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Published online by Cambridge University Press: 09 January 2004
Democratic theory is an exciting field today, both in its rich, textured, abundant research and in the varied courses taught at American colleges and universities. We use its subject matter as a benchmark to judge the politics of the United States as well as that of other countries. The scope of research in this subfield has expanded debates about the meanings, purposes, and reach of democracy, and it raises questions for instructors about what to teach. This essay examines material taught in undergraduate courses and graduate seminars on democratic theory. How these courses are put together reflects what instructors hope to achieve and—on a larger scale—the state of debate among scholars in the subfield.
One of the most arresting aspects of a survey of courses on democratic theory is the breadth and diversity, with no single understanding of democracy dominating the syllabi. In the sampling of syllabi I have reviewed, one can see many approaches, although only a fraction of the work in democratic theory makes it into any given course. In what follows, I take up some of the major themes, authors who appear and reappear, and the question of what has been omitted or underrepresented.
This paper focuses on 21 syllabi, most supplied by the American Political Science Association and the rest gathered by me. They represent courses taught in a variety of institutions of higher education, including state universities, liberal arts colleges, and elite schools. Most of these are upper-level undergraduate courses, but I also look at a few large, lecture-based introductory courses as well as some graduate seminars. The latter tend to have more reading (but not necessarily so) and expose students to more—and more diverse—theories. The three large lecture courses reach for the canon less than other undergraduate courses do.
Democracy is both an ideal and a practice, and the courses under review invariably explore many of the ideals that have served as beacons for different democrats. As undergraduates, many of us were attracted to graduate school and a career in political science because of the idealism they offered. We not only learned about the processes of government and politics but also saw that the political world counted and that it could be better. Much of this kind of idealism is conveyed in the courses under review. However, when they look at democratic practice, many instructors find that it does not measure up to its ideals.
Several courses work under the assumption that many of the ideals that undergird earlier theory have become problematic in contemporary practice. For some instructors, various efforts to transport ideals developed in earlier times, such as in ancient Athens or Renaissance Florence, cannot carry much purchase for a vibrant democratic outlook and practice today. Others, however, want to foreground ideals such as broad participation, the common good, or the need for political equality as a way to evaluate contemporary theory and practice.
Traditionally, the answer to the question “Why democracy?” revolves around the view that people should rule themselves. Most theories hold that a democratic government is one where free and equal citizens participate in their own governance and make power accountable to them. Beyond these generalities, agreement breaks down. Indeed, wide-ranging and often passionate debates mark the subfield of democratic theory, and most of these appear in the courses discussed here. For many empirically minded theorists, democracy is about voting and should be judged by the public on how well an elected elite performs; pluralists argue that it comes with group competition and bargaining; for participatory theorists, the issue is the continuing and consequential public involvement in the demos; discursive democrats worry about the corruption of language in contemporary politics; libertarians want us to know that democracy should be tightly contained and that it ought to refrain from interfering in economic markets; republicans from Aristotle to Rousseau hold that a popular government should serve a common good; and liberals from John Locke to John Rawls focus on the individual, albeit in very different ways.
One of the debates that figures into many courses concerns the factors that invigorate and threaten democracy. Take the idea that citizens in a democracy should be free from hierarchical power and protected from those with concentrated power who seek to convert it into privileges for themselves and their friends. To respond to such a danger, Rousseau calls for a republic that is small, simple, participatory, and vigilant. With Locke, we find suspicion of unchecked executive power and confidence in an elected legislature. For Niccolò Machiavelli, one of the principal threats to popular government is the ambition and greed of the wealthy. However, several theorists see the menace in the people themselves. In his defense of the new constitution, James Madison asserts that representative government is essential but that majorities must be restrained.
