CONVERSATIONS WITH

ISAIAH BERLIN

SECOND EDITION

Ramin Jahanbegloo

CONTENTS

Title Page

Acknowledgements

Preface to the Second Edition

1999 Preface

Introduction

FIRST CONVERSATION

From the Baltic to the Thames

The Two Russian Revolutions

Oxford in the 1930s

Karl Marx: My First Commission

The Vienna Circle

Akhmatova and Pasternak

Discovery of Auschwitz

Philosopher or Historian of Ideas?

Philosophy without Philosophers?

The Magic Eye of Leo Strauss

On Cultural Differences

Cultural Relativism and the Rights of Man

Two Concepts of Liberty

The Debate on Pluralism

The Pursuit of the Ideal

A Bridge to the Continent

SECOND CONVERSATION

The Birth of Modern Politics

Machiavelli: Political Autonomy

The State and Thomas Hobbes

Spinoza and Monism

The Counter-Enlightenment: Joseph de Maistre and Edmund Burke

Vico or A New Science

On Hannah Arendt

On Being Jewish Today

Herder and the Vision of Society

History of Ideas: A Lonely Discipline

THIRD CONVERSATION

Political Ideas: The Test of Time

On Commission or In the Cab Rank

The Humiliation of the Germans

Herder, Nationalism and Zionism

Eighteenth-Century Relativism

Morality and Religion

Hume and British Philosophy

The Rights of Man

Verdi, Stravinsky, Wagner

Moses Hess: Zionist

Marx and the Nineteenth-Century Socialist Movement

The Left and the Shipwreck of Marxism

FOURTH CONVERSATION

A Philosophy of Freedom

Stephen Spender: Sixty Years of Friendship

The Aims of Philosophy

Pluralism and Democracy

Equality and Liberty

Oxford Philosophy and Positivism

Bergson, Schelling and Romanticism

FIFTH CONVERSATION

Personal Impressions

Nineteenth-Century Russian Thought

Nechaev and Nihilism

Turgenev

Dostoevsky

Alexander Herzen

Intellectuals and the Intelligentsia

1848

The Hedgehog and the Fox

Belinsky

From Pasternak to Brodsky

Churchill, Weizmann, Nehru

Georges Sorel, Bernard Lazare

Index of Names

About the Author

BOOKS BY ISAIAH BERLIN

Copyright

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank all those people who, in various ways, assisted me in my work on this book. In particular I would like to thank my friends Olivier Mongin, the Director of the journal Esprit, and Jöel Roman, his Editor-in-Chief. The idea for such a book would never have taken shape without either the friendly encouragement of Thierry Paquot or the ideas and suggestions of my friend John Smyth. Similarly I am indebted to Mrs Pat Utechin, Isaiah Berlin’s secretary, for her invaluable assistance. I was supported and stimulated throughout the course of my work by my parents’ encouragement and critical reading. I am greatly indebted to them for their example of strength and patience.

Lastly, I am grateful to The Isaiah Berlin Literary Trust for permission to quote from The Crooked Timber of Humanity by Isaiah Berlin in my introduction and to Judy Gough and Henry Hardy for their invaluable work during the preparation of the second edition.

R. J.

Note to the Second Edition

For this edition a new preface has been added, and a number of minor corrections made.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

The Wisdom of Isaiah Berlin

Men who desire wisdom must be learners of very many things, said Heraclitus. Isaiah Berlin was a man of wisdom and a learner and teacher of very many things. All his life he championed pluralistic political wisdom—the fundamental, radical insight that human values are multiple, cannot be reduced to a single currency, and sometimes clash in perplexing and tragic ways. This made him a thinker of times of crisis. He emulated and developed Aristotle’s phronesis—practical wisdom—and Kant’s teaching that human beings are ends in themselves and should never be treated as mere means, least of all by paternalist despots. He battled against the incoherence of utopian thinking, the pitilessness of revolutionary programmes, and the delusory hopes of eschatology.

