party and presenting it to the outside world as changed.

Mandelson was always more than just a PR man; and when, with Tony Blair's help, he sought and won his own seat in Hartlepool in 1992, the then leader, Neil Kinnock, and his chief of staff, Charles Clarke, were angry that such a trusted consigliere should wish to strike out on his own. After Labour's landslide in 1997, Blair made Mandelson minister without portfolio, then moved him to the Department of Trade and Industry the following year. But that December, someone close to Brown leaked news that, in 1996, Mandelson had helped fund the purchase of a house in Notting Hill with a secret loan from his fellow Labour minister Geoffrey Robinson. Mandelson resigned and was forced to return to the back benches. But as early as the following autumn, Blair brought back his old ally as Northern Ireland secretary.

In January 2001, he was brought down again after it was alleged that he had intervened on behalf of Srichand Hinduja, a businessman and sponsor of the Millennium Dome who was seeking a British passport. Mandelson still protests his innocence in the affair - and with some justification, given that he was cleared by the sub sequent Hammond inquiry. At this point, the cabinet career of one whom even the fiercest of critics accept is a man of rare talent was prematurely ended.

Robert Harris thinks these incidents should not be allowed to overshadow Mandelson's qualities and achievements. "Peter has a very good strategic sense," he says. "Of all the politicians I've ever spoken to, I think he's the sharpest, the most analytical. Oddly enough, I think that probably his most important time was before Labour came to power and during the government's early days. It may be that, when one looks back on it, this was always going to be his biggest contribution."

Reflecting now on the period during which Labour was preparing for a return to power, Mandelson says: "Recovery has got to be fought for. I hate the fatalism that some seem to have about Labour's prospects. If you battled your way through the Eighties and early Nineties as I did, when the situation in the party was dire compared to what it is now, you realise that you have to fight back. You don't resign yourself to losing or to thinking your opponents have found some magic formula for success.

"But what we also learned in the Nineties is that to win, you have to have purpose and direction. You need a very clear proposition to put to the electorate, and you have to have a clear sense of what you want to use your power for. Inevitably, it's more difficult when you've been in office for as long as Labour has, but it doesn't mean it is impossible to do."

Despite this, he qualifies his support for the "campaign for a fourth term" launched by John Prescott and Alastair Campbell in the New Statesman a fortnight ago. At the Labour conference, Prescott - who once compared Mandelson to a crab - was energetically handing out "Go Fourth" stickers to delegates.

Without being prompted, Mandelson says: "Rather than talk about the fourth term as if we are owed it, and that all we need to do is shout loudly enough for it, you have to work out what your project is. It has to be an extension of what you've done to date, built on what you've done so far, but it has to be about the future, not the past. If the Labour Party can renew new Labour afresh, I believe it has a real chance of winning the next election. But it has to be worked for and earned, not just demanded."

What does he say to the rebel MPs, led by Charles Clarke, who called for a leadership election before conference? "There is an attempt to brand all critics of the government as Blairites in order to isolate them and present their cause as one half of a destructive civil war." In a direct rebuke of the formula used by Prescott, he adds: "They are not Blairites or Brownites or bitterites. They are people who want the party to be successful, to win again."

Does he accept the media assumption that the Conservative Party has changed and "modernised" under David Cameron? "They have managed to change their image rather quickly by shedding some of the dogma, but I don't think they have done the equivalent major changes and I don't think they have carried the party entirely with them. [But] it is no use just attacking the opposition. We need to be confident in our own message. Labour's renewal has to come from within, not from simply refining our anti-Tory strategy, as some seem to think. That's not the way to a fourth term. When you have been in office this long, your main challenge is to renew yourself. If we cannot do that we will lose."

At his most “Mandelsonian”, he remains a constant scourge of the left, critical of those who take the dark view that Labour has run out of ideas

Earlier in the summer, while on holiday in Corfu, Mandelson dined with the shadow chancellor George Osborne. "[It was] by chance, rather than by choice, with 20 other people," he explains. "But I did enjoy talking to him, because I haven't known him previously and I wanted to find out what he's made of." And what is he made of? "I decided that a chance encounter in a Greek taverna didn't equip me well enough to form a judgement."