Much of this discussion of power tends to be formal and tied to the state, but many democrats find such an understanding of power to be narrow and confining. Some of these critics locate power in language and argue that speech defines what is important and what is peripheral. Some see power inscribed on the multiple identities that people carry—and in how these inscriptions benefit certain individuals but marginalize others. For their part, postmodern democrats detect networks of power pervading society in order to discipline and normalize people, thereby lessening confrontation and conflict. It turns out that courses in democratic theory reflect immensely different ideas about one of the most basic political concepts—namely, power—and several courses introduce students to the myriad and often opposing views of power.
Political interests is a highly disputed term in the democratic lexicon that makes its way into many courses. Critics see interests dominating the political process to such an extent that the ideals of democracy are emptied of substance and any conception of the good of the whole (however defined) becomes vacuous. Rousseau famously argues for a general will over particular wills that seek to insert themselves into public policy. In contrast, pluralists often find that interests are natural and supply the raw material of politics. Other democrats argue for a stronger state and hold that the basic goals of individuals, such as sustenance and education, are not interests but needs that deserve attention in a good society. Still others fear that dominant groups have become institutionally privileged; for many such democrats, we can achieve selfgovernance only if we have a leading principle (like democratic rights) that enables every citizen to be an equal participant and that does not privilege any groups or issues.
Another issue that surfaces in many courses addresses the autonomous citizen: someone who is no one else's person. For most of the thinkers studied in these courses, autonomy ought not to be confused with liberal rights, although the two concepts often overlap. They see autonomy as enabling citizens to rule themselves in critical ways, so as not to become, in Aristotle's language, anyone else's tool. Autonomous individuals, in this view, have the capacity to make choices about the kind of person they want to be and can revise their life plans; but institutional practices and priorities thwart such aspirations for a large number of people. Finding formal citizenship to be insufficient, inclusive, participatory, and discursive, champions of autonomy locate in contemporary society a host of inequalities and disabilities that deny self-governance.
In the academy, undergraduate-level teaching and scholarly research/publishing have taken divergent paths. The former tends to be broad; the latter, specialized. Even so, many of the courses under review reach for recent research to engage in some of the most salient debates in the subfield today. What, apart from mastering the subject matter, do instructors want students to take from a course in democratic theory?
Promoting critical thinking is a primary teaching goal. Meta Mendel-Reyes of Swarthmore College tells students that the Democratic Theory and Practice course aims “not to reach definitive conclusions, but to challenge your preconceptions, raise some basic problems, and introduce you to some of the most important attempts at answers, and to give you opportunities to engage in the activity of theorizing about democracy.” The idea of challenge appears in several other courses too, as students confront texts that stretch conventional ideas of democracy and that ask readers to consider how well democracy is doing in practice. For example, Thomas Conte, then at Gettysburg College, reported that the goal of his Democratic Tradition course “is to analyze how different democratic theories attend to specific individual and social needs while neglecting or sometimes inhibiting other needs.” He also is “concerned with the ongoing tensions between democracy as an ideal and its presence as a set of tangible political institutions.” Patchen Markell of the University of Chicago asks, “Is ‘democracy' best regarded as a type of regime or government, or as a principle/practice of opposition to domination?”
Hugh Heclo of George Mason University explicitly ties his course, particularly for nonmajors, to a “genuine democratic citizenship.” Other instructors hold to the same goal, if only implicitly: Edward Portis of Texas A&M University provides a rich normative background and wants his students to see what democracy means in the real world. Robert Grey of Grinnell College expects students to debate “the strengths and weaknesses of various definitions of democracy, and [assess] the conditions which promote or, conversely, create difficulties for … the emergence of democracy and its consolidation.” Relying heavily on the classics, Demetrios Caraley of Columbia University uses “the great books of political theory” to examine such concepts as “power, politics, leadership, [and] elitism” and relate them “to the current operation of the American constitutional democracy.”
