FREUD’S QUOTATION: “Acheronta movebo.” Well, I I would like to take the theme for this year’s lectures from another, less well-known quotation from someone who, generally speaking at least, is also less well-known, the English Statesman Walpole, who, with reference to his way of governing, said: “Quieta non movere,” “Let sleeping dogs lie.”* In a sense, this is the opposite of Freud. In fact, this year I would like to continue with what I began to talk about last year, that is to say, to retrace the history of what could be called the art of government. You recall the strict sense in which I understood “art of government,” since in using the word “to govern” I left out the thousand and one different modalities and possible ways that exist for guiding men, directing their conduct, constraining their actions and reactions, and so on. Thus I left to one side all that is usually understood, and that for a long time was understood, as the government of children, of families, of a household, of souls, of communities, and so forth. I only considered, and again this year will only consider the government of men insofar as it appears as the exercise of political sovereignty.
So, “government” in the strict sense, but also “art,” “art of government” in the strict sense, since by “art of government” I did not mean the way in which governors really governed. I have not studied and do not want to study the development of real governmental practice by determining the particular situations it deals with, the problems raised, the tactics chosen, the instruments employed, forged, or remodeled, and so forth. I wanted to study the art of governing, that is to say, the reasoned way of governing best and, at the same time, reflection on the best possible way of governing. That is to say, I have tried to grasp the level of reflection in the practice of government and on the practice of government. In a sense, I wanted to study government’s consciousness of itself, if you like, although I don’t like the term “self-awareness (conscience de soi)” and will not use it, because I would rather say that I have tried, and would like to try again this year to grasp the way in which this practice that consists in governing was conceptualized both within and outside government, and anyway as close as possible to governmental practice. I would like to try to determine the way in which the domain of the practice of government, with its different objects, general rules, and overall objectives, was established so as to govern in the best possible way. In short, we could call this the study of the rationalization of governmental practice in the exercise of political sovereignty.--Michel Foucault, 10 January 1979, lecture 1 The Birth of Biopolitics. translated by Graham Burchell, 1-2.
Foucault subtly draws a contrast between [I] (a) the ancient and traditional conception of governing and (b) a modern one; the modern one involves political sovereignty. He presents this as a narrowing of scope along some dimensions, although the presence of sovereignty suggests it is expansive in another dimension. Within the modern conception, and we are very much in the ambit of Max Weber here, Foucault draws a further contrast [II] between (c) what I am going to call a normative (as distinct from ethical and moral) conception of the art of governing and(d) an empirical practice of governing. Foucault is explicitly focused on the normative version. It is normative because it is a reasoned reflection on the optimal (note the repetitive 'best' & 'the best possible.') species of the art of government. Tis normative conception is developed (III) by people who may have experience (e) with the empirical techniques of governing ("within" government) and (f) those at a distance from it (say in the academy, or what used to be called in retirement). And, (IV) while Hobbes thought one "must read" oneself and Machiavelli thought distance created proper perspective, Foucault will try to be "as close as possible to governmental practice."
So, much for repetition. Foucault draws these distinctions within a more subtle form of references that will elude some in his audience. First, he is going to use Walpole as an exemplar. And so, second, he invites his learned reader to compare his account of Walpole, and what he stands for, with the only other "portrait," (of Walpole), David Hume's neglected one. Third, the inventor of (IIa) the normative conception of the art of governing in the sense Foucault is using it, is John Locke (in chapter 5 of the Second Treatise, recall here; and the first to develop it (recall) John Toland).
Let sleeping dogs lie is a species of laissez faire. And Foucault thereby signals, with great, art that liberalism is heterogeneous. For Walpole is not to be confused with, say, Manchester liberalism, or Locke, or Hume (or they with each other).
I don't mean to ignore the fact that Foucault also inscribes his lecture to an unfinished, and inherited therapeutic practice. There is a sense in which the 1979 lecture series is presented as a form of dream analysis (with liberalism's art of governing the fantasy). And while Foucault is also mirroring himself to Freud, I think it is pretty clear, in turn, that he is aware that the artful use of this gift turned Joseph into the Vizier of Pharaoh.