Mandelson looks pained - almost haunted - as he describes the reversal of the opinion polls over the past year, and accepts that Labour's plight is more grave than at any time under Blair. "I think that Labour has been thrown by what's happened. A lot of people active in the party now haven't known a time when we're not ahead in the polls. It's only in the last year that we've experienced such a reverse in support. But polls are like share prices - what goes down can come up as long as there's a change in performance."

At his most "Mandelsonian" - some might say paranoid - he remains a constant scourge of the left, critical of those who take the dark view that Labour has run out of ideas and should seek "to renew itself in opposition".

"I think the people eager for Labour to renew in opposition are those who see the chance to overturn new Labour and revert to the vote-losing policies of the old left. They are the same people who talk about a core vote and how we should return to our heartlands. In other words, cease to be a broadly based party, north and south, young and old, across geographical and professional boundaries.

"Those who say that are simply inviting defeat at the next election. That is exactly what the left said as the Labour government came to a close at the end of the Seventies; indeed, listening to some in Manchester, I'm rather reminded of that time where the old left were feigning support for the government and the leadership, but in reality were hastening its end.

"They wanted to take over the party and lead it backwards into the nearest cul de sac. We all know where that led. We spent the next 18 years languishing in the wilderness."

Instead, he says, the non-partisan, all-encompassing nationwide appeal that contributed to Labour winning two landslide election victories must be rediscovered. "We have to look at the whole country as our constituency, in the way that we did in 1997. We didn't look at Labour voters and non-Labour voters, heartland voters and non-heartland voters in 1997 - we looked at the voters as a whole, we looked at the country as a whole, everyone a potential Labour voter. People who agreed with what we wanted to do for the country, who recognised that we had put our class instincts behind us, and who were ready to embrace a modern economy in a sensible and disciplined way."

The work Mandelson did as one of the three principal architects of new Labour wasn't "about heartlands or Labour people and non-Labour people - it was about everyone". So what does he think of the left's mobilisation and agitation for a change of direction under the banner of Compass and the unions? "If the Labour Party reverts to that sectional, class-based way, then we can say goodbye to power altogether."

Later, as he walks in the Manchester sunshine on a lovely late summer evening, Mandelson speaks for the first time about his future beyond his present job, a job that has made him more powerful than most in the cabinet. "I enjoy my job. I couldn't have asked for a better brief than world trade. But I don't know what I am going to do next year when my term runs out. I am not seeking a second term. It's odd, because on the occasions that I come to London now I feel like a bit of a tourist, and I don't like that."

In person, Mandelson has the presence of a man who has learned much from his travels. "I will always want to remain in the world, in an international role, whatever I do, because I've enjoyed going to so many countries, learning so much. But, equally, it would be nice to have my home base back again."

Some ministers - especially those close to David Miliband, whose speech he watched from the front row after being excitedly greeted by a party steward - talk of a return to government for Mandelson. To others, the idea is absurd. But every previous former EU commissioner has been appointed to the Lords, and it is common for ministers and shadow ministers to be appointed from the Upper House.

Does he want to return to front-line politics? Mandelson says he hasn't given it a "second's thought", but adds: "Well, I care a lot about British politics, and as I travel I realise that British politics are among the best, the cleanest and the most civilised in the world . . .

"I'll always be contributing to Labour in one form or another, but I don't know what I will do professionally. You can be active in politics without being in parliament, and obviously I don't see a return to the House of Commons."

In 1935 Mandelson's grandfather Herbert Morrison was returned to parliament for the second time - and ran unsuccessfully against Clement Attlee for the Labour leadership. Mandelson once said that his ultimate ambition was to become foreign secretary. That hope may now seem unrealistic. Yet, given his experience from the past few years, after his second, reluctant resignation from the cabinet, it would be unwise to rule out some future international role for a natural-born politician who has come back many times before.

James Macintyre is political correspondent for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 06 October 2008 issue of the New Statesman, Perils of power

DREW ANGERER/GETTY IMAGES
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The prophets of Trumpism

How the ideas of two pre-war intellectual refugees – the radical Herbert Marcuse and the reactionary Eric Voegelin – are influencing the new culture wars among Trump and his acolytes.