A few instructors echo Harvard University professor Sidney Verba's desire to link normative theory, positive theory, and empirical social science. Verba's course Representation, Equality, and Democracy compares “mechanisms for citizen control in terms of … the nature of the information they convey, the bias in terms of whose preferences are communicated, and the incentives for compliance associated with each mechanism.” Some of these courses begin with the classics and then turn to a variety of contemporary readings that expand or revise earlier theory, as well as some that critique or defend contemporary democratic practices. Mark Warren of Georgetown University tells his students, “Contemporary democratic theory is … diverse, expansive, and exciting, and offers multiple opportunities to combine normatively significant problems with empirical research.”
Alfonso Damico of the University of Iowa sums up the perspectives of several instructors when he writes,
Much of this course is organized around the theme of “democracy and the challenge of power.” Democracy … is, in part, a theory about how best to maximize the promise of power while minimizing the threat of its abuse. But since ideals never match reality, we will also consider the question “how democratic is America?”
Courses and seminars on democratic theory diverge in many ways, but one difference is particularly critical. Most implicitly build on Robert Dahl's observation that there is no single theory of democracy: only theories. Typically, they begin with a general description of democracy as the rule of the people but quickly acknowledge that the meanings of democracy are highly contested; at that point, they take up several of the debates that mark the subfield. I address these approaches later in this essay, but first I want to look at another, quite different way that several courses are constructed.
Some instructors proceed on the assumption that an acceptable definition of democracy exists, and they design a course to explore whether this definition is met in fact. What they have in mind pivots around a central theme: either that democracy must speak to the political equality and inclusion of everyone or that a regime that does not represent everyone is not really, or at least adequately, democratic. Instructors pursue the first theme often by seeing how race and gender or the politics of identity fits into modern democratic practice. Readings in such courses indicate that the association between the ideal and the real is often tenuous.
Courses that examine the relationship between democracy and representation find that contemporary expressions of representation are seriously flawed. One instructor asks, “Whose voice is heard in American politics?” Another wonders whether “people wield power effectively in a large, bureaucratic nation state?” Another turns to proportional and other modes of representation to give greater voice to those who have been marginalized. These courses suggest a deficit of public presence in policy making today, particularly for those who have systemically been left out.
However, most of the instructors teach a variety of democratic theories in order to introduce their students to the contestability of the meanings of democracy.
A few courses concentrate primarily on the canon, paying particular attention to Aristotle, Locke, Rousseau, J.S. Mill, and Tocqueville; in a few other courses, very little or nothing in the canon makes an appearance. Most instructors make the classics a part of their presentation, usually as a prelude to contemporary accounts. Sometimes the canon is offered as a set of alternative ideals to what is found in many contemporary democratic theories and practices. Rousseau is the most featured of the canonical writers. His appeal stems from the contrasting vision he offers in The Social Contract to the kind of democracy that has evolved in complex, mass, postindustrial society. With him, we are told about the necessity of participation, the importance of civic virtue, the goal of equality, and the general will as the anchor of a good society and a good politics.
The next two sections of this essay take up the two major literatures in the canon that frequently find their way into democratic-theory courses.
In the republican tradition, almost always represented by such thinkers as Aristotle, Rousseau, and, to a lesser extent, Machiavelli, the quest of popular rule is the common good. To achieve this, citizens must recognize that their own good is inexorably tied to the good of their republic. In other words, they have civic duties and responsibilities, such as being politically involved in the affairs of their government, not just in times of danger but on a regular basis. Participation is so critical to republicans because they believe that the abuse of power can occur at any time and the best protection against such a calamity is for citizens to be politically alert and ever ready to defend their liberty and the free institutions of their republic. Holding that the character of the republic depends on the character of its citizens, republicans fear that corrupt citizens—that is, those preoccupied with self-interests, usually material ones—will place republican institutions in serious peril.
Such communitarian writers as Michael Sandel, Phillip Pettit, and Robert Bellah give contemporary voice to republicanism. As with classical republicans, they lament a society that is fractured and individualistic, has no compass to guide it, ignores or disdains tradition, and seems preoccupied with the here and now. For most communitarians, the villain is liberalism, particularly the kind we find with Immanuel Kant and John Rawls. Such critics of liberalism want to imbue democratic citizens with a sense of shared purpose and ask people to think about their responsibilities as well as their rights. Although they recently had a robust presence in the debates on the relationship between liberalism and democracy, communitarian texts make only a few appearances in today's courses, but some communitarian concerns are addressed by Robert Putman's work on civil society.