We are living in very interesting and also very challenging times. These are times which call more than ever for clear and realistic thinking. These are times which make demands on our political judgement and our sense of civic responsibility. Berlin remains an acutely relevant thinker today for many reasons, but above all because he rejects philosophical and political ideologies which affirm that there is only one form of the best life, one form of liberty, and one kind of individuality. In principle and practice, Berlin suggested, the pursuit of a unique and exclusive ideal is morally treacherous. In principle, it is dangerous because it denies that even the best ways of individual and social life entail the sacrifice of some moral values. In practice, the greatest political injustices have been perpetrated under the banner of a single Great Good: the only path to salvation; the final solution; a classless society; the preservation of the nation; and more recently the globalization and democratization of the world. In addition, the means that claim justification in the name of an ultimate end, even if the end itself is not illusory, are themselves treacherous. Inquisitions, holocausts, class purges and cultural revolutions—some of the greatest evils ever perpetrated by human beings—have flown the banner of the pursuit of the Greatest Good.

If we accept that a completely harmonious society is beyond our reach, Berlin’s critique of the pursuit of the ideal still leaves open the possibility that we should strive to create a society without massacres, murders, pogroms and, above all, genocides. Berlin thoroughly endorses such an aim, but argues that the best we can hope for in our world is a loose amalgam of non-ideal societies that are both decent and within human reach. It may be that decency is linked to a measure of democracy, but the problem with many members of democratic societies is that they take democracy as a given and not as a task. For Berlin, democracy is a process. Not only does Berlin emphasize the human capacity, displayed throughout history, for self-creation and making choices, but he insists on the necessity of a precarious equilibrium that will prevent the occurrence of desperate situations, of intolerable choices.¹ Through his theory of pluralism he introduces us to the outer dimensions of self-creation and choice-making in politics—the clash of values and the compromises these entail—but he is also attentive to the impalpable inward level of experience that constitutes the uniqueness of each individual and of each of his acts and thoughts, and the uniqueness too, the individual flavour, the peculiar pattern of life, of a character, of an institution, a mood, and also of an artistic style, an entire culture, an age, a nation, a civilization.² His appreciation of moral complexity and his awareness of the inner dimension of human experience enables him to arrive at an account of politics that values and promotes freedom of choice, the forging of one’s own identity, and the celebration of a diversity of values.

Berlin’s empathetic approach to history and to the lives and thoughts of thinkers, writers and artists in modern times is a distinctive feature of his work as a historian of ideas. His investigations in this field serve as illustrations of his value pluralism. One of the central claims of pluralism is that at different times and in different cultures there have been different approaches to human experience. Berlin refuses to project his own contemporary beliefs into the past, but tries to find new themes and novel horizons in the lives and thoughts of historical characters. Vico, Herder, Maistre, Machiavelli and others are all seen to this extent as our contemporaries. As Berlin says clearly in our conversations: "The history of ideas is the history of what we believe that people thought and felt, and these people were real people, not just statues or collections of attributes. Some effort to enter imaginatively into the minds and outlooks of the thinkers of the thoughts is indispensable, an effort at Einfühlung [empathy] is unavoidable".³ To understand history is to understand the open process of human self-creation. History for Berlin, as for Vico, is a perpetually changing process with no fixed and final goals.

But does this mean that for Berlin there is no such thing as progress? We can say that for Berlin, as for Kant, humanity does make a kind of moral progress, mainly because our knowledge of things and our judgement of events are subject to modification in the light of experience. But Berlin disconnects his idea of pluralism from a naïve faith in moral advance. We have to remember that he is an anti-perfectionist liberal, so that for him there is no such thing as a Grand Design or a Promised Land. Liberal political ideals will have a more solid footing and embody a truer sense of reality if they draw their inspiration from a pluralistic conception of human experience. The totalitarian experiments of the twentieth century show us how bloody universalistic dreams can be.