Even after Donald Trump’s more conciliatory address to Congress, American politics seems set to become a battle between the president’s joyless autocracy and a carnival of protest that could end up evoking the anti-war movements of the 1960s. There will be more draconian executive orders and more marches in pink hats. There may well be violence.

The intellectual battle that will be played out in the months and years to come, however, was foretold by two German refugees from Nazi persecution: Eric Voegelin, the doyen of Cold War reactionary conservatives, and Herbert Marcuse, the inspiration behind the revolutionary student activism of the 1960s. Voegelin argued that society needed an order that could be found only by reaching back to the past. Marcuse argued that refusal to accede to tyranny was essential to give birth to a revolutionary politics that would propel progress to a new kind of society. Marcuse the radical and Voegelin the reactionary could not seem further apart, and yet they share a common intellectual root in Germany in the 1920s, from which came a shared critique of modern society. Their ideas may well inspire some of the political conflicts to come.

The culture wars of the 1960s are very much alive for Trump’s acolytes. Steve Bannon, the former executive chairman of the alt-right website Breitbart News and Trump’s chief strategist, blames the counterculture of the 1960s – the drugs, the hippies, the liberal reforms – for America losing its way and, eventually, succumbing to economic crisis in 2008. Bannon set out his ideas in Generation Zero, a 2010 documentary which blamed the financial crash not on greedy, under-regulated bankers but on the moral and cultural malaise that started in the 1960s. He is still fighting people who might have been inspired by Marcuse. “The baby boomers are the most spoiled, most self-centred, most narcissistic generation the country has ever produced,” he told an interviewer in 2011.

Bannon’s thinking, set out in several speeches over the past few years, is that America’s working and middle classes have been betrayed by an elite in Washington, DC (the “Imperial City”, he calls it) which oversees insider deals so that the insiders can profit from global capitalism. Bannon wants to return America to traditions rooted in Judaeo-Christian values and to reassert national sovereignty. Most worryingly, on several occasions he has said that the crisis will only be resolved through the catharsis of conflict and national mobilisation through war.

America has always been a work in progress. Ronald Reagan and Barack Obama were very different presidents but they shared a belief that progress was America’s calling. The reactionary turn in US politics is not just a shift to the right but an attempt to displace progress as the common creed.

Instead, Bannon and his ilk want America to become a work in regress, as the historian Mark Lilla argues in his recent book on reactionary philosophy, The Shipwrecked Mind. Much of the new reactionary thinking echoes Voegelin’s idea that, in order to renew itself, a society must first go backwards to find where and how it lost its way.

 

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Eric Voegelin defies easy categorisation. Born in 1901 in Cologne and brought up in Vienna, he was brave and principled. After a visit to the United States in the 1920s, he wrote two books criticising Nazi racial politics, which got him sacked from his teaching position at the University of Vienna. When the Germans arrived in Austria following the Anschluss in 1938, Voegelin and his wife fled on a train as the Gestapo ransacked their apartment.

After a brief stay in Switzerland, he moved to America and in 1942 took up an academic post at Louisiana State University. He then embarked on a prolific career, the centrepiece of which was his sprawling, multi-volume work Order and History.

Voegelin’s philosophy gave expression to the dark and powerful forces that had shaped his life. He believed that modern society was prey to flawed utopianism – he called this “gnosticism” – in which an elite of prophets takes power, claiming special insight into how heaven could be created on Earth for a chosen people. Gnostic sects in the Middle Ages had their modern equivalents in the Nazi proclamation of a racially pure utopia and the Marxist promise of equality for all. Voegelin’s catchphrase was: “Don’t immanentise the eschaton!” (meaning: “Do not try to build heaven on Earth”).

Marxism and Nazism, Voegelin argued, were political versions of religion: we get rid of God only to reinstall him in the form of an elite of reformers with all the answers. In his recent bestselling book Homo Deus, Yuval Harari argues that we are entering a new stage of the process that Voegelin identified. We have become as powerful as gods, he argued, but now need to learn how to be wise and responsible gods.