When instructors reach for the canon, they are more likely to assign texts by liberals than by republicans. Most frequently, democratic-theory courses include the historical liberalism of Locke through Mill and contemporary expressions of liberalism, particularly the sort associated with Rawls. Liberalism has been seen as historically contextualized, carrying certain assumptions about human nature and society that reflect the thinking of a particular time and place in history. Several instructors ask whether the social, economic, political, and cultural changes, as well as modern democratic aspirations that separate our time from Locke's and Mill's, require a different theory of democracy or else invite important but limited changes in liberal democratic theory and practice.
Locke's Second Treatise is the most often used foundational liberal text, and emphasis is given to his views regarding the natural rights and rational capacity of every human being, the necessity of the consent of the governed, a contract as the basis of government, the importance of legislative power, and the need to protect civil society from an intrusive government. Mill is usually presented as a champion of liberty, but sometimes he and Tocqueville make an appearance with their concern about a tyranny of the majority creating a democratic culture of conformity. Tocqueville's Democracy in America also leads to a discussion of the importance of a rich associational life, the necessity of a diverse press, the conflict between equality and liberty, and his view of “self-interest properly understood.” Liberalism is not the unfolding of any single writer's theory of liberty, so several instructors touch on a variety of liberal thinkers to show how this line of thought has evolved and how some liberals stand in an adversarial position to other liberals, as with Rawls and Robert Nozick, or with Mill and Madison.
When instructors take up contemporary accounts of liberal democracy, most turn to Rawls's Political Liberalism and, to a lesser extent, his Theory of Justice. In these courses, we find such topics as the priority of right over the good, Rawls's denial of a comprehensive moral good, and his arguments regarding an overlapping consensus. Some also reach to his earlier views regarding liberal neutrality, a topic that is invariably challenged. Writers such as Ronald Dworkin and Will Kymlicka are also assigned in order to show how other liberals respond to or extend Rawls. Almost all of these courses also give space to critics of contemporary liberalism—later on, I discuss several. Here, though, I should mention Michael Walzer, who does not fit into any neat category but appears frequently as a critic of Rawlsian liberalism and as an advocate for broadening the concept and practices of democracy.
In many courses, instructors explore whether a certain sort of liberalism and a certain sort of democracy can serve each other, as Rawls believes; whether they require each other even though they sometimes clash, as Norberto Bobbio argues; or whether liberalism depletes democracy of its vitality, as Benjamin Barber says.
Almost all of the courses that deal with contemporary democratic theory make room for performance and pluralist theories, which have, in a provisional way, become a new canon.
Although republicans and communitarians claim that popular governance should be primarily concerned with the common good, much contemporary liberal democratic theory emphasizes the responsiveness of elected officials to individual voter preferences. The task of politics for performance democrats is to fashion a winning coalition that may or may not be coherent; it is not to search for some mythic common good. We see this approach in what is frequently referred to as the elitist theory of democracy, associated with Joseph Schumpeter. In his frequently assigned text Capitalism, Socialism, and Democracy Schumpeter argues that capitalism has taught people to think instrumentally, leading them to ask how they can get the best deal for themselves; not surprisingly, he holds that voters take this disposition into the voting booth. The candidate or party that receives voters' support has convinced them that its program or product is the most attractive one in the current political market.
Receiving rewards and avoiding costs is the game that performance democracy plays. The rationality that voters use to judge politics is instrumental, similar to the kind that Anthony Downs develops in his economic theory of democracy. In the syllabi under review, readings by performance democrats are invariably followed by critical appraisals. A few, such as E.E. Schattschneider's Semisovereign People and Peter Bachrach's work, fall within the framework provided by performance democracy. Much more often, the critics of performance democracy stand outside and critique from a different vantage point. (I address these below.)