Maybe this is why Berlin is more fascinated by personalities than by systems of thought or political systems. In his brilliant masterpiece Karl Marx: His Life and Environment he is highly sensitive to the complexity of Marx’s personality. In much the same way, his studies of Russian Thinkers and his acute painting of the characters of Personal Impressions are driven by a careful search for, and an empathetic attention to, the circumstances in which individuals lived and found themselves. He refuses to reduce all forms of experience to one generalized abstract coin, but this is not a counsel of despair: on the contrary, he shows us that members of one culture can through empathy understand the forms of life of another culture or society. Human history is unpredictable because human agents are complex and idiosyncratic. But Berlin constantly stresses throughout his writings that, though human values are incompatible and incommensurable and embodied in specific forms of life in specific cultures, they must however possess some generically human character to be considered as human; and this shared substrate is the route to mutual understanding.

This is the key to Berlin’s objective pluralism, which distinguishes it from any kind of relativism. Through his encounters with the thinkers of the Counter-Enlightenment he succeeds in distinguishing pluralism from relativism. To be a pluralist is to acknowledge that there is a wide range of goods and lives that are genuinely valuable, whereas for a relativist anything goes and all standards are subjective and shifting. According to Berlin, the world we encounter in everyday life is one in which we are faced with choices between equally ultimate ends. There can be no realistic understanding of the moral world without the idea of value pluralism, because good ends and admirable ways of life can conflict with each other. Conflict is constitutive of moral life. Berlin’s liberalism is based, one might say, on the idea of conflictual consensus—a belief in the incommensurability of equally valid ideals and truths. There can be no necessary harmony of values in a rational universe, and history does not tend towards a final goal. Political philosophy is the study of a world where ends collide.

Berlin’s pluralism, then, disconnects liberalism from a naïve belief in progress and human perfectibility. But there is more to it than that. The conviction that lies behind all Berlin’s writings is that man is incapable of self-completion, and therefore never wholly predictable: fallible, a complex combination of opposites, some reconcilable, others incapable of being resolved or harmonized; unable to cease from his search for truth, happiness, novelty, freedom, but with no guarantee, theological or logical or scientific, of being able to attain them; a free, imperfect being, capable of determining his own destiny in circumstances favourable to the development of his reason and his gifts.⁴ This is why we need to understand Berlin’s idea of liberalism in relation to his reflections on political judgement, which involves an acute understanding of particular situations in history and realistic responses to them. In an essay prepared for a BBC radio broadcast in 1957 entitled Political Judgement, Berlin asked the question: What does it mean to have good judgement in politics? In reply he described such judgement as above all, a capacity for integrating a vast amalgam of constantly changing, multicoloured, evanescent, perpetually overlapping data, too many, too swift, too intermingled, to be caught and pinned down and labelled like so many individual butterflies. To integrate, in this sense, is to see the data as elements in a single pattern, with their implications, to see them as symptoms of past and future possibilities, to see them pragmatically—that is, in terms of what you or others can or will do to them, and what they can or will do to others or to you.⁵

Berlin is clear that to be able to exercise political judgement is to see patterns in human events. This view of judgement was evident in Berlin’s own approach to politics in the twentieth century. In his case, the indispensability of judgement in political life was expressed in his commitment to a sense of reality about human life, a sensitivity to the fluctuating nuances of specific circumstance. His lesson for the twenty-first century is that political judgement, relevant in any historical circumstances, is particularly required in moments of transition. For democracies, all moments are, in a way, transitional, because the political body is constantly reinventing itself. But no moment is perhaps so uniquely formative as that of democratic consolidation, when progressive trends are in daily struggle with regressive ones. At this moment above all one needs to be politically mature, because there is no resilient democracy without maturity. At this moment above all one needs the sense of reality, the political judgement, and the recognition of irreducible plurality that so richly inform the works of Isaiah Berlin.

Ramin Jahanbegloo

New Delhi, May 2007

1 Isaiah Berlin, The Crooked Timber of Humanity (London, John Murray, 1990), p. 18.

2 Isaiah Berlin, The Sense of Reality (London, Chatto & Windus, 1996), p. 19.

3 p. 28 below.

4 Isaiah Berlin, Liberty (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 250.

5 The Sense of Reality, p. 46.

1999 PREFACE

The Last of the Liberals

On 5 November 1997 Isaiah Berlin died in Oxford. I met him for the last time at Headington in the first week of July.