Today Voegelin’s attack on overreaching perfectionism echoes in reactionary criticism of Obamacare and in the yearning for national certitude. Voegelin thought the role of philosophy was not to change the world, but to understand its underlying order and help us tune in to that, rather than being diverted by the lure of the false prophets of political religion.

He was influenced by the Viennese satirist Karl Kraus, who said that “origin is the goal”, by which he meant that the point of the future was to restore the ancient past. For Voegelin, order comes from a sense of harmony, of everything being in its place. This is a position that opens itself up to deeply conservative interpretations.

When, in his presidential inauguration address, Trump spoke of American “carnage”, he was echoing Voegelin’s account of decay and disorder. When he talked of “one people, one nation, one heart” he was evoking the kind of order that Voegelin spoke of. Trump and his acolytes see their mission as the need to restore a natural order, under which illegal immigrants and aliens are kept well away and white people can feel at home once more in a society where everyone signs up to Judaeo-Christian beliefs.

Nothing could be further from the ideas of Herbert Marcuse.

Born in 1898 in Berlin, Marcuse became a member of the celebrated Marxist Frankfurt School, which included Theodor Adorno, Max Horkheimer and, tangentially, Walter Benjamin. Marcuse emigrated to the United States in 1933 as Hitler came to power. By 1940, he had become a US citizen and, while Voegelin was starting work at Louisiana State, Marcuse was working as a researcher for the Office of Strategic Services, the precursor of the CIA. He continued working for the government after the war and resumed his academic career only in 1952. His best-known book, One-Dimensional Man, was published in 1964.

One of Marcuse’s big ideas was the “Great Refusal”: progress had to start with refusing to accept an unacceptable reality. One should say “no” to a world of alienating work, dominated by corporations and impersonal systems, which allow little room for people to explore their deeper sense of humanity. Marcuse saw the student and anti-war protests of the 1960s and 1970s, which adopted him as their intellectual mentor, as evidence that the Great Refusal was gaining momentum.

Trump has given the Great Refusal new life. The documentary film-maker Michael Moore has called for cities to become “regions of resistance” by offering sanctuary to immigrants threatened with deportation. Angela Davis, the once-jailed Black Panther revolutionary who was close to Marcuse, told the Women’s March in Washington that people had to be ready for “1,459 days of resistance: resistance on the ground, resistance on the job, resistance in our art and in our music”. In a lecture at the Free University of West Berlin published in 1970, Marcuse said demonstrations and protests were an essential first step towards a “liberation of consciousness” from the capitalist machine:

“The whole person must demonstrate his participation and his will to live . . . in a pacified, human world . . . it is . . . harmful . . . to preach defeatism and quietism, which can only play into the hands of those who run the system . . . We must resist if we still want to live as human beings, to work and be happy.”

The Great Refusal was a capacious idea capable of embracing anyone who wanted to say, “No, enough!” It could embrace trade unions and workers, African Americans and feminists, students and national liberation movements, those who were on the margins of society and those professionals – technicians, scientists, artists, intellectuals – who worked at its centres of power and who chose to refuse as an act of conscience.

As a new generation prepares to embark on a period of resistance, what lessons should they learn from the wave of protest that Marcuse once helped to inspire?

Protest is a way to bear witness, to make voices heard and to make it possible for people to bond. Yet the fire of protest can easily die out as the Occupy movement did, even if its embers are still glowing. The carnival-type atmosphere can be uplifting but fleeting. Creating common programmes to be taken forward by organisations demands hard work. The Arab spring showed how quickly a popular revolution can turn sour when a movement is not ready to take power.

Since the protests that Marcuse was involved in, no comparable movement of the left in the United States has mobilised such a broad support base. Instead, that period of resistance was followed, at the end of the 1970s, by a shift to the right in the US and the UK. It was reactionaries, not revolutionaries, who set off forward to the past.

Now we seem to be in for an intensifying cycle of conflict between the adherents of Marcuse and Voegelin: between the Marxist revolutionary and the mystic conservative; between resistance and order; between those who want to live among a cosmopolitan, urban multitude and those who want a society of provincial oneness and sameness; those who want change, innovation and creativity and those who crave simplicity, stability and authority.