For some time, the dominant descriptive model of liberal democracy has been pluralism, which sees a political world populated by interest groups—none of them powerful enough to dominate the political system, but each able to influence policies in issue sectors that command its attention. For pluralists, specific policies reflect interest group bargaining and compromise. This theory gives citizens, through the groups to which they belong, a presence between elections; it relies heavily on equilibrium models to explain and often justify current political practices and outcomes.
The pluralist model, largely developed by Robert Dahl in the 1950s and 1960s, makes its way into many courses. Instructors ask whether it really works today as originally presented and whether, even at its best, it meets some of the elementary standards of democracy. To pursue these questions, they often assign recent works of Dahl, such as Dilemmas of Pluralist Democracy where he argues that American pluralism, although essential to democracy, nevertheless serves to stabilize injustice and inequities.
Many instructors go beyond Dahl's revisions and assign works that argue that inequality skews the political agenda, favoring the privileged and their issues. These readings question the adequacy of competitive-market models of politics to meet democratic ideals, finding that the strategic advantages of some groups in civil society enhance their political standing and that the disabilities of other groups diminish their presence and influence.
In several courses, instructors go beyond the old and new canons not only to engage in critique but also to present alternative theories of democracy. In about half of the courses that take this route, several challenges to the canon are considered; but about the same number of courses concentrate on one critical alternative, usually deliberative or inclusive democracy, as a way of leading students to think about how contemporary democratic practice can be broadened.
Participatory democrats think that citizens can and should have a consequential role in their own governance, even in a heterogeneous, mass society becoming more and more bureaucratic and increasingly specialized. They see representative government as skewing matters in favor of those who are already privileged and showing partiality toward specialists over ordinary citizens; but they do not find this state of affairs to be inevitable. Their arguments make their way into several courses to offer a politics with an intense public presence in a decentralized polity and, sometimes, in the workplace. Such engagement, they argue, enables citizens to work with one another on common projects, have greater control of the political agenda, and exert more citizen influence on public policy.
However, this is only part of the story for participatory democrats. They see participation itself as a good that fosters political efficacy, broadens civic orientations, encourages tolerance and cooperation among citizens, and strengthens local civil competencies in a world where technical expertise threatens to crowd out the goals and aspirations of democratic citizens. Such are the views of John Dewey, Carole Pateman, and Benjamin Barber (the most-often-assigned participatory democrat).
Even though democracy has placed a heavy emphasis on speech since the Greeks, there has long been a suspicion of the demagogue and the power of rhetoric, which can distort important matters and manipulate citizens. Today's discursive democrats see a much broader problem challenging democracy. For Jürgen Habermas—the most frequently assigned discursive democrat, generally represented by his book Between Facts and Norms—civil society has been corrupted by concentrated power and money. Habermas writes that democratic space has been colonized by forces with an agenda written apart from—and often antagonistic to—the demos. In this view, political speech has become debased, as it hides the deficiencies of contemporary democracy.
Deliberative democrats generally have faith in the future of democracy but worry over its fate when speech conceals rather than reveals. John Dryzeck wants public discourse to be critical and self-reflective but believes that today, it freezes inequalities and fosters exclusion and domination. For her part, Seyla Benhabib challenges Rawls for shrinking the importance of public reason and neglecting the social nature of discourse.
Inclusive democrats are not willing to settle for a universal franchise and formal rights for everyone. Essential as these things are, they do not confront practices that dominate and oppress many people politically, culturally, economically, and psychologically. The task that inclusive democrats set for democracy is to identify and challenge such debilitating practices and to recognize every person as a full-fledged citizen. For these democrats, exclusion is embedded in a wide range of institutional practices and reinforced by much theorizing (communitarian and liberal as well as performance and pluralist).
