There are those words whose effects are so powerful that many using them are unaware they are standing before an idealized reflection of themselves. Undoubtedly, the word Liberalism falls into this category. Everyone using it thinks they know what it means, but if you take a closer look, you realize you’re dealing with a Protean entity that eludes understanding precisely to the extent that you try to grasp it. Historian Helena Rosenblatt, who had previously studied 18th- and 19th- century French thinkers, such as Rousseau and Benjamin Constant, but also the Parisian Salon of Madame de Staël, was asked by her publisher to write a history of Liberalism. Upon embarking on this task, she discovered the concept was not as evident as it seemed, and to elude becoming lost in the labyrinth of grand ideas, she did something highly unusual: namely, she looked into the word itself and found that Liberalism didn’t appear on the political scene until 1813. Tracing its conceptual origins back to Cicero, she found that liberalitas refers to a free Roman citizen’s civic virtue of behaving liberally toward one another by giving and receiving to promote the common good. But because this points not only to a class-based privilege but also to a gender–based one, she notes with wonderful self-irony that when applied to women, it meant something entirely different: »Being a liberal woman wasn’t something women aspired to.«

What emerges from our conversation is that Liberalism is a Protean entity whose meaning has fluctuated radically over the centuries. From Roman civic duty to the Enlightenment’s tolerance to today’s polarized debates—each era has produced its own liberal precursors. And while today’s discourses, in their rhetorical exuberance, are quick to proclaim a post-Liberal Age, The Lost History of Liberalism serves as a kind of admonition, or rather, a reminder of just how much we owe to this desire for freedom.

Helena Rosenblatt is a Swedish historian specializing in intellectual history. She is currently a Distinguished Professor of History at the Graduate Center, CUNY, and a member of the Board of Editors for both the Tocqueville Review and Global Intellectual History Review. Dr. Rosenblatt is currently researching and writing a biography on the life of Anne Louise Germaine de Staël-Holstein.

Helena Rosenblatt has published

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If, precisely to the extent that the field of education has championed lofty principles, a decline in education has set in, the question arises: Where did this come from? Psychologist Peter Gray, for whom the question of learning has become his life’s work (and who, for many years, wrote his widely read Freedom to Learn column in Psychology Today), recalls his school days in the 1950s, especially the great deal of freedom he had. No homework in Elementary School, no lugging materials back and forth between home and classroom—once you were outside, you were outside and free to play. And in our conversation, this seemingly trivial detail becomes the litmus test, revealing a fundamental shift: School is no longer a confined space but a totalizing system permeating every aspect of children’s lives.

Guided by his own son’s school experience, Peter Gray has spent decades researching how children learn when they are allowed to—in Hunter-Gatherer societies, where teaching is taboo, and at the Sudbury Valley School, where there are no curricula or grades, only radical autonomy. His thesis: Conventional schools have degenerated into disciplinary institutions that hit the most successful students the hardest. The rates of anxiety and depression do not merely reflect the parental pressure weighing on students; even more serious is how misguided ideals of perfection go hand in hand with the loss of free play—and thus the very sphere where creativity and critical thinking are fostered.

Peter Gray worked for many years as a research professor at Boston College. While his research initially focused on the brains and hormonal balance of mice, the issue of Education and Learning became a cause close to his heart. Author of a widely used introductory text on Psychology (now in its 8th edition), he’s also written numerous texts on how children learn. His Psychology Today column made him an influential voice for the Alliance of Self-Directed Education.

Peter Gray has published (selection)

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Because the second volume of The Psychology of the Machine series is set to be released in a few days, we sat down for a brief workshop to discuss why such an undertaking is necessary and the potential gap that must be bridged along the way. In a curious way, the story leads back to the suppressed childhood questions of our history, which we encounter today in ghostly form as social puzzles that are difficult to decipher, if not even as a form of collective psychological inflation. When Nietzsche said that madness is rare in individuals, »but the rule among groups, parties, peoples, and eras,« this implies that people may, without realizing it, work themselves up into a form of collective delusion. And this disorder becomes all the more serious in that it can confront us not only in the form of an economy but also as a supposed reality principle. Deciphering this collective unconscious is the purpose of the Psychology of the Machine, which is an attempt to gain clarity regarding the prevailing Gesellschaftstriebwerk, or our Social Drive Mechanism. Strangely enough, this brings back that conceptual figure which Freud had relegated to the private boudoir with his superego, but originally, in Johann Christian August Heinroth’s Textbook on Disorders of Mental Life, was held to have a collective significance he’d termed the Über-Uns—as that shared fate affecting us all, whether it comes in the form of populism, artificial intelligence, or whatever else.

Weil in ein paar Tagen der zweite Band der Psychologie der Maschine herauskommen wird, haben wir uns hingesetzt und ein kleines Werkstattgespräch durchgeführt, das zum einen die Frage behandelt, warum ein solches Unterfangen nötig ist, zum anderen, was das Potenzialgefälle ist, das dabei überwunden werden muss. Auf eine kuriose Weise führt die Geschichte zu den ausgeblendeten Kinderfragen unserer Geschichte zurück, die uns heute, in gespenstischer Form, als schwer entzifferbare Gesellschaftsrätsel, wenn nicht überhaupt als eine Form der kollektiven psychischen Inflation begegnen. Wenn Nietzsche gesagt hat, dass der Irrsinn bei Einzelnen etwas Seltenes ist, »aber bei Gruppen, Parteien, Völkern, Zeiten die Regel«, so impliziert dies, dass es Zeiten geben mag, die sich, ohne sich darüber im Klaren zu sein, in eine Form der kollektiven Verblendung hineinsteigern können. Und diese Störung ist umso gravierender, als sie uns in Gestalt einer Ökonomie und damit als vermeintliches ›Realitätsprinzip‹ gegenübertreten kann. Dieses kollektive Unbewusste zu entziffern ist der Sinn der Psychologie der Maschine, der Versuch mithin, sich über das obwaltende Gesellschaftstriebwerk Klarheit zu verschaffen. Auf eine kuriose Weise ist damit eine Gedankenfigur reaktiviert, die Freud mit seinem Über-Ich ins Boudoir des Privaten verlagert hat, die aber ursprünglich, in Johann Christian August Heinroths Lehrbuch der Störungen des Seelenlebens, als Über-Uns eine kollektive Bedeutung besaß – als jenes gemeinsame Schicksal, das uns allen widerfährt, mag es nun als Populismus, als Künstliche Intelligenz oder als was auch immer daherkommen.

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