I could stop here, but it is notable that Foucault then reminds his audience, first, not to confuse his lecture with either perennial philosophy of the historicist kind (both start from universals). He embraces the nominalist spirit and "let’s suppose that universals do not exist" and implies that to do so means, in part, giving up or setting aside the inherited categorizations of political life.
And, second, that in contrast to Walpole (and the unnamed Locke and Hume), there is another historically prior and (even by Foucault's lights) inferior art of government, raison d'etat, which presupposes that "the state only exists as states, in the plural." And each state has a kind of conatus. And raison d'etat has three features. First, mercantilism. Importantly, Foucault explicitly rejects the reductionist interpretation of mercantilism as a mere economic doctrine. "first, the state must enrich itself through monetary accumulation; second, it must strengthen itself by increasing population; and third, it must exist and maintain itself in a state of permanent competition with foreign powers." (5)
In addition to Mercantilism, raison d'etat has two other characteristic expressions: "unlimited regulation of the country according to the model of a tight-knit urban organization," (5) that is, what one can call a "police state;" (9) and "third, is the development of a permanent army along with a permanent diplomacy." (5) That is to say, it is directed against "imperial types of unification across Europe."
What is most striking about this is that Foucault here recapitulates, (recall) liberalism's self-understanding in two ways. First, like liberals themselves, Foucault is insistent that liberalism is not a clean break with what precedes, but that, in fact, reason d'etat and mercantilism not merely shape liberalism but remain permanent (inferior) temptations within it. And, second, he recognizes that law was both an instrument of royal authority and a countervailing power to it. But, crucially for Foucault, whereas in raison d'etat, countervailing powers are extrinsic to the practice, liberalism makes countervailing powers intrinsic to its normative art of governance. (10ff)
But rather then jumping to the familiar story of the division of powers (or the multiplicity of sovereignty), as Liberals tend to emphasize, Foucault thinks the crucial move is a conceptual division "between what must be done and what it is advisable not to do." (11) We might say, it is the distinction between necessity and possibility, with this understanding that the possible is governed by self-command (that is, to be able to act one what is advisable not to do). The latter is (and Foucault is now quoting Bentham) left of the agenda. (12) And crucially, the agenda-setter can be mistaken about what should be on or off the agenda (17). And oddly enough, there is a science that can diagnose and keep track of such mistakes.
And suddenly, with a sudden clarity, the nature and origin of political economy is exposed (13): it is the skilled practice of organizing and conceptualizing the advisable, and not advisable, and the play, even interplay, of these domains. And while tracking what is on the agenda or not is a factual matter, that it is a mistake is an evaluative one. And this evaluation, this judgment is itself endogenous to political economy.
But, at least initially, in keeping with existence of raison détat, political economy presupposes that what must be done is done.* And as Foucault emphasizes, until political economy becomes liberal (that is, understands the significance of what must be left of the agenda) its natural tendency is despotic.
Walpole himself is not presented as a liberal or much under the influence of political economy. Rather, he is presented as somebody who almost instinctively understands that "when the people are peaceful, when they are not agitating and there is no discontent or revolt, stay calm." (As Foucault implies, Machiavelli could have said this.) And this is the, almost accidental, discovery of liberalism.
Hume grants Walpole's "want of enterprise." But treats it as a vice. So, importantly, from Foucault's perspective, which on this point is the liberal self-understanding, Hume, who is undoubtedly one of the great political economists, initially (in 1742) misjudges the significance of this.
You ask: why 'initially'? Because Hume withdrew the piece eventually.**
*This is (recall) the protection of life (as in life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness).
*While writing this Digressions, I noticed that Marc Hanvelt andMark G. Spencer have written an excellent essay on Hume's little study of Walpole, but it focuses on a different set of themes.
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