Although inclusive democrats frequently disagree among themselves and theorize as feminists, critical race theorists, identity theorists, or multiculturalists, they present both challenges and opportunities for democrats. We see this in the frequently assigned work of Iris Marion Young, who finds many forms of power and expressions of domination today. Like many other inclusive democrats, she is skeptical of Rawls's rational actor because it posits only one way of thinking about how to proceed and ignores the multiple sources of identity and domination. Susan Okin, Anne Phillips, Jean Bethke Elshtain, and Will Kymlicka are also represented in the syllabi, often taking opposing positions over the meaning and reach of inclusion.
No instructor can include everything, but certain matters of current interest to democratic theorists are missing in the syllabi under review. In this section, I discuss what has been omitted or appears only irregularly; I am concerned with overall patterns rather than with what occurs in any particular course.
In the syllabi I reviewed, there is very little discussion of democratic theory from outside the West. When the non-West does make the reading lists, the focal point is the threat that emanates from there (and the vehicle is Samuel Huntington's “The Clash of Civilizations”) or else democratization abroad (as with Larry Diamond's work).
All but two of the courses examined lack democratic theorizing by writers in Africa, Asia, and Latin America. Non-Western democratic theorists deserve a hearing. It is important to know how and where they differ from us in terms of democracy and why they often have different democratic priorities than we do. Non-Western scholars remind us that there are many theories of democracy and that democracy often builds on the traditions and experiences that characterize a particular people and its history. Aung San Suu Kyi works with her own Buddhist tradition in order to build a theory of democracy that addresses the needs, opportunities, and disabilities of her society. Along with numerous other non-Western democrats, she claims that democracy is not possible without a deep and abiding commitment to basic human rights. Many, such as Mahatma Gandhi, are particularly interested in the relationship between modernity and democracy, and look toward a decentralized polity and economy to diffuse power. In Gandhi's case, we also find an argument linking nonviolence with democracy. Others, such as Nelson Mandela and Adolfo Pérez Esquivel, are concerned about the impact of economic globalization on democracy, particularly its propensity to intensify inequalities between rich and poor countries and to fortify domestic oligarchies.
With its penchant for markets, growth, and efficiency, globalism is seen as the defining characteristic of our age. For some, this means the expansion of democracy and economic development in poor countries. Others dispute this assessment, finding that globalization impoverishes many countries and leads to the contraction of the state everywhere, including the democratic state. In this view, what the public wants does not determine public policy; the demands of global markets do. If globalization is a fact of life, then there is little room for democratic efficacy but considerable space for a fatalistic outlook that hands over the direction of policy to impersonal markets. Still, only one instructor's syllabus among those under review asks whether and how globalization intersects with democratic ideals and practices. Among democratic theorists concerned with these issues are David Held and Jean-Marie Guehenno.
Postmodern democrats make a few appearances in the syllabi and generally build on the work of Michel Foucault, who claims that we need to abandon state-centered conceptions of power and recognize that power is everywhere and ever ready to discipline us. With William Connolly, the most frequently assigned postmodern democrat, we encounter someone who fears the homogenizing and normalizing force of modernity and finds that its push for unity and agreement suppresses the ambiguity he believes democracy requires. Chantal Mouffe wants democracy, not liberalism or Enlightenment rationality, to be primary and pursues a postmodern pluralism.
A wide-ranging literature links democracy and the economy, but little of it appears in these courses on democratic theory. Some republicans hold that citizens need a secure life in order to meet their civic obligations. Others warn about the dangers of concentrated wealth. Concerns about the way economics is related to politics extend from Aristotle to Charles Lindblom and the late C.B. Macpherson, whose works were widely read in modern political theory courses a few decades ago but make only one appearance in this batch. In his early work, Rawls reflects a serious interest in distributive matters; but these writings are not showing up on the contemporary syllabi. It should also be noted that for all of the attention accorded to inequality in these courses on democratic theory, very few of the readings focus on economic inequalities and the way class intersects with other forms of inequality, such as race or gender.