We spoke for over two hours about Iran and my research on Gandhi, Tagore and non-violence. We also talked about twentieth-century political philosophy and religion. He refused to talk about the twenty-first century, affirming that despite his name he was not a prophet. So we continued on the subject of the twentieth century, which he considered one of the bloodiest of all times. He mentioned great figures he had known personally, and yet was too modest to think of himself in those terms. His deep knowledge of history and of diverse cultures always gave me the impression of being in the presence of a man who had lived for three thousand years. I found myself travelling back in time from the Russia of Tsar Alexander to the England of John Locke and forward to the India of Nehru. I wished I could go on asking him questions and listening for days, yet I knew I should not take advantage of his friendliness and passion for conversing with people on subjects he liked. During my last meeting with him we were joined by Aline, his wife, who congratulated me on the different translations of Conversations. I don’t know why, but I left Headington that day with a terrible feeling of having met Isaiah Berlin for the last time.

Three months later I wrote to him asking if he would be my referee for a position at a Canadian university. I received a reply from Mrs Pat Utechin, his secretary for many years, telling me he was ill and asking me to wait for a few weeks until he had recovered. Two weeks later, on Friday 7 November, I received an early morning call from a BBC journalist informing me of Isaiah Berlin’s death. In the following days I was contacted by many of my British, French, Canadian and Iranian friends and colleagues who had read about Isaiah Berlin in the newspapers and wanted to know more about him. Most of them were curious to read Conversations but at the time of Isaiah Berlin’s death only the original French edition was available.

Those of us who knew Isaiah Berlin saw in him such a powerful mind and openness of views, and such a rare mixture of decency, serenity and wisdom, that our account of him is likely to evoke disbelief from those who have never had a chance to meet a man of his quality. I could not claim to be his student but he taught me how to experience greatness in men like him. He was one of the great political thinkers of the twentieth century. Brilliant, inspiring, penetrating and original, his writings offer an important resource for political scientists, philosophers and historians. His uniquely valuable contribution to the study of the history of ideas was his attempt to teach us how to take the idea of pluralism seriously: how to grasp the central problem of choice in the social constitution of human nature and how to see belonging to a place and a people as a fundamental human characteristic. While influenced by thinkers such as Hume, Kant, Vico, Herder and Herzen, Berlin was not a disciple of any of them. But he did not simply maintain a critical distance from them. He also thought through the dilemmas of their work in a way that put their thoughts in a new light.

At its best, philosophical thinking was for Berlin a way to conduct an invisible dialogue with thinkers and artists of other times. Put another way, Berlin’s distinctive concepts of liberty, pluralism and membership of a common culture provide the basis of a powerful and challenging account of what it means to think, as well as act, philosophically. Thus for the political actor who is also a thinking being, Berlin lays out demanding requirements. However, these requirements are accessible to all, not just a few. Those who see Berlin’s liberal ideas as variations of Lockean, Kantian or Millian themes are quite mistaken. Berlin’s liberalism, exemplified in the conflict between rival goods and goals, must be distinguished from the belief in only one overriding principle. The absence of any single principle or theory from Berlin’s liberalism is supported by his view that not all goods and virtues are combinable. For Berlin, what John Gray calls self-creation through choice-making is protected by negative liberty, which is conceived as the absence of constraints imposed by others. Thus, for Berlin, political philosophy is based on a recognition of the plurality of conflicting ends, with people having the liberty to choose from among them.

At the root of Berlin’s political philosophy is a conviction that human nature is incomplete and self-creative. For Berlin, to be human is to live with others who are both distinct from and yet similar to ourselves. As Berlin once observed in beautiful terms: Life may be seen through many windows, none of them necessarily clear or opaque, less or more distorting than any of the others. For Berlin, each individual, each nation and each culture has its own standards. What makes the essence of our human world is the dialogues or clashes between these. The tragic nature of human life is the result of this tension.

Perhaps generations of political philosophers to come will turn to Berlin’s clarity of vision to help them wrestle