That much is obvious. Yet what is striking is not how different Marcuse was from Voegelin, but how alike they were. The best way to respond to the rise of Trump might be to blend their ideas rather than set them against one another, to create a new intellectual and political combination. Indeed, they could be seen as different branches of the same intellectual tree.

Voegelin was influenced by the German- Jewish philosopher Hans Jonas, who studied with Martin Heidegger in Freiburg in the 1920s. Jonas joined the German Jewish Brigade, which fought against Hitler, before emigrating to the US, where he became a professor at the New School in New York. He was one of the foremost scholars of gnosticism, which became Voegelin’s focus. Towards the end of his life, Jonas took up a chair at the University of Munich named after Voegelin.

Voegelin did not study at Freiburg, but one of his closest friends was the social ­theorist Alfred Schütz, a student of Edmund Husserl’s who applied his phenomenological thinking to the sociology of ­everyday life. Marcuse studied with Husserl and Heidegger at Freiburg, at the same time as Jonas and Hannah Arendt. From that shared intellectual root have emerged some powerful ideas that could unite progressives and conservatives.

Only at moments of profound crisis – of the kind we are living through – do we see just how contingent, vulnerable and fragile our society is. Voegelin warned: “In an hour of crisis, when the order of society flounders and disintegrates, the fundamental problems of political existence in history are more apt to come into view than in periods of comparative stability.”

A crisis should be a time for profound reflection, yet leaders are more likely to resort to “magical operations” to divert people’s attention: moral condemnation, branding enemies as aggressors, threatening war. “The intellectual and moral corruption,” Voegelin wrote, “which expresses itself in the aggregate of such magical operations may pervade society with the weird ghostly atmosphere of a lunatic asylum, as we experience it in Western society.”

Welcome to the Trump White House.

 

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Voegelin is a timely reminder of how unconservative Donald Trump is and of how conservatives should be a vital part of the coalition against him. Conservatism comes in several strains: laissez-faire conservatives such as George Osborne want small government, free trade, low taxes and freedom of choice. Status quo conservatives such as Angela Merkel want stability and continuity, even if that entails sticking with social welfare programmes and liberal democracy. Authoritarian conservatives, however, are prepared to use the big state to engineer change.

One important question for the future is whether the laissez-faire and status quo conservatives will realign around the ascendant authoritarian camp promoted by Trump. Merkel is the world leader of the conservative-inspired opposition to the US president. But his most profound critic is Pope Francis, who uses language similar to Voegelin’s to condemn the “material and spiritual poverty” of capitalism, and the language of Marcuse to condemn the process of dehumanisation embarked upon by Bannon and Trump.

“As Christians and all people of goodwill, it is for us to live and act at this moment,” the Pope has said. “It is a grave responsib­ility, since certain present realities, unless ­effectively dealt with, are capable of ­setting off a process of dehumanisation which would then be hard to reverse.”

The challenge for progressives is to reframe resistance in terms that can appeal to conservatives: to use conservative ideas of character and spirituality for progressive ends. We will spend a great deal more time trying to conserve things. The swarm of legal challenges against Trump will hold him to the principles of the US constitution and the rule of law. Many of the young people attracted to Bernie Sanders and the Occupy movement yearned for the restoration of the American dream.

Building bridges with the conservative opposition is not merely a tactical manoeuvre to widen support. It has deeper roots in shared doubts about modernity which go back to Freiburg and the man both Marcuse and Jonas renounced in 1964 for supporting the Nazis: Martin Heidegger.

For Heidegger, modernity was a restless, disruptive force that displaced people from jobs, communities and old ways of life, and so left them searching for a sense of home, a place to come back to, where they could be at one with the world. Technology played a central role in this, Heidegger argued, providing not just tools for us to use, but an entire framework for our lives.

Marcuse, writing four decades before ­Facebook and Google, warned that we needed to resist a life in which we freely comply with our own subjugation by technical, bureaucratic systems that control our every thought and act; which make life rich but empty, busy but dead, and turn people into adjuncts of vast systems. We should “resist playing a game that was always rigged against true freedom”, he urged, using language that has been adopted by Trump.