The modern democratic state, in one form or another, is still a welfare-state, albeit a shrinking one under attacks by neoliberals who have become a driving force in many democracies. Nevertheless, neoliberals such as Kenichi Ohmae are conspicuously absent from the syllabi, as are defenders of the welfare-state and some of its recent critics on the left, such as Claus Offe and Sheldon Wolin, although two courses include a reader on radical democracy that touches on some of these perspectives.
Only one course in the lot explores the relationship between the military and democracy—a puzzling omission, especially considering the extraordinary role that security matters play in contemporary American life. Military policy, strategy, tactics, intelligence, and parts of its budget are largely concealed from the public gaze. Yet democracy rests on a commitment to transparency, which most democrats see as essential for democratic accountability.
There is no discussion about the ways a liberal democracy protects itself in a national emergency. Part of the government's recent policy has been to detain individuals who are suspected of participating in acts of terrorism. However, none of the courses asks whether or to what extent a liberal democracy can suspend its own commitments to basic rights in a national emergency and remain a liberal democracy. One effort to explore the relationship between national security and liberal democratic theory comes from Alan Gilbert, and Daniel Patrick Moynihan has explored the relationship of secrecy to democratic governance.
I have highlighted important themes that are underrepresented in the syllabi, but there are also several prominent democratic theorists who seldom make the cut, including Charles Taylor, Sheldon Wolin, and Hannah Arendt. Given her wide-ranging influence in democratic theorizing, Arendt's two meager listings on the syllabi suggest that however much contemporary theorists turn to her to deepen their understanding of democracy or criticize her views in their own writings, she is generally overlooked in the classroom. Also underrepresented are critics of democracy, with Plato and Carl Schmitt each limited to a couple of appearances.
A central feature of democracy is that its citizens disagree and debate. And this is true of those who teach democratic theory. Most of these instructors choose to emphasize different themes and give voice to various debates in the field. At their best, the courses move beyond critiques of specific theories and enter into a dialogue among different democrats.
The better courses in democratic theory avoid confusing democracy with all the other good things in life, such as justice, autonomy, or equality, and do not make democracy an adversary of such goods. In advancing theories of democracy, many instructors highlight how it can promote justice, ignore it, or even act in unjust ways. This approach—central to the best courses—requires not only an understanding that different takes on democracy affect such goods in a variety of ways, but also the knowledge that terms like justice, autonomy and equality are highly contestable.
Many courses group texts under categories, such as the subheadings I used to organize this essay. Letting students know that a text is frequently associated with pluralism, deliberative democracy, or participatory democracy, for example, is helpful because it enables them to distinguish arguments as they compare and contrast very different and sometimes difficult understandings of and expectations for democracy. As beneficial as this is, students are even better served when instructors then take texts out of their original homes and reach for other themes in the writings to enrich our knowledge of the various meanings of democracy. For instance, Iris Young is more than a theorist of multiculturalism, Rawls's liberalism spills into many other categories, and Habermas's lessons spread beyond discursive democracy. Texts by these thinkers and others provide rich commentaries about multiple understandings of equality, capitalism, and the nature and sources of domination.
In spite of the many differences that characterize courses on democratic theory, an important similarity emerges. Whether they devote much or little time to the canon, most instructors teach democracy as an ideal that should energize citizens. These instructors expect that practice will fall short of democratic ideals—and that is what makes ideals so important. If we have no standard with which to judge politics, someone else will offer one. Typically, this takes the form of economic growth, efficiency and productivity, or a crude realism that insists that matters cannot be otherwise and we ought not try to change them. Such conventional standards are weights that tie us to the earth with a resigned fatalism. Democratic ideals—take your pick—ask us to free ourselves from such forces of gravity. Giving standards to judge not only the polity but also our roles within it provides citizens with reasons to be impatient about many matters political because our ideals tell us that politics can be better than it is. Different instructors underscore different standards, but most offer students the intellectual resources to challenge convention and engage in critical reflection, dispositions that many democrats take to be necessary for a robust citizenship.