Writing not far from what was to become Silicon Valley, Marcuse pointed to a much larger possibility: the technological bounty of capitalism could, in principle, free us from necessity and meet all human needs, but “. . . only if the vast capabilities of science and technology, of the scientific and artistic imagination, direct the construction of a sensuous environment; only if the world of work loses its alienating features and becomes a world of human relationships; only if productivity becomes creativity are the roots of domination dried up in individuals”.

Writing in the 1960s, when full employment was the norm and advanced society was enjoying a sense of plenty, Marcuse foreshadowed the debates we are having now about what it will mean to be human in an age of machines capable of rapid learning. Mark Zuckerberg’s argument in his recently published manifesto that Facebook creates an infrastructure for a co-operative and creative global civil society is a response to concerns that Marcuse raised.

 

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Just as Marcuse saw that capitalism was a union of contradictions – freedom created on the basis of exploitation, wealth generated by poverty – Voegelin thought modern society was self-defeating: it declined as it advanced. Giving everyone wages to buy stuff from the shops was not progress, he said, but a soulless distortion of the good life, an invitation to spiritual devastation. The gnosticism that Voegelin so hated, the effort to design a perfect society, was also the source of the technological and rational bureaucracy that Marcuse blamed for creating a one-dimensional society. Voegelin would have regarded the apostles of Silicon Valley as arch-gnostics, creating a rational order to the world with the insights gleaned from Big Data and artificial intelligence.

Marcuse and Voegelin point us in the same direction for a way forward. People need to be able to find a sense of meaning and purpose in their lives. Both would have seen Trump’s ascendancy as a symptom of a deeper failure in modern society, one that we feel inside ourselves. The problem for many of us is not that we do not have enough money, but that we do not have enough meaning.

For Voegelin, living well involves “opening our souls” to something higher than buy and sell, work and shop, calculate and trade, margins and profits. Once we detach ourselves from these temporary, Earthly measures of success, we might learn to accept that life is a mysterious, bubbling stream upon which we cannot impose a direction.

A true sense of order, Voegelin argues, comes from living with an open soul and a full spirit, not being part of a machine manufacturing false promises. If we cannot manage to create order from within, by returning to the life guided by the soul, we will find order imposed, more brutally, from without. Marcuse, likewise, thought that turning the Great Refusal into a creative movement required an inner renewal, a “liberation of consciousness” through aesthetics, art, fantasy, imagination and creativity. We can only escape the grip of the one-dimensional society, which reduces life to routines of buying and selling, by recognising that we are multidimensional people, full of potential to grow in different ways. It is not enough merely to resist reality; we have to escape it through leaps of imagination and see the world afresh.

Václav Havel, the leader of the Czech resistance to communist rule, called this “living in truth”. Havel’s most influential essay, “The Power of the Powerless”, written in 1978, is about how to avoid the slow spiritual death that comes from living in an oppressive regime that does not require you to believe in what it does, merely to go along with “living within a lie”.

The greengrocer who is the central figure and motif in Havel’s essay eventually snaps, and stops putting in his shop window an official sign that reads: “Workers of the world, unite!” Havel wrote: “In this revolt the greengrocer steps out of living within the lie. He rejects the ritual and breaks the rules of the game. He discovers once more his suppressed identity and dignity. His revolt is an attempt to live within the truth.”

Human beings by nature long to live in truth, even when put under pressure to live a lie. In language evocative of Voegelin and Marcuse, Havel writes: “In everyone there is some longing for humanity’s rightful dignity, for moral integrity, for free expression of being and a sense of transcendence over the world of existence.”

In communist Czechoslovakia that meant taking a wide and generous view of what counts as resistance as people sought their own ways to “live in truth”. Under President Trump, many Americans are finding they are living within a regime of lies, and they will be drawn back, time and again, to find ways, large and small, personal and political, to live in truth.

Resistance to Trump and Trumpism will succeed only if it mobilises both conservative and progressive forces opposed to authoritarianism, and it needs to stand for a better way to live in truth, with dignity.

Charles Leadbeater is the author of the ALT/Now manifesto, which is available to read at: banffcentre.ca

This article first appeared in the 23 March 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump's permanent revolution